the mannequin man ☞ patd

vi

I survived last night. Mr. Urie was quiet the whole day, though. He didn't say another word to me, except for when he'd call me to dinner. I'm relieved to be awake now. By eight o'clock, I can be out of here and back in my trusty dorm.

I slept through the morning. It's finally possible to sleep peacefully here. Too bad it's my last day.

It's not apparent to me why I brought my favorite white button-up shirt with me, but I'll be wearing it now. It's hard not to smile as I get my clothing on. I'll be out of here in no time.

As I walk down the hall, I smile at every mannequin that I pass, no matter how much they give me the chills. I'm just glad to never have to see them again. I even gave one the middle finger. Mr. Urie would've murdered me if he saw. Stupid fucker.

Mr. Urie is downstairs, sitting on the sofa in his formal room. When I sit next to him, he looks at me. The fuck was he doing here by himself, anyway? "You slept through the day," he says with a grin at me. A grin that can give me the creeps without him even trying.

There's a cold uneasiness in my stomach and in the small of my back, and Mr. Urie can see it. I can tell by the way he smirks at me. "I know," I say with a shaky voice. "I usually sleep pretty late."

His cold hand touches my knee, making me jump slightly. "Calm down," he says, looking me in the eye. It's hard to stay calm right now. His angellic yet demonic eyes are coaxing, suggesting, and everything more. Suddenly, Mr. Urie's eyes darken so much that the expression they hold is unreadable. I hate this look. "Over the week, I noticed that you seem to be quite curious about that locked door, hm?" he asks. All I can bring myself to do is nod and look down at the hand Mr. Urie has on my leg. "Then let's go check it out."

As we walk, It's hard for me to not stare at the back of Mr. Urie's head. The mannequins around me seem to just frighten me more than usual. They're yelling at me. But I don't know what they're saying. God, I hate this place so much.

We reach the door. I'm not prepared. Not one bit. It feels like an eternity until Mr. Urie actually pushes the door open to its full extent. We walk in, and it's pitch black. Nothing to see, until the fluorescent lights flicker on, and there's still nothing to see. "It's just another bathroom," I mumble, my jaw dropping in astonishment. I really thought there was something more here. Whether it be dead bodies or a killing machine, I don't quite know.

"Yep," Mr. Urie says, pushing his hands into the pocket of his suit jacket.

Just as I was about to walk out, Mr. Urie grabs my wrist. "You can't go yet. We need to get you washed up before your friends get here."

I yank my hand from his arm and look at all the mannequins that are telling me to run. I should run, but my feet say no. "Okay," I mumble, prolonging my speech. Why did I agree to this? Come on, Ryan.

In a couple swift moves, Mr. Urie pulls me back in and locks the door behind us. I'm left to stand there uneasily as he walks to a counter. Why in heaven's name would he need to lock the door if he lives alone?

"Take your clothing off," he says, slowly pulling latex gloves onto his hands. He also tales the suit jacket off, I suppose to invite me to do the same with all of my clothing.

"Why?"

He stops to turn to me with a chuckle. "Do you bathe in your trousers?" he asks before theatrically slapping on his glove. Why does he need those?

Without an ounce of haste, I remove my shoes, then socks, my shirt, and slowly my pants. Finally, after a second of preparing, I remove my underwear.

"Don't worry. I won't try anything," he says as he turns toward me. Gracefully, Mr. Urie motions for me to get into the water. "Get in. I'll help you wash your hair."

I just stand there, eyeing the bathtub, before I ask, "Why is the water white?"

"It's soap," he says with a chuckle and pulls up a stool behind the head of the tub. "Now, get in."

It takes me a second to contemplate whether I should just run away and streak all the way home or stay here. My instincts and everything else in me say go, but my body doesn't fucking listen.

The water is warm. Really warm, and kind of thick. "W-What kind of soap is this?" I stutter, looking up to meet Mr. Urie's cold, dark eyes that don't even seem to hold any emotion anymore.

He shushes me softly and places his gloved hands on my hair. It takes me a minute to realize it, but this is definitely not water. I've paid enough attention in highschool art class to know that this is plaster. But it's too late to do anything now, because just as I realize it, Mr. Urie shoves me below the surface until I can't struggle anymore. He suffocates me until I can't suffocate anymore. Until I'm dead.