Does he know where I live?

Of course he knows where you live-

No, I mean...does he know which apartment is mine?

I'm assuming he would, considering he abducted you without trouble last time.

Edgar was alternately pacing in the front room of his apartment and sitting on the couch, too nervous to sit still and think rationally. He narrowed his eyes at his mind's sarcastic response and glanced back through the open door of his room. He had put Scriabin back near the phone, again feeling almost as if something was wrong if the toy was not in its appointed place.

God, this is a terrible idea...this is a terrible idea. Why did I agree to this? Why did I let him talk me into this?

Oh right, that's exactly how it went. Johnny begged and begged and begged, but the cruel overlord Edgar refused his request! You love shifting blame, don't you? Johnny barely had to ask before you practically arranged a sleep-over. 'I'm not lonely', pff.

"You have a gift for exaggerating things until they're both pointless and stupid." Edgar mumbled underneath his breath after sitting down on the couch again. His hands raised to his face and automatically searched beneath his eyes. Not trusting the wounds, they were now covered with Band-Aids. Edgar felt he looked ridiculous with a bandage under each eye, but he preferred that to bleeding in the middle of a conversation.

"What am I going to do?" Now that his previous words had found audible voice, the rest of his concerns decided to follow suit. "God, I'm not prepared for this, I can't do- god, I'm not even exactly sure what it is he wants. How am I supposed to 'turn him off'?"

You see, there's this little switch on the back of his neck-

"Shut up."

The sudden knock on the door startled Edgar badly enough that he almost fell off the couch. He overcompensated in his recovery, his arms wheeling for a few moments as he veered from one extreme to the other. As if he was in front of anyone that could be embarassed. He brushed himself off as he tried to calm down, taking a deep breath and hoping that he wouldn't look like too much of a nervous wreck.

He opened the door with shaking hands. Johnny had been looking down the hallway with what seemed like bored curiosity, amusing himself until he was allowed entrance. When the door was fully open, Johnny turned around. As soon as Edgar met eyes with him, Johnny lowered his own to the floor, one hand grasping the other behind his back.

"Hello. Um..." His hand moved jerkily upwards, then fell again without a clear purpose. Johnny met Edgar's eyes several times, but each time held it for only a few seconds before looking away. "I'm...here."

Even Edgar was able to tell that was not what he intended to say, but he felt that the moment was awkward enough without bringing it up. He stepped back and out of the way.

"C'mon in."

Edgar shut the door, noticing that his previous energy had somehow dissipated. Something about Johnny's apologetic stance almost...calmed him down.

That's...strange.

It's a step down from homicidal, right?

Johnny stood in the center of the room, holding onto his upper arms tightly as he looked upwards. He seemed very out of place, black and dark blue against an overwhelming sea of off-white and gray.

Silence.

Edgar was not sure what to say. Although this was his home and he should theoretically have an advantage in this situation, he still felt as awkward and physically vulnerable as always.

The apartment almost seemed to swallow up the maniac's words, thin and soft and almost confused.

"It's clean."

Johnny stood as close to the direct center of the room as possible. Edgar saw his hands shaking with the intensity of his grip, knuckles steadily turning white against white sleeves.

"Yeah..." Edgar stepped away from the door and made his way towards him slowly. "I have a lot of free time, so..."

Edgar paused for a moment, struggling to bring more mundane thoughts to mind regarding Johnny's presence.

"You...didn't bring a bag or anything."

"Oh." Johnny looked at him in surprise, as if this semi-question had reminded him of where he was. "I didn't think I'd need one. It's only a night. I'll be fine."

All he would have is a change of clothes anyway, right?

Or maybe eight severed heads.

Johnny turned his head and surveyed the room carefully, almost as if looking for something.

"Um...if you want...I can show you around. There's not much to see really...although..."

You've already seen it before, haven't you? You're looking for things that have changed.

"That's okay..." It was hard to hear his voice now as the white almost absorbed it, muffled it. "I'm..."

"Are you okay?" Edgar noticed the door to his room was open and decided to fix that. He looked over at Johnny who was currently staring at the carpet. "You're really...distant."

