He locked her in a storage room in the basement. It was unfinished, with exposed brick and cement that was cold and smelled of mildew. He left the boxes that had previously been in the room stacked against the far side of the basement. He locked the room and put the key on the moulding above the door. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her. Being the local gravedigger didn't lend itself to a lot of home visitors, and being outside his small rural middle-of-nowhere town, his house had the advantage of being a good half mile from the neighbors.

With his newest letter, Sock felt forced into pleading.

"You've got your hands on the wrong man. I might tell you where an angel lies when the accused walks free."

Jonathan was released reluctantly from custody the next day. He said it wasn't because the police were doing what the Gravedigger wanted, but because the letter proved that he wasn't the killer, because he couldn't have sent them the letter while he was detained. Sock would always secretly think that the investigators were actually having fun with his game of letters and bodies.

It felt good to have fun with someone.

Jonathan was on the front step, looking impassive as usual, aside from the nervous foot tapping. Sock could see him from the backyard garden, where he was halfway through a hole to bury the girl in. He leaned on his shovel and shucked off his gloves, calling to Jonathan.

"What're you up to?" Jonathan asked once he was in arm's reach.

"Just some garden work."

"It looks like a grave."

"I only know how to dig one thing, and that's not going to stop me from growing flowers."

Jonathan smiled at that and Sock couldn't help it when a similar expression crossed his face.

"What're you doing here?" Sock asked casually.

"Oh, you know. I got out of custody a couple days ago. Lil said I should visit you."

"Lil, huh?"

"Yeah. You know she's been trying to set us up since day one, right?"

Oh, did he know. Sock flushed and hoped Jonathan attributed it to the digging. "I thought she was up to something."

They lapsed into a conversation about the sort of flowers in his garden. He was making room for coneflower and bee balm. The first looked like a purple daisy and the second like an evil red double-sided jellyfish abomination. It was cute. They were both deep-rooted native plants. He figured since he'd bury the girl underneath them, she'd decompose a little faster and the flowers would grow a little taller. It was how the flowers and shrubs planted over graves in Primrose Cemetery got to be so full and healthy despite families never tending to them. But then again, that didn't matter so much, because Jonathan had known that Lil was trying to set them up.

His mouth was making noises about flowers still but his brain was still hung up on Jonathan. Even though Jonathan had made it clear he wasn't in the market, Sock still thought he had the greatest blue diamond eyes and still fantasized about Jonathan killing with him. Jonathan didn't need to know about the last one, but Sock wondered if anyone in his limited social circle ever let Jonathan know how pretty he was. Or how smart, composed, and cool he was.

He was just going to say it. Jonathan would want him to get straight to the point.

"I had… Have a huge crush on you," he blurted out.

The regret was immediate. Sock braced for laughter and mockery but Jonathan just shrugged.

"I know," he said.

What? "You knew?"

"I guessed when you kind of alluded to killing yourself over the fact that I'm aromantic. By then it seemed pretty obvious to me."

Sock flushed more. Oh god, he'd been obvious.

"Don't worry about it, people can't help but be attracted to my manly charm."

He said it with such a sober tone that Sock laughed in surprise. Manly wasn't exactly what he thought when he imagined Jonathan.

Sock fluttered his eyelashes and gestured to the shovel wedged deep into the dirt. "Would the manly Jonathan help little old me dig a flower bed?"

Jonathan laughed and grappled with the shovel, struggling to lift it out of the earth. The best he could do was tugging it out of the ground without any dirt on it. Sock laughed.

"Hey, it's harder than it looks," Jonathan lamented, handing the shovel back to Sock, who twirled it like it was a plastic straw and struck it deep into the dirt again.

"I'm sure it is," he said.

"Seriously though. Do you want some help digging?"

Sock considered it. It wasn't exactly his dream of Jonathan as an accomplice to murder, but he was helping dig the girl's grave, even if he didn't know it. He nodded. Jonathan needed something small, like a trowel, since the shovel itself was obviously too heavy for him.

"Try the basement," he said without thinking. "There should be a trowel and some gloves down there."

He thought, Oh god, Jonathan will find the girl and I'll be busted.

The responding thought was immediate, Maybe he'd understand. Maybe it would just strengthen our relationship.

Yeah, right.

The back door burst open and heavy footsteps approached the garden. Jonathan was back. Sock stuck the shovel blade into the dirt and waited. When Jonathan appeared around the taller plants, he looked how Sock had never seen him.

