BOOK II: To Live with Ourselves

2

There were very few things Jeff was sentimental about.

His first knife, the one he used in his very first murder. He'd lost that a long time ago, during his first arrest, but he could still remember the way it felt in his hands. The way it cut into flesh.

His white hoodie. His first one was burnt up in the fire that mangled his flesh, of course. But he was dedicated enough to the look that he had always made sure to find new ones that were just like it, so it counted as a sentimental object.

Lately, though, he'd started getting sentimental about a lot of things. He'd look back on memories of the first house you two had hidden in together. He remembered cracking up quietly in the back of the bus with you as you fled from Jane for the first time. The scars on your ankle and the soles of your feet took him back to the harrowing trials the two of you had barely survived. He taught you how to pick all kinds of locks, sidestep alarm systems, outsmart security cameras. You robbed houses beautifully. He felt pride every time. Mostly, he was just felt things about you. You filled him with all kinds of gross mushy emotions. He loved it.

Jeff traced his fingers over your hands, still wrapped in your warmth as early morning sunlight came through the cracks in the walls and ceiling. Your hands were soft once. Now they were rough and callused, but he didn't mind. They suited you better that way. His rough, tough, fearless girl.

As the killer settled in to fall back asleep, he heard a small noise downstairs. A faint footfall, and the door clicking.

Jeff was up in an instant. He slipped out of your arms and crept to the top of the stairs with practiced stealth. He listened. When he was certain it was clear, he crept down the stairs, knife held at the ready. When he got to the bottom the room was empty except for one thing. A small box, maybe a shoebox? Jeff approached it cautiously. Flies were already starting to circle around it and it gave off a pungent, rotting smell that made even the serial killer's stomach turn a little. With a bit of hesitance, Jeff bent down and took the lid off of the box.

Inside, several pairs of eyes looked up at him. Just eyes. Bloodied, gelatinous orbs, some with the synaptic nerve still attached like a tail on a tadpole, sitting in a heap. Jeff wrinkled his nose. He was shocked, confused and disgusted all at once. There was a note taped to the bottom of the lid. In neat blue-inked letters, it read 'EYE 've been watching you. Did you like my work?'

Jeff's mind reeled, every warning signal in his mind going off. The dead people at the house. Had they been missing their eyes? He couldn't remember. This was no coincidence, he was sure of that now. There was some kind of nutjob out there, watching him. How much had they seen? How long had they been watching? How had they stayed undetected, right under Jeff's nose?

Jeff took the box of eyeballs outside and threw them into the rotting dumpster in the alley. He kept the note stuffed into his pocket. By the time he got back, you'd gotten up and walked down the stairs.

"You're up early." You said through a yawn. Based on the light coming through the boarded-up windows, it had to be noon-ish, give or take. Usually you could sleep until two, and Jeff wouldn't get up until almost five. Mornings weren't a thing anymore.

"I heard something. I had to check it out." Jeff replied. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. The box of eyebrows was troubling. It wasn't often he got this troubled. You could see the evidence in the deep crease forming between his eyebrows, and his fixed yet absent glare at the floor.

"What was it?" You pulled open a bag of cheeto puffs and tossed a few in your mouth. Brunch is the most important meal of the day.

"Somebody left us a box full of human eyeballs." Jeff reached into his pocket and handed you the crumpled up note. "And a note."

You smoothed the paper and read its message. "Well, that's, uh......corny."

"More like nutty. I tossed the eyes out, but...."

You smirked playfully. "Wait a second...gifts, a dumb note, anonymity....I know what this is!"

"What?" Jeff raised an eyebrow at you.

"You've got a secret admirer!" You grinned from ear to ear and ruffled his haphazard black hair. "Awwww! Look at my little Jeffy, puttin' on the charms...."

"I'm pretty sure that is not it." Jeff said, brushing your hand away. "Besides, shouldn't my girlfriend get upset over a 'secret admirer' or something?"

"Jeffrey, Jeffrey..." You sighed and shook your head. "Even if there was another girl crazy enough to fall for you, you'd never leave me."

"Why's that?" Jeff huffed.

"Because you'd only drive the crazy chick crazier. I'm the only one who's compatible with your bullshit."

Jeff looked like he was going to protest, but you leaned in and kissed him lightly on the bridge of his barely-there nose. "Learn to take a joke, Jeffrey." You said. You handed him the bag of cheetos. "Eat your breakfast."