He was tired, after all. Even in the strangest of scenarios, the human body will find some way to sleep.
He used his free hand to remove his glasses and set them somewhere on the floor, although he could not bend his body to see exactly where. With a soft resigned sigh, he tried to settle into a position that would at least allow him a few hours of rest before he was brutally murdered.
However, he still felt nervous which made sleep hard to come by. He had yet to come up with a solution to this situation, something that had not happened before to his knowledge, and he was understandably jittery. Small soft movements became jerky, quick things that felt wrong and only served to make him more uncomfortable. So he stopped moving entirely.
His entire body felt as if he was on fire, tingles shooting through his arm as the blood continued to drain from it. He was introduced to several new kinds of sensations through this experience, actually. After a period of time he could almost feel geometric shapes of pain spreading and rising through various areas of his arm. At that point, however, he blamed this new perception on a lack of sleep and general mental unrest.
He leaned against the couch cushions with his head bent at an uncomfortable angle, utterly miserable. Johnny, however, was sleeping quite soundly. His eyes were shut tightly and his arms were curled across his chest. Even in his sleep Johnny seemed to be protecting himself from some unknown assailant.
Enjoy it while you can, Edgar. This is probably the last time you'll ever see him like this. Asleep, I mean.
Edgar tried to slow his breathing and clear his mind, struggling to bring sleep to him. However, it seemed rather reluctant to come, so he focused on other trivial things, hoping to bore his mind into a quieter state. The television was still on but Edgar had begun to block that out. The pictures were fuzzy, even with his glasses, and he had no interest in the programming. Once he began to ignore the incessant noise of the television and pay more attention to his surroundings, he could feel the faintest vibration through the floor. Some kind of machinery, he supposed...he knew this house extended deep into the earth, although he had no idea how far. It was possible that something below him...
Johnny's head rested upon his shoulder, tilted towards the television screen. Not only had Edgar lost the feeling to the majority of his body, the only position that he could find for his head happened to just be in range of Johnny's hair. A few irritating strands brushed against his face when their breathing slipped into the right pattern, a constant reminder that he was going to die in a few hours.
He found himself unconsciously matching Johnny's breathing. That was somewhat peculiar, but not entirely illogical when he thought about it. His mind was searching for ways to drift off to sleep and found an alternative to counting sheep.
When Johnny breathed, he could feel the bones in his back moving against his arm even in its deadened state. During deep breaths or sighs, he could feel a bone move sharply out of place, Johnny's body shifting position unwillingly along with it. The bone thudded back when he breathed out.
He was definitely too thin.
Eventually, his breathing matched along with his unwilling companion's, Edgar managed to drift off to sleep. It was fitful and filled with disturbing dreams, but that did not really surprise him.
He woke up when fingers wrapped tightly around his throat.
Edgar blinked and stared blearily upwards at the vague face above him, unable to discern any detailed emotion.
Then again, that was not really necessary.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
The grip around his neck tightened meaningfully and Edgar coughed. It was not tight enough to choke, but it was certainly tight enough to get his attention.
Now that he had come back to consciousness, his arm began to hurt as feeling came back. Keeping it still was painful enough, but moving it felt a million times worse. This, coupled with the threatened death-by-asphyxiation, made it difficult to concentrate.
Keep calm and be rational...
"You fell asleep while we were watching TV." Edgar glanced at the screen. He couldn't see any colors...maybe it was off. "You kind of...fell on me. I would've moved you, but I didn't want to wake you up-"
"Didn't want to-" The fierce tightening around his neck this time caused a serious lack of air. Edgar now couldn't help but gag, his body reacting out of his control. His arms lifted feebly to try and fight Johnny, to defend himself in some way, but Edgar forced them back down quickly. That was not his solution to the problem. "Didn't want to-? Haven't I made it pretty fucking clear that I fucking hate sleeping! What- haven't you been paying any attention at all?"
