BOOK II: To Live with Ourselves

1

1 year later

The more time you put between you and the night of your escape, the more it felt like a surreal memory from another life.

As news coverage of your case died down, you and Jeff settled back into routine. Find an abandoned place for your base of operations, and chill there until the two of you started itching for a change of scenery. Your stays usually lasted under a month. Maybe longer if you were in a big city that was easy to hide in, and held plenty of opportunities for Jeff.

After you exited the slender realm that night, you found yourselves on the outskirts of Houston, Texas. It had been a good place to get back on your feet after what had happened. Over the course of the year you had worked your way up and out the Lone Star state and lurked about in the South from there. Jeff liked the population. You liked the warmth. Right now you were settled in Southern Florida, camped in an abandoned brick townhouse, within a boarded-up ghetto that would've made your mother faint.

You lie on the makeshift bed you shared with Jeff, curled up with a flashlight and a book. The delicate ambiance of what was probably a drug deal happening next door, a car alarm wailing a few blocks over, and a dog wailing in response, permeated the thin  walls of your refuge. You sighed and checked your watch. 1:37 am. Jeff wouldn't be back for another hour or two, if all went well. Still, it was pretty boring without him.

You didn't do much nowadays. Now that you were a wanted escapee, grocery shopping was out of the realm of possibilities. Instead, Jeff robbed everything you needed from each crime scene he created. Sometimes you robbed empty places, just for fun. It was about all of the excitement you could get. Jeff had offered to bring you along for a kill once or twice, but you declined. It's not like you were afraid- you weren't afraid of anything- you just wanted to hang on to whatever hint of normalcy you had left. You'd never seen one of his crimes in person, and you didn't intend to do so any time soon.

The door opened and shut. You sat up and reached for your knife, but a low string of curses let you know that it was just Jeff. You got up and went down the stairs to meet him.

"You're back early." You pointed out, also noting the lack of blood on his clothes and the frustrated look on his face.

"They were already dead!" Jeff spat, indignant. "I got there, and somebody'd already ganked 'em!" He pulled off his hoodie and threw it on the ground, as if it were somehow responsible for his flop tonight.

"Seriously?" You replied, eyebrows raised high. Victims murdered before he even got there? That'd be one hell of a coincidence. "Maybe one of the guys is punking you."

"Nah, it wasn't them." Jeff shook his head. "Too sloppy. Even Toby's got a little more finesse. Definitely an amateur."

You could've asked for more details, but decided to spare yourself from a lecture on breaking, entering, and the most artful ways to flay someone alive. Jeff was passionate about that weird shit. You took his arm and kissed his scarred cheek, effectively quelling the Killer's anger. "So you got one miss. Big deal. You're still the best serial killer I know. And I've gotten to know a lot lately."

Jeff sighed through his slight nose and took your hand in his. "Damn straight." He muttered, letting you know your little bit of ego-stroking had worked. The two of you went back up the stairs and settled in together under the blanket. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed against his back, making the authoritative decision that you would be the big spoon tonight. Jeff didn't complain. Soon all thoughts of missed murders and disappointing nights faded away into the heat you shared, and your soft breathing. You let the sounds of the ghetto be your lullaby as you drifted off into sleep.