Stony facade broken, Jonathan's face couldn't decide on an emotion. Shock. Anger. Sadness. Fear. It settled on a mouth slashing downward, eyebrows cracked into an inverse V. He almost seemed worried. But from his stomping steps, Sock could recognize the emotion he can come to know so well when he had first attempted to become his friend: anger.

Jonathan got straight to the point.

"Sock, we need to talk. Why was there a girl locked in your basement?"

He'd hoped that the lock would be enough to hide her from Jonathan, because he really had no excuse for that. Obviously the lock had failed him. It was a real bummer that Jonathan knew now.

He sighed. "Jonathan, why did you have to unlock that door?"

"Because," he just about snarled. "I was looking for your tools in the basement, like you said, and thought 'hey, people keep normal things in normal closets, right?' You didn't even hide the key. So tell me, Sock. Why was there a girl locked in your basement?"

"Why do you think?"

"I think you've been hiding something. Something big. And I think that maybe I almost took the fall for your stupidity."

Might as well put it out there. "You think I'm the Gravedigger."

Jonathan looked pointedly at the large rectangular hole he was digging in his garden. Sock pursed his lips. That was rude.

"Honestly, I suspected almost since the beginning." Jonathan crossed his arms, looking vaguely uncomfortable as a distressed expression grew on Sock's face. He obviously hadn't wanted to admit this. "You were a loner, kinda strange. But, what were the chances I would know a serial killer? None. I figured I knew you… Until now."

Sock tightened his grip on the shovel handle. So, Jonathan wanted to know him. "Don't you get on big scary rides? Don't you take your hands off the handlebars and speed down a hill? Don't you sneak around and tell little lies to get what you want? Or just for the fun of it?"

"Killing people is more than a little lie, Sock."

"You just don't get it. I thought you, the morgue tech, out of all people would get it… Don't tell me you don't get a little thrill when you're cutting up a human body and messing around with it."

Jonathan looked mildly offended now. "I really don't. I'm not sure if you noticed, but I have a bit of a flat affect going on. My job is just a job. Not a hobby. It doesn't make me happy. I don't 'mess around' with bodies for fun; I do it to bring closure to investigations and family. It's not about me at all."

Mephistopheles had been right, Jonathan had an exceptionally healthy relationship with his industry. Sock didn't think it was selfish to wish it was just a little more fucked up. He'd been this close to having something more than a friend and maybe even more than a lover: an accomplice.

Sock sometimes wished he was normal. It was a passing thought as he poked at the bloody heart of his latest kill or the short depression after finishing a hole and realizing only dead people and sad people visited his workplace. He went into the dirt like a corpse to make a living. He killed people to feel alive. He broke his own damn heart when he killed his parents, even if it was an accident. And he gave his love to someone that couldn't love him back.

His was a life of dead ends.

The overwhelming feeling of inadequacy and alienation crushed him. He was never going to be clean enough, tough enough, desirable enough. There was a gaping hole where his heart should be and he filled it with kills as he filled the graves in Primrose with his victims.

"Nobody talks to me and sees Sock Sowachowski, they just see the gravedigger." He remembered being scared that Jonathan might avoid him because of the grave digging.

It had been stupid to think that Jonathan would accept him.

Why did everyone fear death so much? Enough to shun the living? He felt unlike a human and unlike a ghost, something malicious between the worlds of the living and dead, like a demon.

"Sock, as your friend, disregarding your personal demons―" Hah. "―you're acting stupid. You need to let that girl go and turn yourself in." Jonathan drew himself up. "If you don't, I'll do it for you."

Sock felt a deep throb in his chest, his heart's dying gasp. Pressure built behind his eyes. His tear ducts stung.

"You wouldn't do that," he said quietly. It would doom him to a life in prison. The only death that would loom in his future would be his own.

Stony indifference returned to Jonathan's expression. Sock had lost him.

"You know I would."

Jonathan turned his back to Sock and walked away. Sock sucked in a harsh breath, straining the muscles in his neck in an effort to restrain tears. He thought that the worst thing Jonathan could say was that he wasn't interested, but he'd been proven wrong.

He picked his shovel out of the dirt. With both hands on the handle, he turned towards Jonathan and took a step, unsure of what he was about to do. One step turned into a sprint, and all he saw before he squeezed his eyes shut were Jonathan's wide blue diamond eyes turning towards him in slow motion.