"I'm...aware...of that..." Edgar struggled to both breath and keep his voice steady underneath the current pressure. His arm twitched involuntarily as the pain slowly began to fade. Johnny noted the desperate gasps for air between Edgar's words and reluctantly lessened the pressure. Taking deep breaths thankfully, Edgar hoped that his thin, raspy voice would sound apologetic. "I didn't know how you'd react if you woke up that way."
I don't think mentioning that he needs sleep would be a good idea.
Johnny glared at him but that was all Edgar was able to discern without his glasses. Slowly the grip around his neck loosened further and finally left altogether, although Johnny's voice made it clear that he was not safe.
"How I'd react."
Edgar took a deep breath, holding it for a few moments in case his air would again be cut off. Again, his hand raised, although this time it naturally wanted to inspect his throat. He fought that urge away without any outward sign as he tried to further defuse the situation.
"I didn't want to startle you."
"Waking up to this startled me pretty good, don't you think?" Johnny hissed at him, although the anger in his voice had diminished.
"If I could have, I would've moved you. But I was trapped. There was nothing I could do."
"Well, why were you there at all?" Johnny was staring at him so intensely that Edgar dared not break eye contact to search for his glasses. "Why didn't you go home, Edgar?"
There was a great deal of anger and hatred in Johnny's voice, particularly when pronouncing his name.
The bear trap has sprung. Congratulations, you're stupid.
"I didn't..." Edgar struggled to find words that would pacify the maniac. "I thought maybe if I left while we were watching TV, you'd think I didn't want to be here."
That's technically true.
You make it sound like it's because you care about him. You just didn't want him to kill you. That obviously didn't work.
Johnny sat back on his heels while he continued to stare at him. His knees were bent and touching his shoulders, his arms resting on the couch between his legs. He looked very much like a cat.
"You want to be here." Johnny's voice made it painfully clear that he did not believe him. Edgar did not blame him.
"I-"
"You're just like-!" Johnny hissed suddenly, moving forward with blinding speed until Edgar was pressed against the arm of the couch, struggling to breathe as the fingers again closed around his throat. "Just like the others-...you lying..."
Edgar wheezed, struggling to think of anything coherent while his oxygen supply was being cut off. Johnny was close enough now that he could see his facial expression and, curiously enough, he had the distant expression that was common during pauses in conversation.
He was listening again.
Edgar struggled to breathe as Johnny very slowly looked down, apparently thinking deeply about something. Eventually his head dipped so far that Edgar could no longer see his face, just the top of his head. The grip around his neck loosened and Johnny moved backwards, falling back into the same catlike pose as before. Now with shoulders hanging loose and his face hidden, the previously predatory cat looked almost mournful.
"Why aren't you scared of me."
Another non-question.
"What?"
What is he talking about? It's pretty obvious you're scared of him I think.
"Why didn't you run? I attacked you last night...tried to kill you..." One of the hands rose slowly to Johnny's face, fingers running near his eyes before eventually taking residence buried deep in his hair. "I tried to kill you now...what are you doing? Why are you doing this? Why aren't you scared of me?"
Don't be honest.
"I am scared of you to some degree."
I said don't be honest!
Edgar slowly rubbed at his bruised windpipe now that Johnny did not seem to be paying attention. Edgar watched him silently, again finding himself scrambling for the elusive soothing words that he could never fully grasp, and Johnny lowered himself slowly downwards towards the couch, almost as if falling in slow-motion.
Don't be honest, don't do this, you're so close to getting away, don't do this-
"You frighten me a lot, really. Like...now for example." Still slowly falling downwards. The descent ended with Johnny on his side, curled into a fetal position with one hand still tangled in his hair. "When you attack me like this. But...I know..." I don't know. "You're an intelligent guy and I know..." You DON'T know. "I mean...it's...it kind of balances out."
You're so bad at this.
"I do enjoy spending time with you to some extent-"
You're a liar, Edgar. That's not the reason at all. It's because Johnny's the only friend you have. He's the only friend you have and you NEED friends, Edgar, you NEED them, so you're clinging to him and it's eventually going to get you killed-
That's not true at all. I don't feel lonely, I don't need friends, and I'm not going to lie to get out of this.