Johnny finally let go of one of his arms to place a trembling hand on his forehead. "Yeah...I've been thinking a lot..."

"...Can I ask what about?"

"It's...really complicated. Really...really complicated."

Edgar shrugged and smiled softly. "...We do have all night."

"Right..." Johnny looked away from him, a stray finger falling in front of now-closed eyes. "You're right." His thin shoulders rose and fell.

"I'm going to tell you a lot of things that aren't going to make any sense." Johnny's voice now fell into a familiar rhythm, the pattern indicating planned, conjoined thought. "I'm going to tell you this because you'll listen and you can't do anything to hurt me. You're like a wall. But not like the other wall." Johnny's last words came quickly and his eyes darted back and forth.

He thinks you're a wall. He thinks you're a wall. Remind me again, why do you still talk to this person?

"I've listened before, I can listen now. I'll try and understand if I can." Edgar sat down on the couch, wondering if Johnny would follow his lead. Johnny watched his progress without expression. After a short pause, the maniac finally moved to one of the chairs away from Edgar. He sat down quickly, hunching his shoulders forward and gripping the seat cushion between his knees. His eyes remained fixed to the carpet.

"Alright...I don't know if you'll understand, but that's okay. You let me talk last time and that helped, even if you didn't..." Johnny narrowed his eyes. "That's gone now. But I have to speak now, or else I feel like I'll just..."

Johnny took a deep breath and held out his hands. "Starting over."

Edgar nodded.

"I...I mentioned reality falling apart for me. Now it's only getting worse. Worse and worse. I can't find any logical reasons behind my actions anymore. I feel like I'm becoming someone else. Like...I am someone else. Other people know why they do things, why they would decapitate a person or otherwise maim people but now I don't know why. Everything is getting...complicated, like...I'm not sure why I'm doing anything anymore. Are you listening?"

Edgar nodded again, unaware of the thoughtful look on his face as he stared at Johnny. Johnny stared at him for a few moments, as if making sure that he would not interject or make some kind of suggestion about his narrative, then continued.

"I don't know why I'm killing people anymore. I don't know who I am. I...It's like I have no past. I just exist and I just exist to kill people, but that can't be right. You don't just burst into life without any explanation. I know that I had a past but I can't remember it. I was talking with someone and they said that a long time ago, I used to paint. I used to do things and I used to know why, but I still can't remember anything."

Talking with who?

"I feel like I'm losing control. Like...my actions have no meaning and I have no control over them. Like some kind of massively malfunctioning machine...that's what I meant before." Johnny pointed at Edgar. "About turning me off."

Edgar nodded. It all tied together. "I see your point."

"But...I'm also worried about my own..." Johnny paused and looked up, smiling in an unnatural and false way. "My own insanity." The smile quickly faded. "I know some of my voices are real, I can recognize them...they've been with me for a long time. But I feel like someone is using me...using my insanity for some kind of purpose I don't understand. The wall...someone is using me to paint that wall and I don't know why, I don't know why I let it do that. Fuck. I hate...not knowing like this. I hate not being in control. I hate being some broken thing raging against everything without really knowing why. I hate being...being broken."

Before Edgar could speak, Johnny cut him off, his voice rising. "I tried to remove myself from humanity but it keeps getting drawn to me, those stupid worthless people keep finding me, keep torturing me and I keep trying to get away, to try and live some kind of dysfunctional life at best but it keeps happening. Everyone out there is out to get me, out to make me miserable, and this is how that wall was able to get me, able to control me. It used those people, my hatred of those people to control me, and...and...!"

Johnny had ranged from furious and indignant to despairing and desperate throughout his story and ended up without anything. His voice broke with a mixture of several emotions and he clenched his fists tightly, glaring at Edgar as if this was somehow his fault.

"I tried so hard to get away and I got nowhere!"

Tears.

He's crying again. You should do something about that.

"Nny..."

Johnny's angry look instantly vanished and was replaced with quiet astonishment. From his puzzled expression, he had again forgotten Edgar was there.

That or he didn't expect your voice.

Johnny's next question seemed to be an invitation to join his rambling thoughts. "Do you ever wonder if the voices in your head are really yours?"

Are really yours...?

Who are you?

I'm you.

