Thank you all so much for the feedback so far! :D The reviews really motivate me ^.^ As wanted, here's the next chapter!

The pounding on the door turned from consistent and pushy to frantic and demanding. The knob and hinges shook with the strong force, but never opened. Despite the alarming noise, the front door was merely background sound to them at the moment, along with the popcorn on the stove.

Michael reacted first, opening up a kitchen drawer to pull an impressive knife out. Sam locked the side-door with considerably more urgency and followed his brother's lead up the stairs. Sam could tell Michael wasn't nearly as scared as he was, but maybe that was because a part of Michael didn't believe the blonde. The older of the two lacked the urgency and panic that Sam held, and the knife was just to make Sam feel better. After all, how did someone drawl through Sam's window when it was on the second floor? Sure…

"Mike," Sam breathed, creeping up behind the brunette. He stayed back several steps once they were on the second floor. Michael pushed open the door to Sam's room with only a smidgen of hesitation. In that instant, the door downstairs sat still and silent. The room hung in suspension—to Sam, at least. He held his breath for several long moments as Michael took one, two, three steps into Sam's room. As if reading Sam's mind, he looked on the other side of the door.

Nothing and no one.

Michael sighed and walked to Sam's wide-open window. Sam shivered from the cool gusts of wind that blew in from it. Michael closed the aged window with some effort and turned to face his perplexed little brother. He threw his arms out as if to say, "See? You're too paranoid."

But Sam was more than just paranoid. Something wasn't right. He could feel it in his gut. Danger. Danger was somewhere very, very close. But where?

Michael stepped towards Sam from where he had been standing by the window, passing by Sam's closet. The popcorn was screaming on the stove, ready to explode. A glint of light caught in Sam's eye—the knob of his closet turning. And the very second the popcorn exploded—before Sam could do anything more than open his mouth in a warning that never made it—the door burst open with a loud bang!

Michael was tackled from the side and instantly hit the floor from the impact. The knife, which he had been holding loosely in his hand, slid out of his grasp and under the bed. Sam stood frozen in fear for what felt like eternity but was probably only two seconds as a man buried his face in Michael's neck. Michael was a strong individual—so Sam thought—so to think someone smaller than him was completely restraining him… It had to be almost supernatural strength driving the man.

Sam reacted when Michael began shouting obscenities, at first only startled and stunned, but the yelling quickly turned into pained screams. Michael was screaming.

The blonde came up behind the man and tried pulling on his face, neck, shoulders. He pounded on his back, yelled curses, but the man only reacted when Sam dug his nails into his stone-hard face. Beads of red swelled and the man hissed—fucking hissed, like a snake. He released Michael, who had suddenly gone silent and lay limply on the floor, and stood to his full height. He wasn't very tall—maybe an inch taller than Sam—but Jesus Christ was he intimidating. He oozed danger, like a wild animal let out of its constraints. Alarmed, Sam backed away. In the blink of an eye, he was met face-to-face with their attacker. Blood was smeared across the man's chin and dripped from his red lips. The cuts Sam had created healed right before his eyes. Long canines protruded out of the monster's gums when he bared his teeth at Sam. And his eyes… His eyes were a foreboding coal black. No whites showed. They were soulless, and Sam could imagine the man was, too. That much Sam could gather.

They locked eyes and Sam's breathing hitched in his throat. His heart pounded and his hands shook with fear and adrenaline. Hands held his shoulders with an iron grip and yanked him forwards. The man eagerly pressed his bloodied mouth to Sam's neck, and bit.

And then I found out how hard it is to really change

Even Hell can get comfy once you've settled in

I just wanted to numb inside me to leave

No matter how fucked you get, there's always hell when you come back down

He wasn't as crazy as the others. Everyone thought he was nuts, though-a danger to others, as they had said in court. Putting him here was supposed to be a favor—but Sam thought that spending the rest of his life in jail would've been kinder. He wasn't crazy. But if he had to spend another week in this place, he might just snap.

I'm not crazy. What I did was done out of love. That's not wrong, is it? Why won't they believe it wouldn't have stopped unless I did it?

Sam had been pacing in his room for hours before finally sitting down on the end of his bed. He had no roommate, unlike the others. Because he "might try something" if he did, apparently.

I'm not delusional. And I'm not alone, he said to himself as he tried to regulate his breathing. He pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

Not yet.