In the pause that followed as Edgar mentally debated which course in the conversation to take, Johnny uncurled slightly, enough so that Edgar could note his face, although still could not make out his expression. He could see the wide dark eyes staring at him apathetically.
"You're scared of me."
Edgar was, ironically enough, frightened to respond. Eventually he managed to nod. Johnny curled back into himself.
What's he doing? What is he doing? Am I...what should I do? Should I say something? This isn't good at all.
Oh no, the mean Edgar made the poor serial killer cry. Waa waa. Let's call a hotline.
I swear to god, if you say one more thing-
You're talking to yourself, remember? You should get your glasses while he's not watching.
Finally deciding that that at least was a good piece of advice, Edgar looked over the edge of the couch and felt around for a few moments before finally finding the missing spectacles. With the world back in focus, Edgar again felt the same surge of confidence that he had experienced before. This was becoming increasingly...predictable. At least that was one thing he could depend on.
Johnny was still curled into a ball on the couch, although now he was trembling almost imperceptibly. Although he had only moved his attention to something else for a few seconds, Edgar felt somewhat guilty that he had not been giving the maniac his full attention. This, obviously, was not one of his better moods.
"Nny?"
"Not...yet..." Whispered, angry words. Edgar paused awkwardly for a moment before nervously moving a little closer to him.
"I'm sorry...what?"
"I didn't want to go to sleep...I hate sleeping..." Johnny refused to look at him, breathing heavily into himself, his face still hidden. His words were laced with anger and betrayal. "Why did you let me do that?"
"I'm sorry." Edgar struggled to think of something to say as he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. He guessed that in a normal relationship, he would have perhaps put a hand on Johnny's shoulder or otherwise touched him in some comforting way, but he knew that Johnny seemed to dislike being touched. That was the general impression he had got from him at least. That and he still felt nervous being close to him. "I'll make a note of it, if you want. I won't let it happen again."
What? What does that mean? Does that mean you're going to let this become a regular thing?
I just want to calm him down-
Liar liar-
Stop it, this isn't the time-
Johnny suddenly tensed, all of his muscles tightening and shivering, but he kept his face hidden.
"Get out."
The anger in his voice made the thorns more noticeable and painful. Edgar moved away from him slowly, trying to be as smooth and silent as possible. He was not about to disobey.
"Get out now. I don't want to talk to you anymore."
Edgar now stood, backing his way towards the door quickly. Not wanting Johnny to be under the impression of him still being present, Edgar ventured to speak in a soft, calm voice. "Alright."
Johnny abruptly leapt out of his curled position, claws grasping at where Edgar had been only a moment before. Unprepared for his absence, Johnny lashed out frantically at where Edgar should have been before he clumsily fell against the couch. He propped himself up on the armrest and struggled to regain his lost dignity and grace as he glared at Edgar with unconcealed hatred. When he finally spoke, his voice was furious, shrill, and almost panicked.
"Get OUT!"
Edgar scrabbled behind him desperately for the doorknob, hoping that Johnny would not continue his failed lunge towards him. The door slid open and Edgar ran outside, slamming the door behind him.
From inside he heard an incoherent scream of rage, followed by the sound of something breaking.
I think he took that rather well.
Edgar was in his car and away as fast as he could possibly go.
And you said he was your friend.
Edgar was sitting in his room the day after he had left the psychotic man's house, still running over what had happened in his mind. Johnny's behavior, as always, was a mystery to him, particularly his reaction when he had woken up.
Perhaps he was as mutable as he claimed to be...that when he woke, he had found or was displaying an entirely new personality.
It was far more likely that Johnny was just exceptionally angry and wanted Edgar out. He found that was more logically leaning towards the latter option.
I don't understand.
How many times do you have to go over this?
Edgar toyed with Scriabin's arms, listening to the soft squeaking sounds of plastic moving against plastic.
