[[Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or places in this story except for Alice. Credit to Davey Havok, Jade Puget, and Blaqk Audio for inspiring the name.
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Lying on the tattered, blood-stained sheet, just like the night before, and the night before that. Another night that young Walter was stuck inside that awful cell. He knew that the pig was watching him as he lay there, staring at the writing on the walls of the people of the past.
THEY'RE WATCHING ME. PLEASE... FRESH AIR... HELP ME...
He could do nothing, of course, and he didn't care to even bother; if they had been in here, they were long dead.
Still, he couldn't help the usual feeling of being watched, and not just from the middle room either; as though a hundred disembodied eyes were inside the walls, watching his every move just like they did. He snuggled closer to the sheet, somehow finding a small bit of comfort in it, despite the marks of its previous owners splattered all over the fabric. The thought of children like himself, maybe even younger than he was, being tortured right where he lay did not affect him; he was used to it by now. It was the thought of more eyes on him, adding to the countless number that had been watching him since his birth, was what frightened him the most. He hated all of them, no matter who they were or what they had done.
A girl's scream pierced the stone walls like a translucent bullet. Walter didn't even look up. Another one of the things that did not affect him anymore; hearing someone as they were tortured or even as they died, that didn't spook him in the slightest. But as he listened to her cry out, he noticed they were getting louder, as if approaching him. Walter sat up on the cot and gave the locked door a suspicious look. Louder the screams became, and they began to irritate him. Did that girl ever quiet herself?
As he began to suspect that she wouldn't allow him to sleep at all, the lock on the door clicked, and the door was wrenched open by the meaty hand of the pig himself. Walter backed to the wall, his eyes on the filthy mattress. He could feel the pig's own eyes on his bent head, and heard him snort in disgust. "Filth..." Walter heard him spit. Something was dropped onto the floor, footsteps, and his head was clasped in the bone-crushing grip of Andrew DeSalvo. His foul breath made Walter want to gag as he snarled in his face, "Got you a new 'playmate,' Sullivan!" A horrible laugh rang through the room as the terrible man strode confidently out the door, slamming it shut and locking it once again.
Silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a soft noise coming from the ground. Walter slid off the mattress and looked at what DeSalvo had left him -- this new "playmate" of his.
It was another child around his age; a girl of about eight years old lay curled up in a ball at his feet. She was shivering, and a brownish water dripped from her matted hair. Her pale cheeks were flushed with red from being slapped so many times, and tears streamed from her eyes as she sobbed quietly. There was something about her that was almost... pitiful? The girl wiped her eyes, her small hands balled into fists, and stared in fury at the graying stone floor. "I hate him... I hate him..." she mumbled to herself, in almost a chanting rhythm. She drew her knees to her chest and breathed.
Walter shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He had never really been comfortable around girls; they laughed at him just as much as the boys did. But he could vaguely remember them picking on her, too - dragging her off the swings by her ankles, throwing plastic balls at her head, pushing her into mud puddles. He coughed awkwardly, causing her to start.
"Who's--" Her eyes fell on Walter, and an embarrassed look fell over her. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know you were there!" She looked down at her fists and back at the boy. He turned his head away from her for a moment, and grabbed the sheet from off the bed. He handed to her, keeping his gaze pointedly at the wall. She stared at the sheet for a moment, her eyes on the blood spatters on it, but it was the best that he could muster. She gave him a feeble smile and took the sheet like a towel to her soaked hair
After a few moments of silence, she asked in a tiny voice, "What's your name?"
He took his eyes off the wall and gave her a shy look. "Walter."
She smiled. "Walter… I'm Alice." She held out her hand; Walter flinched back. Alice laughed. "Come on, Walter, I don't have 'cooties,'" she extended her hand further, and Walter reluctantly took it, blushing slightly.
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Alice woke with a small cry, breathing heavily as though she had been running a long distance. She looked around carefully; she was no longer in that dingy cell, she was back in her apartment… She sighed with gratitude and laid back down against her pillow. She watched the lights of cars passing on the streets shine through the window onto the ceiling above her, calming herself.
Easy, girl. Get a hold of yourself. Why are you acting like that was such a big deal anyway? That's ancient history; why would you be acting as if it were a nightmare?
She sat up again and switched on the lamp beside the bed, quietly slipping from under the covers and into the small bathroom across the hall from her room.
It's been two years, girl. Don't think about him, it'll only make you miserable again.
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Day 734:
No idea why the hospital is still making me write in this. They say it's because trauma never heals, and that I could snap again at any moment. I always thought it had been an excuse to keep me paying for the medications, but…
I had a dream about him. For the first time since his death, I dreamed of my childhood, of that terrible cylinder prison, the pig who tortured me. But the funny thing was -- it was from HIS point of view, not mine. How is that even possible? I have no idea what he thought when he saw me, or what was going through his mind when he first heard me scream as that man tortured me. So why is it that I could see through his eyes? Was I just making it all up? Or is he…
No, that's crazy, he DIED! I saw it on the news, I visited his grave so many times I could walk there blindfolded. I'm just spooked, that's all. Just scared…
Alice
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Alice tucked the little blue diary back to its hiding spot in the cabinet under the sink and opened her medicine cabinet, taking one of the only bottles that wasn't already emptied and dragging herself out of the bathroom. She felt dizzy, and her head was pounding. She took a glass from the kitchen counter and opened her refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water, and poured it into the glass. Her hands trembled slightly, as though she were frightened; but she didn't feel scared of anything. There was nothing to be afraid of in her apartment, really, aside from the doctors who kept visiting to try to convince her to come back to the hospital. She popped two pills into her mouth and took a swig of water.
That's quite unlike you, Alice.
Alice froze as a voice rang through her head. She set the glass down and glanced around her apartment. No one was here…
I'm not here, Alice…
"Who are you?" she said aloud in a shaking voice. The doctors had never told her she might hear things, too.
I'm not in your head, Alice, and I'm surprised at you for not remembering me…
Someone knocked her front door… once… twice…She scurried to the door and looked through the peephole. She screamed in shock.
Don't be afraid of me, Alice…
I'll see you again soon…
We'll finish what we started…
Alice shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek as she sunk to the floor. How was this possible? Why now? Why after she had just gotten used to having a normal life? The tears fell silently as she remembered his face in through the door… He looked exactly the same as the last time she had seen him…but…
Walter...?
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Day 734 [[5:20 AM:
Couldn't sleep. Still getting over the shock of it all.
Walter came to me. He spoke to me, he was outside my apartment, but he seemed... different...
It wasn't like a visit from a dear old friend, and he would be the dearest of them all; but this is from beyond the fucking grave! And the worst part is how I feel like this is just another illusion, some unknown side effect of the pills they have me taking. I really shouldn't be writing this at all; I know someone from the hospital is probably going to read this and come to the conclusion that I need more help, but if this were a real diary and not just another health log from the patient's point of view, I would write about how much I missed him in the two years that I've gone without him. I miss him enough to make up crazy illusions and dream of the cylinder prison. I miss him enough that I could die, right now, just keel over and die, just to be united with him again...
But maybe, just maybe, that might not be necessary anymore...
Alice
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