Eight -
I found it in an alleyway by this old sub shop that I always wanted to try, but never did. The damn place was too far away from my house to be considered a viable option. I had a chance, once, when I was a junior and hanging out at Stacey Cullen's place. We were playing Mario Kart when her brother called and asked us if we wanted anything. I had said no because I was on my period and I'm one of those girls that can't eat shit when they're on their period because they throw up.
Anyway, I was thinking about sinking my teeth into one of those damn subs – with tons of lettuce, no tomato because tomatoes are Satan, LOTS of meat, very little cheese because cheese is Stan, Satan's mild half-brother, and a lot of dressing. My stomach growled.
I wanted to go home.
And then I saw it. It was painted on one of the brick walls, fucking high as shit. It was me. And Crane.
Us, us, us.
It was stylized and masterfully graffiti'd. It was also creepy as fuck. I probably wouldn't have recognized it as me if it weren't for the red coat. It swung around painted!me like a cloak of shadows. I was holding a gun and I had a gas mask on, except the mask was painted so it looked like it was actually a part of my head. Like it was my face. I absent-mindedly put a hand to my cheek.
Crane was even creepier. They painted him like a scarecrow, all limbs and legs. And then his face – that awful mask of his that he had worked up. I had to blink a few times because it honestly looked like the painted mask was pulsating the way his mask actually did when you were all dosed up.
What was written underneath the two figures was the creepiest thing, out of all of it. 'HAVE YOU SEEN MY DADDY?' it said.
I couldn't deal with this shit. I screamed and stomped away. I was leaking out of my face again, godammit.
I had made a name for myself as a fucking terror of the night.
Crane was right. I had killed people. I was a killer, even if I didn't mean to. "But I didn't mean too," I said to no one in particular. I broke out into a full-blown sob. Fuck my life.
I wasn't this person. I wasn't the girl in the mask on the wall. I was fucking Katie Hale, graduated-with-honors-volunteered-at- the-animal –shelter-loves-fucking- tuna-sandwiches-and-shitty-Euro-trash-music –Katie-Hale.
I wasn't a killer.
I wasn't my dad.
I pressed my back up against the front of the sub shop, collapsed into a heap and began to cry harder. I only stopped when I heard voices. Okay, Katie, this shit's real. Gotham still isn't safe at night.
I really wished that I hadn't left my gun with Crane. Dammit, Katie.
From around the corner, they came. Six of them, boys. Younger, but I couldn't tell what age. They were smoking and laughing and speaking loudly.
"Such a cunt, man, I can't even believe she said that to you!" one of them said and – hold up, holy fucking shit, I know that voice.
"Mike?" I called out. I walked out of the shadows and wiped the tears off of my face. Sure as shit, one of them spun around. "Mike, what the fuck are you doing out here?" I asked him. All of his friends turned to look at him, expecting some kind of answer. He stood awkwardly before me, cigarette in hand and face flushed and shocked.
Then he broke into a grin. "I could say the same to you," he said. I curled my hands into fists. I was good. I had practiced. I was a fucking terror of the night out here, not some stupid little kid.
"Michael Hale, you get the fuck back home now," I commanded.
"Wait, is that your druggie sister?" one of Mike's friends asked in a slurred voice. Then he laughed. They all laughed. I was at a loss of words.
"I'm not a druggie!" I asserted. What the fuck had he been telling people? Someone was in for the ass-whooping of a lifetime.
And then it hit me – I hadn't really been very open with my nighttime comings and goings to my family. I had been… I had been a little shit. My poor mom, she must have been. I swallowed my guilt. I couldn't deal with that right now.
"Katie, you're a fucking mess," someone said to me. It was my brother, and it wasn't. It was her, too.
"No!" I screamed. I wasn't. I wasn't that person, I –
I ran.
I'd say that I ran all the way home, but that'd be a lie for dramatic effect. I wasn't that in shape. I ran for like, two blocks, then I slowed into a jog and then I walked the rest of the way, in between crying and sniffling.
When I got home, the door was locked. I pounded on it. My mother answered it in her night gown, with a candle. She looked like shit.
"Katie?" She sounded shocked.
"Mom!" I blubbered. "I'm so sorry, I'm such a bad daughter, I'm such a bad – " I broke into a fresh round of sobbing.
I collapsed into her, and she let me.
i apologize for the late chapter update. i try to update once a day, but i had to skip a day and i may have to in the future.
my grandfather's very ill and there's a funeral coming up that's unavoidable. not to be a downer, that's just the facts.
anyways, i do hope you like this chapter! the next few do have some sweet, sweet Jonathan Crane action, so don't you worry!