I want to understand. I don't care how long it takes.
Oh! This is my favorite show! Oh wait, it's a repeat. Never mind.
I'm going to ignore that. So how did it begin...I went over and he asked me to kill him...
That's right.
And he said it was because he cared about me to some degree.
Not exactly. He said he didn't want to kill you.
Different definitions.
Not in my opinion.
...He said he wanted me to kill him and I refused. He attacked me in an effort to force me to do so. At least I know he was sincere in...not wanting to kill me, if that's how you want to phrase it.
I think that keeps it in perspective.
So I knocked him out...when he came to, he apologized and asked if I wanted to watch TV.
Another point in favor of his personality changing whenever he wakes up.
I think that's something of a misleading answer. I think Johnny's just...
Insane.
...In so many words.
One word.
At any rate, we watched some television and he fell asleep.
On you.
That was an accident.
Doesn't change anything.
Edgar sighed to himself and rolled his eyes.
When he woke up, he tried to kill me again. He obviously didn't like waking up that way.
Who would?
So then I tried to explain why I hadn't moved him-
Don't ignore me.
I wouldn't if you had anything of importance to say.
...But he did not accept my explanation...he was confused. He asked me why.
You didn't give him a good answer.
...I didn't...
You didn't know the answer.
...When he was curled up like that...I thought maybe I could...
What? Take advantage of it? Talk to him when he's not angry? Exploit those moments when he doesn't want to kill? More safety for you, more pain for him.
That's not what I meant...
Or is it because that kind of silence, that sadness and longing that you're so very attracted to, was quite similar to how he looked at the movie?
Edgar paused and looked up from the toy in his hands to the wall, although that was not what he was focusing on.
Pictures flashed through his mind rapidly, small snippets of memories. The happiness at the theater. The sadness on the couch. The loneliness in his voice. The childish joy when he asked if he would watch television with him.
But happiness and sadness kept flashing back and forth.
Back and forth.
Happiness and sadness-
Have you ever felt that way, Edgar?
Edgar's eyes drifted down again until they rested on Scriabin's plastic form. His arms were resting at his side, although the general unthreatening effect of this was negated by his permanent hold on the plastic gun.
Have you ever really felt at all, Edgar?
...I don't understand. What are you getting at?
You really pride yourself on being better, you know that. You almost had it in the theater. You almost realized how much of a self-absorbed prick you are. But instead, you just lapsed back into it again.
If anyone is trying to view Nny as something less than human, it's you. You're constantly reminding me that he's insane and he should be avoided. I don't think you have any place-
That's off the topic. The point is you feel better than others. No...that's not even the point. Think about it. Think about it, Edgar. That rush of emotion on his face, those tears. When have you cried, Edgar? When have you ever wanted to kill? Wanted to rip someone apart? When have you curled into a ball and shivered?
You've never done those things. Not that you can recall. You're an empty shell of a man, Edgar. You feel nothing. You even felt nothing in the face of your impending death, and the entire purpose of life is to avoid dying. The maniac that you felt so pleasantly above, that you're studying in such a scientific and detached manner now in an effort to understand his emotions, can feel things. He can feel things you only read and see but never experience.
Johnny may go back and forth wildly amidst a range of emotions, but at least he has those emotions at all, Edgar. You only veer between mild fear and alarm to vague sadness. That annoyance at the theater was the closest thing to becoming human you've felt in a long time. Why do you stay with Johnny, Edgar? Why don't you feel lonely?
I-
You. Why? You couldn't answer me before.
I-
Why don't you feel anything, Edgar? Is it because you have to understand everything, and emotion can only complicate understanding? Why haven't you pushed Johnny away? You can't understand him.
But you envy him, Edgar.
That's ridiculous.
You envy him because he can feel things. He can feel enough to do something about it.
I don't envy him. God, why would I? Nny lives a terrible life. From what I've gathered, from his misery at sleep to his general hatred of mankind, he hates his life and wants to end it. He wanted to commit suicide, remember? He wanted me to help. He's hardly happy. I don't want to be Nny. God, I wouldn't want to be Nny for anything.