The blade connected with Jonathan's head in an ear splitting crack.

The girl was gone.

He checked after hauling Jonathan onto the family room couch. The door was unlocked, the key was on the ground, and the girl was gone. Jonathan must have let her go.

That meant his time was short.

He grabbed a travel bag and packed a few things. Some of his parents' clothes, a toothbrush, a comb, some cheap sunglasses, his knife. Once the car was loaded, he hauled Jonathan again, this time into the back seat of the SUV. He couldn't let them take Jonathan this time. Sock had to be there when he came back to his senses, to apologize or accept apologies. He wasn't too picky about which right now.

The county highways were just about deserted at this time of the day. His arms tensed whenever a car flew by, but none of them stopped. Jonathan was deadly silent in the back seat, which left Sock alone with what had proven to be a very dangerous thoughts.

He didn't know where he was going, or why. Jonathan was hurt and needed medical help that Sock couldn't give him, but there was no way he was leaving him to the police. Those bastards already falsely accused and detained him once, there was no telling what they would do once they realized how important he was to the Gravedigger.

Sock had stopped Jonathan from telling the police, but now it was only a matter of time before the girl set them on his trail. That meant his blood was spilled for nothing.

With a sick twinge to his gut, he realized he'd still been thrilled to do it, even though it was to Jonathan. He really was demonic.

What was he thinking? Jonathan was right, he was acting stupid. If he was on the run from the law, he needed to act like it. He needed the old Sock back, the one that killed Henry, who had no idea Jonathan's blue diamond eyes existed, who would've killed the girl instead of knocking her out.

The old Sock wouldn't have just wounded Jonathan.

He glanced at Jonathan's prone form splayed across the back seat. A steady trickle of blood was running down the upholstery and onto the carpet. There was a deep gash in the right side of his head. Head wounds just bleed a lot, Sock recalled. Jonathan wouldn't bleed out. But, Sock swore that when the light was right, he could see white bone nestled in the torn flesh. It had begun to redden with infection because of the dirt driven deep into the wound. The question was whether or not Jonathan would even wake up, much less survive a run from the law. Sock could be doing him a favor by sparing him the pain.

He pursed his lips and pulled over. For a full minute, he didn't move, just stared at a point in the distance. Then he accelerated back onto the road. He pulled over again ten minutes later and turned to stare at Jonathan. He was running out of chances to make a decision.

Did the Gravedigger claim a ninth victim or did Sock cling to something he desperately wanted but could never really have?

He began driving again.

His cellphone buzzed just as the sun had set and darkness had claimed the highways. The caller ID indicated that it was Lil on the line, but he had no doubt she had police company. He took the call anyway.

"Hello?"

"Sock?"

"Hey Lil."

"Where are you?" Her voice was slow, like she was forcing it to remain calm.

"I can't tell you that, Lil."

There was heavy silence, and then, "Is Jonathan with you?"

Sock debated and then figured they'd assume the right thing anyway. "Yeah, he is."

"Can you put him on the phone?"

"He's a little incapacitated at the moment."

"Is he alright? Is he alive?"

Sock made a face, cheeks reddened as she echoed his earlier thoughts of killing Jonathan. "What kind of… Are they making you ask these questions?"

"Just tell me whether or not our friend is alright and alive, Sock."

Sock sighed. Such dramatics. "Yes, he's alive. Whether or not he's alright is debateable. He's breathing."

A shaky sigh. "That's a relief."

"Hey, since I know they're listening. I just want you police people to know that Jonathan has nothing to do with this, it was all me. Give credit where credit is due. Jonathan had no idea what was going on until today. Got it?"

"They heard you," Lil assured. "We all hear you, Sock. Is there anything else you want to say?"

"Yeah," he smirked. "They can all go suck a dick."

The call ended.

He took the next right with a determined yank of the wheel. There was a clunk from the backseat as Jonathan's shoe knocked against the door. Sock had been driving all night, to the point that the sun had just perched itself in the sky and shadows had formed underneath his eyes. He had finally come up with a destination for the car, Jonathan, and himself. It all just hinged upon being in the right spot at the right time.

He'd decided that the Gravedigger would claim a ninth victim.

