He watches the tapes, drowning in dull horror that numbs all else. He thinks it's all coming back to him – maybe he doesn't really remember, maybe he's just trying to fill in the memories for the practical stranger on the tapes, but he thinks he can remember. He thinks he remembers the anger that managed to drown out the fear he felt with that gun pointed at his face, anger that the man who was once his closest friend was now trying to kill him (who knows how many people he's killed, or given to it, which is worse?). He thinks he remembers the fear finally overtaking the blind and rash anger when Jessica (Oh God, Jessica) yells "So you're going to kill us?" and Alex swings the gun to point at her instead. He thinks he remembers the fear, the guilt that now she was as tangled up in all of this as he was and it was all his fault, and Alex is pointing that gun at them (Alex, man, please, it's not you, this isn't you) and he's going to kill both of them, him because he knows too much and Jessica because she's a loose end and and and –
He turns away from the camera and turns it off. He can't bear to watch it any more. He turns to a trash can next to his computer desk and vomits.
Oh God. He was an idiot. Jessica – where was Jessica? Was she dead? Or…or worse? What about Alex? He'd ruined so much. He was possibly responsible for the death of his last real ally. The man who had once been a close friend had tried to kill him. That same man had killed others…so many others. What was he going to do? He couldn't just sit around and let Alex continue on his killing spree.
No.
I'll find him, he thinks. I'll find him, and I'll stop him from hurting anyone else ever again. If I have to kill him, I will.
And, with the greatest reluctance, he turns back to the video. He turns the camera back on. And he watches.