He can't stop himself from doing it. Nothing stops it anymore.
Alex had given in long ago, and it knows, takes advantage of the fact.
He wants to close his eyes, sleep or die, he isn't sure which anymore, just for a few moments of peace. So he won't see what he is being forced to do. But Alex knows that is a naive wish, a foolish dream. It won't let him die because he has a front row seat to his body's actions.
He is frozen, tucked away and floating in a small corner of his own brain, or rather, his body's brain. His thoughts are his own, coming in choppy, muffled waves. He is just an observer. He has been for months now. It is different this time. Before, it had only used him for brief instances, letting him go after he had done what needed to be done. He had been witness to his hands bringing the rock down on the man in the park.
Four times.
He had watched himself track down the girl, Jessica. It had been particularly upset with his failure to kill her before. His fingers did not hesitate the second time. He was unable to shield his eyes.
One bullet.
It was becoming more efficient.
His legs move on their own accord, arms stiff to his sides. Alex doesn't remember the last time he ate. Such things are trivial now. The rope burns on his wrists sting, the pain registering to Alex distantly, and the nick on his right wrist from the hooded man's knife is still bleeding. He hadn't been particularly careful in freeing Alex.
Alex has no idea where his body is taking him, but it seems to know where to go. He has never seen this building before, an abandoned school from the looks of it. He has no idea where he is going, but the heavy weight of the handgun in his pocket, slipped into place by the hooded man, gives him an idea of what he will do once he gets there.
His legs bend and Alex finds himself crouching down, in the shadows, a stairway just visible through a doorway. He does not know who he is waiting for. He does not want to know.
There is movement above and Alex watches a shadow make its way down the stairs, growing smaller until the figure is visible.
Tim.
Alex expects his legs to stand, ignoring their own stiffness, to follow him. But they do not. Tim peers around cautiously, his eyes failing to see what little of Alex's body is visible from the shadows. He turns to his right, disappearing from Alex's view. He goes down the same hall Alex had come from.
It is a few minutes before he returns, running down the hall and pounding up the stairs. Alex wonders if the sight of the chair, sitting in the middle of the otherwise empty room, cut rope bonds littering the floor around it, were what spooked Tim. He must have known what it meant. He was running from him.
Alex doesn't know why he had not attacked Tim. The opportunity had presented itself, yet his body had not moved. It wasn't like It to waste an opportunity like that.
Muffled footsteps, the sound of someone making an attempt to be quiet, registered to Alex. Was Tim back? The beam of a flashlight illuminated the bottom of the stairs, lighting the way for the creeping figure. Not Tim.
Jay.
Camera in one hand, flashlight in the other, completely vulnerable. Alex willed him to shine the flashlight to his left, to see him in the shadows. To run. But Jay did not, instead going the same way Tim had.
Alex stood, his right arm fumbling with the gun in his pocket. Alex needed Jay to run. His own movements were still slow, and if Jay was fast enough, he could make it up the stairs before… Wishful thinking. The light of the flashlight announced Jay's return from the hall, illuminating the debris before him. Still Jay did not see Alex, standing now, not moving yet. He disappeared from view again, making his way down the main hall. Alex found himself moving forward, surprised by his own quietness.
Jay is halfway down the hall, jumpy and nervous, shining his flashlight into the rooms. He expects something. Alex is screaming, the sound never leaving his mouth. He is screaming for Jay to run. To turn around and run. To pull out a gun of his own and shoot him. But it would never allow Alex to warn Jay, and Alex knows Jay wouldn't react that quickly.
He turns around, shining the flashlight down the hall. Alex stands between him and the stairs. Jay does not run. "Alex?" he questions, camera rolling. He does not sound afraid. He doesn't realize yet. Alex is fighting now, struggling with his own arms. They pay no attention to his struggles. His right arm rises, pointing the gun squarely at Jay. His finger tightens on the trigger.
One shot, like before.
He knows he hits Jay before Jay realizes it, the look of surprise on his face squeezing itself into a look of panic and fear and pain. He staggers backward, turning around to clutch at a wall for support. He is bleeding. Badly. Alex is still pointing the gun at him. He turns around again, and Alex meets his eye. His own face is expressionless. Blank. Jay looks betrayed. He slips into the nearest room, slamming the door.
Alex is fighting in earnest now, only managing to slow his limbs down to a zombie like shuffle. He cannot stop them completely. The gun hangs loosely at his side, his fingers slack around it. He reaches the door that Jay has disappeared behind. It is locked. Jay did that, at least. His free hand balls into a fist, slamming dully against the chipping white paint of the door. Alex know that on the other side, Jay is dying.
His left hand stops, falling to his side. He knows that it is nearby. On the other side of the door, with Jay. It no longer requires him to break into the room. Seconds pass, and there is a subtle change in the air. Alex knows that Jay is gone now. The door opens now, despite being locked moments before.
All that's left is a flashlight, illuminating an empty corner, a still recording camera, and a smear of fresh blood just in front of the door. Alex finds himself bending down, turning the camera off.
There is nothing left to record.