Diary of a Killer

5.

A/N: anything in italic is Sal's thoughts. Anything in italic and underlined is Sal remembering something from the past. Hope that clears things up, and enjoy!

Music rang softly through the tiny speaker perched on the edge of the counter. The air inside the house was warm and inviting. Outside, the wind carried a chill, forcing residents to keep their windows shut. A creak of the floorboard spoke of someone still being awake. A switch was flipped, and a soft overhead glow shown over the kitchenette.

Sally Fisher ran his hand through his long messy strands, sighing. He walked over to the speaker and switched it off, grabbing a glass from the cabinet above and opening the fridge. He groaned inwardly, staring at the remains of their food. Half a gallon of milk. A block of cheese not touched since the day it was bought. Three containers of yogurt, strawberry flavor. Leftover half-burnt lasagna. One slice of pie. And finally, some grapes. Sally reached in and grabbed the milk, pouring himself a glass.

He delicately unhooked his mask, setting it on the counter beside the fridge. It didn't matter to wear it when everyone else was sleeping, anyways. Or at least, he thought they were sleeping. He thought he had heard the telltale sign of a door closing upstairs. Maybe they were just going to use the bathroom. He hoped that was the case.

He didn't feel like talking to anyone, or explain why he was awake for the fourth time that week. The nightmares were getting worse with each passing night, making sleep seem more like a task than an essential. He set the glass down on the table, putting his head in his hands. Nothing seemed to help. No medication, no scents or music, no working out beforehand or even talking to a professional. Nothing worked. They always came.

The stairs around the corner creaked. He lifted his head, putting his hands to his face on instinct. He realized in the moment that his mask was too far away to throw, so he raised the glass, the quarter-full cup of milk sloshing to the floor and over his bare feet. It felt cold, but it was a better alternative to having no defense.

Have They found me? Are They coming for me?! Oh god, had They hurt him!!? Oh god please no don't not him anyone but him he's all I have left don't— His heart rate echoed in his ears, one hand still covering his face and the other holding the glass like a knife. He knew it wouldn't last long if it was who he thought it was. Maybe the Cult had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. After all, it wasn't like Sally was keeping a low profile, sneaking around carelessly in their domain and swiping stuff that he found from time to time. His vision starting blurring, panic seeping into his veins.

Sal saw rather than heard the male first. As soon as he came around the corner, he saw the stretch of the mans mouth moving in either a silent scream or a yawn. He couldn't tell. His mind and his eye were playing tricks on him again. He threw the glass, which hit the wall covering the stairs and shattered, pieces scattering across the living room carpet. The male screamed, tripping, his back against the wall in a panic. Sal's vision cleared as soon as that terrible sound hit his ears, and he realized with dread and guilt that it wasn't an attacker in the night. It was just his roommate and best friend.

"What the hell was that!?," Larry gasped, collecting his breath with a shaking hand to his chest. His hazel eyes darted frantically around; his body still rigid, like a statue.

"I— fuck— shit. Sorry Larry. God, I'm so stupid." He fumbled over his words, his balance threatened by the milk. He carefully stepped forwards, then immediately pain shot up his leg. "I—ow, shit!" Sal hobbled on one leg to the counter, leaning against it and cradling his foot as best he could. He strained to see it, half of him not even wanting to. The sight of blood still made him sick, even after all these years.