You'd rather just be a shell pretending to have some kind of meaningful existence.
I don't want to be miserable.
And yet you continue to be friends with Johnny. You said before it was because you wanted to help him. That's made you miserable so far, hasn't it?
Are you putting Johnny before yourself? Why is that?
I'm not-
You're putting his concerns before yours because his concerns are valid, they're real. They have to do with real emotions, real pure emotions that grip you, make you scream. His concerns are real. He's a real person. What are you? A figment flittering at the edge of vision, forgotten easily by everyone and by yourself.
I'm not having this conversation. Why am I talking to myself like this?
Alright, let's change the topic. Does it bother you that much? That you doubt yourself this way?
...It's annoying when you won't shut up.
It doesn't bother you to think that whatever opinions you have are worthless, does it? Does it bother you I can find the errors in everything you do?
Yes.
That's too bad.
...Where did you come from?
What?
Where did you come from?
I'm you, Edgar.
...What are you?
A pessimist. But I'm so much more.
Edgar stared at the plastic action figure in his hands. He mouthed words silently to himself as he waged the mental battle.
Who are you?
I think we already went over this.
I...don't think you're...me anymore.
Oh, that's very mature. You don't like being doubted and you don't like it when I'm right, so make me another person and then they're just wrong, and you're just right. Can't be right and wrong at once. There's no gray for you.
I...I don't...
Maybe at some point you'll understand. I'm here to help you. That's what you made me for. To help you think. But I am you, you know. I'll always be a part of you.
...Where are you?
It's hard to give myself a direct location. Your brain might work for now-
No...no, this isn't me. This isn't me. This can't be who I'm becoming. You can't be me.
Denial, Edgar. Denial. You've been doing this a lot.
No, you're not me. You're not me...I don't do this. I don't think like this. You're something else...
Feel any better now? Do you? You can keep saying it, but that doesn't make it true.
Edgar put Scriabin back beside his phone, raising his other hand to massage at his forehead. A headache was forming now that didn't help his concentration.
Please help me...lord in heaven help me...I'm so confused...
There is no god, Edgar.
Edgar turned sharply and focused on the plastic figurine, who stood perpetually in the motion of moving out of the way, his arms unnaturally pushed down by his sides. Edgar lashed out, sending Scriabin flying across the room into the opposite wall with a fairly loud noise. Edgar watched him fall on the carpet with extremely mixed feelings, but the most predominant of which was anger.
"Don't say that." Words came from his mouth without thought as he stared at the toy on his floor.
There was silence. Nothing came in response to his words.
It only lasted for a few seconds before the phone began to ring.
Startled, Edgar's brief flash of anger faded to be replaced with surprise and confusion. He picked up the phone cautiously, still remembering their parting words with perfect clarity.
I don't want to talk to you anymore.
He knew he was lying.
"Nny...?"
"Thank you."
...
For what?
"Um..."
"For the coat."
Edgar stood there for few minutes blinking before it came back to him. He hung his coat on a nail near the doorway...in his rush to leave he had forgotten to pick it up again.
He thinks it's for him...
"...Um...that's okay...I'm...glad you like it."
He's not going to believe me.
"I thought maybe you forgot." The anger was gone now, replaced with quiet puzzlement. Johnny had not expected this. Understandable. "...with what happened at the mall...and everything."
"I know." Edgar ran a hand through his hair as a sudden stinging began beneath his eyes. Distracted by the current conversation, Edgar scratched absent-mindedly at the general area as he tried to phrase his words. "But...you did say you wanted a coat..."
"I...I didn't think...I don't know why...why you gave it to me. It's...long. It's...too long."
Another hole in the story. Why is he falling for this?
"I...I don't understand, Edgar."
"That...that's okay. I said that I wanted to..." Edgar reviewed his original planned words and decided not to continue. Rephrase, reword, remove. "You said you kind of considered me your friend. I felt the same way, so...I thought maybe that coat would help make it...a reality for you."
