{trigger warning: murder, vomiting, panic attack}
Tyler left Dallon's office after they found what looked like the most credible unsub, taking a shortcut through a dog park to his apartment building. He couldn't drive yet because his legs weren't strong enough to press pedals yet.
The January weather was crisp and windy enough to warrant a scarf and gloves but warm enough for him to walk. The perfect sweater weather. He hadn't felt the wind on his cheeks since October.
Three months. 83 days, to be exact. 83 days stripped away from him forever.
It wasn't that he wasn't coping with being back into society again after three months of his only human interaction being a schizophrenic sociopath who tried convincing him torture would help him 'transcend the boundaries of the mind.'
Tyler adapted well in any situation, especially stressful ones. But the sunlight hurt his eyes too much, and every laugh from someone around him suddenly sounded oddly similar to Brendon's.
As he got closer to where he lived, the streets got louder, though he wished they hadn't. Even with all the noise, the only thing he could hear was that whispering in the back of his head, that same voice saying things Tyler could never unhear.
"4-7-8, Tyler," he mumbled, taking a deep breath in and holding it.
"That's not gonna work, Doctor," Brendon said teasingly. "Though it certainly couldn't hurt to try."
He let the air hiss through his teeth, slivers of it turning into fog. The hairs on his neck stood to attention as Tyler took a sharp turn into an alleyway, needing to get away from the noises of the city.
"We have some unexpected visitors, huh?" Brendon laughed, coming into view from the corner of Tyler's eye.
Tyler looked over his shoulder and saw a guy with his face concealed by a hoodie walking behind him, both hands in his pockets. When he turned back, he stopped, noticing another man in front of him. He felt for his phone in his coat pocket, finding nothing there. It must still be in Dallon's office.
"I don't want any trouble," he said, hearing the too-familiar click of a switchblade behind him.
"Then give us your wallet and we'll be on our merry way," the switchblade guy growled behind him. "And your watch."
Tyler protectively put his hand over his wrist, glaring. Josh got it for him when he proposed, there was no way he'd let it go to some thugs in an alley. "The wallet, nothing else."
Brendon whistled, stepping forward and walking around the guy in front of Tyler. "He's not that tough looking. You could take him down easily."
"The wallet and the watch..." the blade pressed into Tyler's slime, sending a rush of adrenaline through him. "Or I'll turn you into a shish kebab."
"You first," Brendon whispered in his ear.
For a moment, everything went silent, the noise being sucked out of the air like liquid through a straw. Tyler took a deep breath. Time seemed to slow down around, and a smile crept across his face. "You first."
Tyler spun, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it back so the knife fell out of his hand and into Tyler's. His cane clattered to the ground. The blade slid easily into his gut, and was even easier to pull out as Tyler stabbed him again.
Surprise bloomed in his face before the thug fell to his knees, bloody hands hovering over the stab wound. A feeling of elation filled him, and for some reason Tyler wanted to keep stabbing the man who'd fallen backwards into the ground.
YOU ARE READING
A FRACTURE IN THE CONSCIOUSNESS ✓
Fanfiction"There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line." - Oscar Levant {trigger warning: depictions of graphic violence, blood, torture, murder, gore, etc} {joshler}