Because we all walk alone on an empty staircase

Silent halls and nameless faces

I am powerless…

When he came to, the room appeared the same—brightly lit. That was the first thing he realized; from his perspective, nothing had changed. His head was turned to the right and he was looking at his ajar closet. Sam groggily sat up and winced in pain. His fingers found the stale wound at his neck, where blood was dried down to his chest. But none of it was fresh anymore, which meant it had probably clotted over. How he was still alive he had no idea...but he didn't get to think it over very long. He looked to his left - and there Michael was, laying face-first in a large pool of his own blood.

Sam's heart dropped to his feet, and he scrambled over to his still brother. "Mike," Sam breathed, reaching out for him. Sam sat on his knees next to Michael and, unsure how he would go about flipping the larger man over, pressed two fingers against the brunette's neck, feeling for something, anything.

"Come on, Mike." His fingers shook and he was afraid that his breathing was too loud to be able to hear or feel any kind of pulse, so he leaned his head close to Michael's and pressed harder, holding his breath.

All Sam heard was the pounding of his own heart in his head. All he felt was Michael's cold skin.

The air whooshed out of his lungs and he fell back on his rear. He stared at the scene before him, growing numb. After another moment his head started spinning and he felt like he was going to be sick. He held his stomach and heaved to the side, but nothing came up. Sam gasped for breath and clutched at his chest, staring at the hardwood floor that was spattered with drops of red.

"All clear!"

His heart jumpstarted when he heard someone call out from somewhere else in the house.

They weren't gone.

From his spot on the floor, Sam spotted the knife that lay under his bed yet—and quickly snatched it. Mixed with his numb shock, rage coursed through him. He gripped the handle tightly in his hand, positioned himself on the other side of his bedroom door, and waited.

It only took a minute for the man—the monster—to make his way from downstairs to the second floor. Sam could hear the footsteps, in courtesy of the heavy boots he assumed the man was wearing. He held his breath and waited for the man to decide whether or not to go down the hall or turn into Sam's room. The blonde heard a pause in the footsteps, and then two more creaking steps; the man must be looking into Sam's room, and he probably saw that Sam was no longer lying on the floor unconscious. Sam's suspicion was proved when he felt a presence nearing, and then he knew the only thing separating him from Michael's murderer was two inches of wood.

Just like when Michael had originally gone upstairs to check Sam's room, the air hung in suspension—except this time, Sam was the one hiding and waiting to attack. Oh, the irony.

Sam was ready—as ready as he would ever be in his life to stab somebody.

Bring it fucking on, bastard.

But the man didn't stroll into Sam's bedroom like he had expected. No—he pushed the door and it swung towards the frame, completely revealing Sam. Deterred for only a fraction of a second, Sam let out a cry of rage and launched himself at the man. If his mind had been clearer, he would have realized that this man wasn't the same one. In fact, the guy he was attempting to stab looked nothing like Michael's attacker. But Sam didn't care. This blonde guy had to be in on it. He had to have had a part in it somehow.

Sam's attempts at attacking the man were futile; he was restrained as easily as if he was a toddler throwing a tantrum. His wrists were held in that similar vice grip as before, and the blonde man squeezed Sam's left wrist until the knife dropped. He winced in pain and tried kicking out with his legs, which turned out to be just as useless. "No!" he yelled, shaking his head side to side. "Let go of me! Get the fuck off!"

The door gave way for a tall brunette who glided in as if he was walking on air. Sam recognized him instantly, and after a few more clicks, he recognized the blonde too. "You," he hissed through tight teeth. The blonde—the man that had triggered Sam's vision in the diner—tightened his grip on the boy's wrists. "'Free piercings' my ass, fucker!" But the brunette said nothing. He only knelt down by Michael's body. Sam jerked violently against the platinum-haired man restraining him. "Get away! Don't touch him!" he nearly screamed, suddenly panicked. "Leave him alone!"

"David," the tan brunette said solemnly, and gave him a look that said, "You're not going to like this…"

David and the brunette exchanged a long look, as if they were having their own conversation that Sam couldn't hear, and then David sighed. He pulled on Sam, moving him, to which the boy responded by digging his heels into the floor. Again, to no avail. The platinum-haired man was much stronger than he was, and before Sam could protest any further, he was thrown into the hall and the door was slammed and locked in his face.