Jay screamed until his voice was gone. He screamed long after Tim had shut the door, after he heard the car pull away. He screamed until he broke. His throat was raw and bloody, although that was nothing new. It wasn't the first time he had tasted his own blood on his tongue. The zip ties cut into his wrists with each pull and tug, resisting his escape as much as they would have Tim's, had the tables been turned. Tim hadn't taken any chances when he had tightened the zip ties, preventing Jay from moving his knees apart more than an inch. His wrists were no better, his fingers already numbing from lack of circulation. Jay lay quietly on his side for several moments, his cheek sinking into the worn carpet, breathing in and out raggedly. Tim had taken his camera. Tim had made him doubt why he had come here. Despite what totheark had said, there was something in Tim's explanation that made Jay believe him. It was almost easier to ignore the thoughts that told him Tim had been telling the truth in favour of the ones telling him otherwise. If Tim wasn't a liar, then he was back to square one, with no one to blame but himself. Blaming Tim was so much easier. It made things so much more black and white.
The loss of his camera made Jay physically ill. He needed it, although he wouldn't admit to himself why. He was blind without it, suddenly reduced to relying on his own sight and memory to remember things. Jay was unsure when he had started to cry, the tears rolling down the side of his cheeks and running over the bridge of his nose. He was unable to wipe them away. He sounded like Alex, even to himself. Alex had relied on the camera, too scared to come out from behind it until it was too late. And now Tim was on his way to go find him, to end things himself, all because Jay had chosen the wrong person to attack. Wouldn't Alex have done the same? Hadn't he? Look where that had gotten him. Jay worried for Tim, for what he would find. He wasn't sure that he would come back this time. And maybe that would be Jay's own fault. That would make for the second friend who had died because of him.
Jay quieted down, the tears stopping and slowly drying on his skin. He felt strangely resigned, ready to give up. Perhaps he could sleep now. He had nothing better to do. The sound of the back door opening didn't register to Jay for a few moments, and years of instinct kicked in, muscle memory making him attempt to stand and run. The zip ties prevented much more than feeble movement. Tim was back. Or Alex. The sight of the hooded man, camera in hand, was unexpected. "What are you doing here?" he questioned, freezing and looking up at the silent figure, who promptly turned around and entered the kitchen. Jay could not see over the counter that separated them. "Hey! What are you doing here?!" Jay shouted. He could hear kitchen drawers being opened. "What are you doing?!" he repeated, to no response other than the sound of drawers rolling open and sliding closed. The hooded man reappeared, camera in one hand, and a large kitchen knife in the other. Jay froze, the implications of this flashing through his mind. The hooded man continued to advance, his facial expression hidden. Jay scooted away, flight his only chance of survival. "No." he breathed, inching away, "Don't!" The zip ties weren't budging, not now, and the hooded man was bending down. Jay wasn't sure why he wanted to escape. He could almost see an irony in it, being killed by this silent figure who he had thought to be something of an ally. What an interesting twist that, in a world full of enemies, he should be kill by a friend. Jay stopped struggling, inhaling air greedily. He had worked his way into a corner.
The hooded man paused and, unexpectedly, threw the knife on the ground. This made Jay pause. Did he expect him to kill himself? What was happening? The hooded man surprised Jay further, sitting his camera down next to the knife. He stood back up, and Jay watched him, puzzled. Then, he walked out of the room. "Hey! Hey, wait!" Jay called after him, working his way towards the knife. The other was maddeningly silent. "Wait!" Jay repeated, knowing that the other would not.
It took Jay a few minutes to work through the plastic zip ties around his wrist, holding the knife at an uncomfortable angle, he managed to free himself. The zip ties around his ankles were cut off in a considerably shorter length of time. Coughing, Jay stood up, grabbing the camera. He staggered to the window, prying open the blinds and looking out. The hooded man was nowhere to be seen. He had slipped out through the front door, shutting it quietly behind him before Jay could cut through the ties binding his wrists. He hadn't taken any chances either. No one was taking chances with him anymore. The coughing wasn't stopping and Jay found himself moving blindly down what he recalled being Tim's hallway. Hand groping the wall, he found the bathroom and hit the light switch. Pills. An empty bottle lay, uncapped, on the sink. Jay checked it just incase. The medicine cabinet above the toilet was full of empty pill bottles, and Jay found himself desperately clawing at them. All of them were empty. Jay left the bathroom without bothering to turn off the light, grabbed his flashlight from the kitchen counter. Coupled with his borrowed camera, the items felt reassuringly familiar in his hands. Jay thought that, perhaps, if he could move fast enough, he could catch the hooded man. The mirror by the door caught his attention, the words 'Last Chance' written in black marker. That was the hooded man's message to Jay, although he hardly paused to read it. Tearing open the door, Jay ran, lungs still not recovered from his coughing fit. Perhaps it was his last chance to end this, and he would, no matter the cost.