Silly man, he was. His back against the alley wall, eyes wide opened and dripping with tears, hands held out in front of him. Silly, silly man.
The moonlight glinted off the sharp object held in a younger man's hand. This younger man was always so troubling; a smile plastered upon his face, eyes ever so often twitching, a quiet hum coming from his throat. He inched forward, ever so slowly, to the silly man against the alley wall.
"What is the matter with you, sir?" His voice sounded so innocent, so young. It was one of the things that gave away how young he truly was. It was soft and sounded so caring and concerned, but the glint in his eyes told a different story.
The man never answered, he never looked away. He new that he was about to be just another news story, just another statistic, and it terrified him to no ends. He was trapped where he was; there was no escape for him now.
"You look scared. Is there something wrong with me?" The smile never left the young man's face. The metal object, the knife, in his hand glittered from the moon's light again as he raised it higher. The blade looked clean, but anyone who knew of this man knew of the sins that it was stained with, the lives that had been so maliciously ended by it.
The young man was now right in front of the man, knelt down so that their faces were only inches apart. The knife rested on the terrified man's left cheek; a sharp intake of air following its placement on the man's face.
"Do you know my name?" The young man asked, tilting his head slightly, looking even more like his actual age. The terrified man nodded, the tears now flowing freely down his face, mixing with the sweat that was already flowing. "Say it. Say my name."
The man stumbled over his words, his tongue feeling like cotton. No sound, other than his rapid breathing, came out of his throat.
"C'mon now, say it!" The man shut his eyes. He knew that he was only seconds away from death. "Say it!"
"J-Jimmy Casket," he finally whispered, and he hung his head. He could hear the chuckle coming from Jimmy as the knife was raised above his head.
"It's been a pleasure talkin' with ya, but now I need to tell you my secret." And the knife flew down. A single spurt of blood, the body fell limp. The familiar sound of sirens echoed from somewhere in the distance. "Someone must've heard me and called the police. What a shame," Jimmy sighed. He removed his knife from the man's body, admiring the blood that dripped from the blade onto the stony ground. There was a fire escape on the left wall of the alley; might as well put it to good use. Jimmy hopped up and grabbed the ladder, the rest of it coming down under his body weight. Once the ladder met the ground, he climbed up, making sure to pull the ladder back up once he reached the top. He eventually made it to the roof of the building and started towards the direction that he knew was home. He could now see the flashing blue and red lights, so he had to be quick.
"They're all so clueless." Jimmy smirked as he heard shouting from the alley that he had already vacated.
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He stumbled through the door, one hand loosely holding the knife in his hand, the other clutching at his head. He tried to close the door silently, knowing that his dearest friend would wake easily if he heard something downstairs. The knife was quickly cleaned and put away in his room, which he made sure to lock upon entering.
Johnny Ghost was struggling to keep his lunch in as the night's events flooded his memories so that it was all he could see. He had been able to suppress him for a while now, but it seemed that he had gotten bored. Johnny could remember the itching desire he had to get the knife and go out on a hunt. He absolutely hated the feelings that he got, because he knew that he could not control them once they started. When Casket took over, he wouldn't go away until he either got tired or gave Johnny the control again.
Tears began to slowly flow from Johnny's eyes. I've killed someone. I've killed someone. The words played over in his mind as he saw the man's life leave him over and over again. Johnny remembered the man's sobs, begging to let him live, the sirens screaming in the distance, his escape, the blood. It was not the first he, Casket, had killed. The list of his victims was far too long.
So now Johnny lay, on his bed, curled up on his side in a fetal position. Begging for his thoughts to just leave him alone. Begging for his suffering to end.
All the while, a concerned soul sat in the room opposite, hoping that his best friend was okay.
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