Primrose Cemetery looked as serene as ever. He noticed that in his absence, a few small weeds had grown in the flower beds bordering the woods. He itched to uproot them and maybe give the place a good mow, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

The grave marked 'me' was still open, of course. Mephistopheles must have noticed but said nothing. None of the visitors verbally disagreed with it either. It was on his family's plot anyway, which he inherited when his parents died, so he could do what he wanted regardless.

He laid Jonathan out on the ground before the grave and plunked onto the grass to wait. Jonathan stirred a bit before stilling again. Sock hoped he would wake up soon so he could talk to him.

"I'm sorry you got involved with this," Sock started. "You really shouldn't have opened that door."

He could have kept going, killed the girl and moved on, but Jonathan charmed his way into the basement. Jonathan was so pretty. Jonathan was so composed. Jonathan stuck his hands in dead bodies, but didn't quite get Sock. Jonathan was so not into him, but insisted upon being his friend.

Memories of the three sitting on the edge of the grave eating greasy food and complaining about bosses pushed their way to the forefront. He frowned. They seemed to happy to belong to him.

Sirens in the distance.

He perched the knife over Jonathan's abdomen, one hand raised like it was a mallet about to pound a stake in the ground. With a whoosh of breath he steeled himself for what he was about to do. The sirens grew louder and Jonathan scrunched up his face. Despite the situation, Sock couldn't help but smile softly. He looked really cute. The dark red streaks on his face added a nice touch of color too.

A squad of police cars suddenly filled the gravel parking lot, kicking up a huge cloud of dust and debris. They couldn't enter the graveyard without running over headstones, so the officers streamed out of their cars and began to pick their way across the grass. Sock noticed them pick up speed when they realized Sock was mostly alone, with just a motionless body and his old friend the blunt kitchen knife as companions.

Jonathan suddenly woke up, blue diamond eyes a little crossed.

"Sock?" he slurred.

"Yeah, Jonathan?"

Jonathan struggled and took a few breaths. The sun was illuminating Sock's back with bright white light, cating Jonathan's face in deep contrast. His breathing disturbed the knife where Sock held it poised above him. He waited for something profound, affected by the dramatic atmosphere.

"I can't believe… you. Ugh. You hit me!"

He tried to sit up and Sock quickly removed the knife, but Jonathan hissed before he could get very far and laid back down, dragging his hands to his head and tenderly touching the gash there. Sock pursed his lips. When he killed, he never wanted his victims to be in pain long.

One of the police officers shouted his name from where she was stationed behind a nearby headstone. He could only see the very top of her head - a tuft of purple hair.

Sock gave her a glare. Couldn't she see they were having a moment here? Sock needed to say goodbye.

"Gravedigger!" she shouted again.

"What?" he snarled back, thinking that he really didn't like that moniker in her voice.

"I'm going to need you to put the knife down, step away from the man on the ground, and come with us quietly."

Sock pressed the knife against Jonathan's abdomen again, staring straight at the policewoman. Jonathan let out a quiet whine.

"I need to finish talking to Jonathan."

"You need to put the knife down."

A hand grasped the wrist holding the knife. Sock looked down at Jonathan, who seemed pained. Probably from the open wound in his head.

"What do you need to say, Sock?"

Sock licked his lips nervously and glanced at the police. There were at least six loaded guns aimed at his head, but no one had made a move yet. He turned back to Jonathan.

"I was kind of hoping you'd apologize for messing up my life by snooping around in my basement."

Jonathan stared at him. Sock sighed.

"Yeah, I didn't think you would. I wanted to apologize for what I'm about to do."

Jonathan only got out a questioning sound before Sock leaned into a light kiss. Jonathan's first and last. He tasted lip balm and antiseptic and pulled away. Jonathan didn't seem to be anything but confused and Sock mentally shrugged. Of course one kiss wouldn't change their relationship. This wasn't a fairytale. Jonathan's intent to remain single had been clear as day.

At least he'd got one before the end.

Sock picked up his knife. Jonathan's blue diamond eyes grew wide as he raised it. With a look into his eyes, Sock gripped the handle with both hands, like his life depended upon it, and before he could think, pulled it into his own abdomen. There was immediate burning pain and suddenly the sharp retort of a gun. Something slammed into his shoulder and another something tore into his chest. People were shouting. Someone was saying his name.

Without a sound he dropped into the open grave. Vaguely, he felt some cold dirt crumble onto his form like it was trying to blanket him, welcome him home.

The Gravedigger claimed his ninth victim.