Hey guys! Sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy this next chapter! If you do, please don't hesitate to leave a review. If you don't, still don't hesitate to leave a review on why you disliked it, as well as the necessary information for me to hunt you down._
John Watson knocked on the apartment door. A frail, sickly woman opened it, looking suspiciously at John. "What do you want?" she said suspiciously. Without replying, John pushed her aside and closed the door behind him. A small army of cats looked up at the strange newcomer. "Hey now..." the old woman yelled at John, gesturing with her fist. John put his arm around her head, and pulled as hard as he could. The woman banged her fists weakly against John, then clawed at his arm. A sleek black cat stared at John with wide eyes as he strangulated its owner. Slowly, the woman's struggles grew weaker and weaker until John snapped her neck violently to the side. He let go of her body, letting it tumble to the floor. He stooped over, picked up the bowl of cat food, and dropped it into the trash. Making sure no cats followed him, John left the apartment. The cats would take care of the body soon enough.
John left the apartment building and turned into an alley, hoping to avoid being seen. "Having fun?" The voice emanated from a dark alcove, lit only by a burning cigarette. "You're earlier than I expected. I thought I'd have time to finish this." The light dropped to the ground before being extinguished.
The man stepped forward into the street light. He was tall, with black, curly hair, and piercing, green eyes. "I'm sorry, I think you have me confused with somebody." John said nervously.
"I don't think so John." John froze in his tracks and turned to face the man.
"How do you know my name?" John asked, one half angered and one half terrified.
"That doesn't matter to you. What matters to you is that I know you've killed two people."
"Why shouldn't I kill you? Right here?" John sized the man up. He was taller than John, but didn't seem to be as muscular.
"Because the old lady you just asphyxiated has your skin and blood in her fingernails, and you were a member of the British military. The government has your DNA on file."
"The police wouldn't check military records." John replied, trying to act unaffected by this man's remarks.
"They would after someone points out the footprint you left came from military-issued boots." John vaguely remembered stepping in the muddy curb. "So, John, you left your DNA under an old woman's fingernails. What should you do?" John looked at him, confused. "Oh, I forgot you're stupid. Don't worry, almost everybody is. Now, really think John. What should you do?" John thought about this for a second, then reached his conclusion. Without responding, he reentered the old lady's apartment, stooped down, pulled out the knife he had hidden in his boot, and sliced off the woman's fingers. As he stuffed them in his pocket, he looked down at the woman's ankle. There was already a chunk bitten out of it.
When John returned to the man, John showed him the fingers. John could of sworn he saw the tiniest of smiles on the man's face before he said "Goodbye John. I expect I will see you soon.", turned, and disappeared into the alley again.
John flagged down a taxi, and made his way back to his cozy apartment. He had been thinking about why the man would help him all night, and had reached only one conclusion. He was living through him.
"Wake up John." John rubbed his eyes, peering into the corner of his room.
"Do you see this John?" John peered into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust until he saw a calendar. A bloody hand pointed towards the thirty-first.
"You have until then John. Then-" John saw himself walking into a mall, pulling out a pistol and beginning to fire on everyone he could see. The figure circled the day with its bloody finger, then walked slowly over to John's bed. The bloody finger now went to John's eyelids, forcing them closed. Before he fell asleep, John had one last realization. The figure wasn't seeking vengeance: it was John's friend.