That was not my best choice of words.
"A reality..."
A long pause.
Edgar, no longer having Scriabin to entertain him, just stared at the toy's new place on the floor. He found himself narrowing his eyes at it as if it was the source of his confusion. More stinging underneath his eyes. More idle scratching to get rid of the persistent itch.
Johnny's voice had almost a wondrous quality to it. "Something to hold on to..."
"Yeah..." That hadn't occurred to him. Johnny now had something of Edgar's, something physical and real. "I'm...I'm glad you like it."
"Something...to hold on to...something...that won't leave..." Johnny seemed to be talking to himself at this point.
That's what he was having trouble with before...
Edgar decided to wait until he felt comfortable interceding.
"Edgar..."
"Yes?"
"I...need to ask you something. Well...several things, actually. But...most importantly..."
A very long pause. Edgar felt as if he needed to say something and decided on the words he felt would be the most encouraging and least intimidating. "I'll try to help you if I can."
Another shorter pause, then a dark whisper across the plastic barrier. "Help me...yes..."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I...there's...I've been..." Awkward, half-started sentences. Edgar remembered these. "I was...the...I can't...I was wondering..."
"Yes?" Edgar leaned back against his headboard, wondering how long it would take Johnny to find his words or the courage required to give them voice. It was strange to think of someone who could kill so many could be...almost shy.
"I want to...to..." Edgar waited and the itching underneath his eyes grew in intensity. It was almost becoming more than an annoyance now. Before he could give it further thought, Johnny decided to continue. "I want to turn off..."
"Turn off...?" Not suicide again, please...not suicide again, I can't-
"More...specifically...I want you to turn me off and...and fix me. I can't...do this alone anymore I'm...I'm...not...not sane."
Before Edgar could speak, Johnny cut him off, his words broken with pained and quick breaths. "I'm not sane and you know that. But...I'm not...I can't control my own...insanity so I wanted you to...let me...stay...with you. For a little while. Even only for a night. I want to turn everything off and...I want everything off. Everything off and quiet. I want...to...know why I'm...why I can't..."
"Nny, I..."
Say no. Say no.
"Nny, I...if you really want to, I guess you can stay here for a while...I don't think anyone would mind, and it sounds like you...could really use the time."
No.
Shut up. Just when I thought you left...
"Are you sure?" The relief in Johnny's voice prompted a small smile for Edgar although he was not sure why. "I...I'm...dangerous. Last time I...but...I don't...have anyone else I could really talk to..."
"It's okay, don't..." He scratched underneath his eyes again, lazily glancing at his fingers as they moved back down.
They were covered in blood.
"Oh f- oh my god-"
"What?" Johnny almost sounded concerned, although his tone was on the whole curious. "What happened?"
"Um-" Edgar stared at his fingertips in disbelief. Blood caught undeneath his nails, across the pads of his fingers, thickening and turning brown in the air. Now that his body had finally succeeded in attracting his attention, he could clearly feel small beads running down his face. He opened his mouth twice before he was able to force quick words from it. "I can't talk right now, I have to take care of something, but feel free to come over any time you want, alright? I'll see you then."
Edgar hung up as he stared at his hand with a growing sense of alarm.
How did this happen? Why didn't I feel this? Scratching never did this before, why couldn't I tell they reopened? I shouldn't be able to, why did they open now? I wasn't even scratching that hard, I thought they healed, I thought they wouldn't do this anymore, what's happening, what is happening...?
Edgar washed his face off in front of his bathroom mirror, the beginning streaks of blood leaving surprisingly stubborn stains. After he stopped bleeding and his face was relatively clean, he leaned in close to the mirror to stare at his reflection. He raised a hand to touch the now clean wounds.
Why did that happen? Why did that happen?
He found himself mouthing the words as he stared at the reflection of his hands, his fingers hiding the grooves beneath his eyes.
Why...?
The glass gave him no answers.