Edgar shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He would sort through all that later when he had the time. Now there was something more important to worry about.

"Listen...I know-...actually, that's not true. I don't know. I really can't understand what you're going through. I've never...experienced something like that. But...I can understand why you feel the way you do...kind of."

Johnny stared at him as if Edgar speaking should not have been scientifically possible.

"I...I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure what to say. I don't know what words would make you feel better...if it means anything, I saw some of the paintings you did a long time ago. They were...really good." Edgar adjusted his glasses self-consciously. "If anything it means you have the capability to do great things...you just focused on...a strange field."

Johnny slowly tilted his head to one side and stared at Edgar with a strange intensity. Edgar felt himself beginning to shake involuntarily as Johnny stopped blinking.

"I wish I knew how to 'turn you off'...I'm not exactly sure what you mean. But if you have any suggestions...I'd be quite open to them. I really do want to help you if I can...I'll give it..."

Edgar trailed off, unable to focus with Johnny staring at him in such a fascinated way.

"Um...are you listening?"

"Where'd those bandages come from?"

Edgar sighed.

"The cuts under my eyes...opened again. I'm not really sure why-"

"Are you afraid of me?"

Edgar blinked at the sudden change in topic before he shrugged. "Right now?"

Johnny nodded.

Edgar adjusted his glasses again, running through his feelings before deciding to give what he hoped was an honest and helpful answer. "Not right now, exactly. I feel very nervous, but...not afraid."

"Really?" Johnny smiled at him in a strange way. "You're my friend, right?"

"Um...yes, but-"

"Do you trust me?"

The eagerness in Johnny's voice put him on edge. He felt another twinge of nervousness and caution guided his next words. "...Not quite yet. You did try to kill me..."

Edgar was going to add a number, but found that he could not count each experience on the spur of the moment.

"Oh." Johnny sat back, sounding a little disappointed. "I was just curious."

"You've asked me that question a few times now." Edgar wondered if this was really the topic he should be pursuing, but decided to follow it anyway. "I mean...I'm not going to really trust you for a while...not unless you prove yourself to me somehow, though I don't know how...and besides, you're...you're insane. You said so yourself."

I can't believe you're saying this. What's gotten into you?

I don't know...

"Good point." Johnny smiled at him. "Now I'm hungry."

Edgar stared at him blankly until Johnny stood.

"What do you have?"

"Uh..." He struggled to regain his composure. Every time Johnny did something like this he was always caught off-guard. "You can look in the kitchen if you want...I haven't gone out shopping in a while though, so I'm not sure if...there's anything in...there that you would want..."

Edgar found his words trailing off as he watched Johnny move. The thin man originally walked briskly over to the kitchen but had slowed with each step, staring downwards at his boots more intently until he finally stopped altogether.

He froze in position, hands poised in midair. Edgar slowly walked closer to him, not trusting this sudden change in his behavior.

"Are you okay?"

"...It's quiet."

Edgar thought about this for a moment before deciding to move into the kitchen. This was partly so he could inspect what he had to eat himself, but partly because he hoped to get a better look at Johnny's expression.

Johnny waited until Edgar was in front of him before he slowly raised his head, staring at him with wide eyes. "It's...quiet. They're...gone."

"You mean...?" Edgar didn't know how to phrase his next words correctly, so gestured vaguely upwards instead. He immediately regretted doing so seconds afterwards, but of course he made neither emotion visible. Johnny stared at him with a mixture of fear and relief before reluctantly moving from his frozen state to join him in the tiled kitchen.

"It's...no one's talking to me anymore. Where...do you think...?" Johnny moved past Edgar swiftly, having apparently regained his focus, and began to rummage through the cupboards. "Do you think it was just the wall the whole time? I know the doughboys are the wall's now, it gives them power...do you think their influence only goes so far? I still don't hear anything. Why is that?"

Johnny seemed to be talking half to himself and half to Edgar. Edgar awkwardly watched as Johnny shifted boxes of crackers and other small food items out of the way in a deliberate manner.

"I couldn't say. Do you feel better now-" Edgar jumped as a box hit the floor with a loud noise. He stared at Johnny but the maniac was not even paying attention to him, so he bent down and picked it up with a short sigh. He tried to remember what he had been saying. "Feel better now that nothing's...controlling you?"

"That's not it exactly." Johnny pulled a can out, stared at it, then dropped it carelessly. Edgar managed to catch it before it hit the counter with a tinge of irritation. Johnny continued his search uninterrupted. "I mean...I still want to kill people. It's just...it's very quiet."

So the voices don't tell him to kill. Good, that would have been rather cliché.

Since when was this a movie? Shut up.

Edgar caught a box of cookies as it left Johnny's hand, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice. Johnny did not take unreceptive or hostile audiences well. "So how is it different then?"

"Well..." Johnny smiled broadly as he finally found what he was looking for. "Ah! I knew it. I knew you had to have some. You seem like the kind of guy who would." Johnny put the can of pasta on the counter and began searching through drawers. "Everyone loves Skettios. I do."

"Nny..." Edgar began putting the misplaced items back in the cupboard as he tried to keep his patience. "How is it different?"

"Oh." Johnny's fingers glanced over the knives in the drawer before settling on a can-opener. "It's...well...it's complicated, like I said before. Whenever I felt something, I'd have all these voices giving me input about it. Telling me to be sad or happy or some emotion or reaction." Johnny seemed rather pleased at his find and his words were touched with an out-of-place carelessness. "Now they aren't there. It's very quiet. It's kind of scary."

"Oh." Edgar closed the cupboard and turned to face Johnny again, who had pulled the lid of the can off and was now searching for bowls. Edgar, not wanting to risk any more dishevelment of his kitchen, decided to help and handed him one. Johnny took it without any recognition of Edgar's involvement in the bowl's acquisition whatsoever. "...Are you okay?"

"Okay?" Johnny pressed buttons on the front of the microwave distractedly. "I'm never okay. But this is different. Very different. That can be a good thing sometimes."

"Alright...um..." Edgar moved to stand near him, although still a good distance away. Johnny stood, crossed his arms, and stared at the numbers on the display of the microwave with surprising focus. This level of concentration on Johnny's part seemed almost...worrisome. "Do you feel any better then?"

"I don't know." Johnny shrugged, although his eyes did not move. "I'm getting Skettios, so I guess that makes me happy. You ask a lot of questions."

"I know." Edgar felt another tinge of nervousness at the change in Johnny's tone, but with the level of concentration Johnny had invested in the microwave, he doubted that even such a potentially deadly statement could lead to an attack. "I mean...look. I'm not...a wall. I can't just be here and be silent. I can listen but...I can talk too. That's what a conversation is, really."

Yes, you certainly can't talk to yourself, can you?

Shut up.

Johnny twitched although he still did not move his eyes. "It just...it's not quiet, then. You're another voice."

"I don't want you to kill people though."

Jesus, what are you doing? Are you trying to provoke him?

Johnny twitched again and his fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt. Edgar quickly tried to recover, hoping that he hadn't made some grievous mistake.

"I mean...that didn't come out right. What I meant is that I don't want to control you or anything. If anything, I really kind of want you to be happy. It's...it's..."

Do NOT finish that sentence.

"Happy. I'm not happy." Johnny's voice was dark and low. Edgar stuck his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He faked a sigh to hide his fear.

"I know...out of curiosity...what does make you happy?"

Johnny blinked and was silent. One of the long pauses that were so common again found its place and Edgar stood awkwardly, watching Johnny's expression. It was frighteningly blank.

Beeping thankfully broke the silence and Johnny quickly took out the bowl. He turned and stared at him, his face still without expression. Edgar again felt nervous, felt the urge to back away, to get distance, to get away from danger. Johnny stared at him for a few seconds, then turned his attention down to the bowl in his hand. He licked one of his fingers that had strayed into the bowl's contents, then began to look for a fork.

"...There isn't much."

Edgar watched Johnny walk back into the living room after he found one, now ignoring him entirely. He followed him shortly afterwards with his hands still in his pockets, rubbing his fingers together in an effort to do something with all this nervous energy.

"I'm sorry if that was...I don't want to make you angry or anything. I'm just curious. You talk a lot about what you hate, but not so much about what you don't."

Johnny looked up at him from his vantage point on the couch. His voice was again, strangely monotone. "There isn't much. That's why."

"But there's something, right?"

Why are you still pursuing this? Are you going to get him what he wants? Go out on a nice picnic? Kill some picnickers? Where are you going with this?

"What are you thinking about?"

Edgar jerked at Johnny's sudden question, finding the frighteningly distant look transformed to misplaced curiosity. Another unpredictable mood swing.

"I'm just thinking to myself."

"I do that...that's all I do sometimes." Johnny paused as he chewed, then smiled brightly. "Well, other than kill people of course."

"Right." Edgar looked away, not sure of how else to respond. "That's...how it works sometimes."

That made no sense.

What was I supposed to say?

"You don't have a cat."

Again, the train of thought derails and kills someone.

"Um...no." Edgar blinked at Johnny who stared at him as if he had made a perfectly normal observation. "No, I don't."

"That's odd." Johnny shrugged and returned to eating. "You seem like a cat person to me."

"Really?" Edgar had never thought about getting a pet.

That would make you need a friend, wouldn't it? It'd be admitting you're lonely. And god, Edgar Vargas can't have that! No no no-

Shut UP!

"Yeah. This place is empty. It's very empty."

Edgar found himself thinking about Johnny's words probably more than the maniac himself had.

"You just seem like someone who would have a cat. A cat and a lot of books."

"Well, I do have books-"

"Not a lot of them though." Johnny paused, stared upwards for a moment, then again shrugged. "It looks like you'd get lonely here."

Edgar stared at Johnny in stunned silence.

Lonely...?

Johnny thinks I'm lonely?

Johnny thinks I'm lonely?

Well well, it looks like I'm not the only one. How many people have to say that before you realize it's true?

"I-I'm, I'm not lonely." Edgar stumbled over his words, something he was not too familiar with. Johnny looked at him quizzically. "I spend a lot of time by, by myself, but I'm not...I'm not lonely."

"I get lonely." Johnny's eyes fixed on his near-empty bowl. His voice was very soft. "Angry. I get lonely and angry."

"What do you do?"

As if you didn't know. What kind of question is that?

Johnny gave him a look as if the question was one of the easiest to answer in the entire world. "I try to kill myself of course. I'm lonely because everyone in this entire world is...I thought maybe I could find someone better over..." Johnny trailed off, his eyes dropping again back down to his bowl. "I could...find people I wouldn't hate."

"What stopped you?"

What on EARTH are you DOING? Poke a knife in Edgar, he's stupid!

Johnny had to think about this for a few seconds, then he replied in a calm and reasonable voice. "This commercial I really liked came on."

Edgar could not think of a response.

Johnny again seemed oblivious to Edgar's constant bafflement at his behavior. For the entirety of the silence that followed his statement he kept eye contact with Edgar, his expression unchanging. Waiting for him to say something.

The silence pressed on Edgar's nerves with increasing insistence and he could not stay quiet any longer. He broke eye contact along with the silence, raising one hand to gesture as if it could give his words the meaning that he wasn't sure would come across.

"I...I see."

Johnny smiled at his hesitant words.

"No you don't."

The look of surprise crossed Edgar's face again in only so many minutes, but finally he smiled in return. "I don't."

Johnny nodded as if he had won an argument, then turned towards Edgar's television. He looked at the blank screen for a few seconds before turning to Edgar with a questioning stare.

Edgar picked up the remote and pointed it at the television, but before he pressed the appropriate button, a question that had been bothering him unexpectedly came forth.

"You don't hate me, do you?"

In the silence that followed, Edgar turned slowly and found that Johnny's face frozen in an expression of utter and total disbelief. When he finally spoke, he sounded both confused and almost offended.

"No. No, I don't hate you."

Edgar turned on the television. Immediately, Johnny moved to the couch in front of it, his hand held out for the remote. Edgar gave it to him silently.

What does that mean?

What?

He said he tried to kill himself because he wanted to find something better. He wanted someone he didn't hate and now he has one.

What's he going to do with you, I wonder.

Author's Note: Thanks to Xel and LadyArtist fer beta-ing this and future chapters.