0720

August 17, 2011

I slowly open my eyes, taking in the surroundings of the dark room I fell asleep in. I'm still here. It was a dream. My cheeks feel wet, and only seconds later do I realize that I actually did cry twice in one night. I glance over at my watch sitting on the floor, 3 feet to my left, exactly where I put it yesterday afternoon when we got in from our last run. Which ended with Steve dying in my arms. 7:20. Again. I woke up at 7:20, again. For the 6th week in a row, no matter when I go to sleep, I have woken up at 7:20. Why? I'm not sure. It could be that it was my mother's birthday, and I think about her all the time, or it could be something much more simple, but I may never know, nor do I really care enough to try to find out.

I look at the rest of the group, all in a semi-orderly line to my left. Becca sleeps silently, her face blank, dry, and otherwise fine. She looks much younger when she sleeps. She looks young as it is, and honestly, anyone could think she was at most 16, even with everyone stressed about everything from when we'll eat next to "Dude, where's my car?" It makes me happy that the stress hasn't begun its process on her yet. I smile at her beautiful face, look over the rest of her, and start to feel hot, thinking about the night before. My hearts beats fast, and I wonder if it was the right thing to do, stopping where we were, and when I realize what I'm thinking, I glance at Jack, and all thoughts diminish. He reminds me of my older brother, Mace. From his strong chin, to his defined cheekbones. They have the same shade of ocean blue eyes, same grin when they sleep, and both act younger than me. The only differences of the two that come to mind are that Jack's eyes are slanted while Mace's are round; and Jack's alive, and Mace is more than likely dead.

I shake away the thought, and look at Mark. I almost laugh when I look at him. He is a complete mess. His hair is more dysfunctional than our whole situation, bedhead to the tenth. Mouth open so far, I can see his dinner. One eye open, just like he always sleeps. This guy is a wreck. There are strands of gray in his coffee-colored hair. With him being only 22, and not taking up as much as I am, I can't —no, don't want to imagine what I look like. He lay with his right hand under his pillow, 95 percent sure that there is a knife tightly in it. I see an arm across his stomach, and look at the owner next. Catherine. Eyes wide open, staring at me, no smile across her face, and no attempt to hide the fact that she's been watching me the whole time. I gasp slightly, taken aback that she is awake, and when I open my mouth to say something, she shakes her head so slightly, I begin to wonder if I really saw her do that. I close my mouth, nod, and lay down beside Becca. I ponder why she didn't want me to say anything. Did she think it was weird that I watch them all as they sleep? Does she know that I have done it every morning for the past 6 weeks? Holy shit, has she been awake watching me do it and closing her eyes when she sees that her turn is next, and wanted me to know that she knows? God, I don't think it's weird that I do it, but would they?

A million thoughts run through my head, and I don't even know what to think anymore. I stare up at the ceiling and just wonder what she is going to do, whether she's going to confront me, or tell the group, or just let it go. I think for so long that I lose track of the time, and forget about my inspection of the house before the others wake up. The thought enters my head, and I curse under my breath. After a quick time check, I grab the handgun beside the door, and as quietly as I can, stand up and walk out without giving Catherine a second glance.

I lean up against the door slightly. 8:53. I literally thought about what Catherine was going to do for over an hour. That shit is not healthy. Besides, why would she say anything bad? She obviously knows that I care about the group, and must know that I only check to see that they're okay. Mostly. There are times that I wish I had a camera of some sort to blackmail Mark, or to imagine what life would have been like had I asked Catherine instead of Becca. But that's something that I can't take back, nor would I at this point. I love Becca, though I don't say it enough. I gue—

Thoughts clear! I need to worry about what's important! The safety of the group, and the security of the house. Fuck everything else, worry about them. Not yourself. Selfless, come on man, it's what Steve said all the time, back when he searched with me. "They aren't going to care who you are fucking, so don't think about it when you are hunting." He would say, directed towards the Darkseekers. They don't care, so don't think about it while you are doing this shit. I close my eyes and take in the sounds of the house.

I hear the deep breathes Becca takes in, the slight gasping sounds she makes before she releases to exhale. The slight snores Jack makes throughout the night that have become so normal that it doesn't bother anyone anymore. The mumbled words Mark whispers that are either riddled with fear and desperation, filled with anger and wrath, or solemnly nonsensical with no true reasoning. Nothing from Catherine, the only one left in this world who strikes true fear into me, be it her lack of sound ever, or the ability to blow some 20 odd year old man's brains from his skull with a semi-automatic shotgun with no remorse, and just as many fucks given. She gives a whole new meaning to 'don't give a fuck.' I think she gives so few fucks, fucks are given to her.

I smile at the thought. I continue to listen. I hear the creak of a setting house. I hear the sounds of rustling leaves outside. I hear the raspy, quick breaths of… oh fuck. My eyes snap open, and I almost cry out to the others. But I stop myself. It doesn't know we're here, or it would have attacked… I have to do this now, and quick, before the others wake up and make noise. I raise my pistol. In one swift motion, I release the clip, count the bullets in a half of a second and insert the clip back into the pistol. My heart is racing. This is actually happening… we were so careful, but one found its way into the house. It had to be a fluke. I mean, we were in well before the sun started to set.

Gun raised, I walk down the dark hallway as slowly and quietly as I can. I pass the first door, a small bathroom on the left with very little light piercing the black shades, slightly across from the bedroom where we all share the shower if Matt has it running correctly, which is often enough. The rasping is distant still. I continue past the second door, a smaller bedroom beside ours, door shut, that was occupied by Steven, Cathy, Mark, and Joseph when the first and last were still with us. The sound starts to grow a bit louder. There is one last room on the left… A closed room once used for storage that no one dared go in. It was Joseph's "Experimentation Room." Where he would take those fucks and cut them up. See what made them tick… it was sickening… but now he's gone too.

As I come to the room, I realize that this is the location. This is where it is. The monster that will kill us all if I don't end it quickly. The raspy breathes it takes are soon matched by my own. I can't control my own breathing! It's going to hear me! Please, come on Kel, breath in, breath out, deep in, deep out, control your shit! I slowly catch my breath… My heart continues to race and my ears are beating, but I realize that it's now I never. I open the door slightly with my left hand, keeping my body on the door and the gun ready. As I open the door I see the figure in the corner, heaving. I raise the gun to the black figure.

Wait… There's something about it that seems familiar. I keep the gun raised but examine it. The muscles on its shirtless back ripple, the tone of its dark skin slowly aiding in the recognition process. "No… That's impossible..." I mumble to myself, a bit too loud. It turns and my heart stops all together… I almost fall to my knees, my hands release the objects they hold, and fall to my sides. "No… No… No… No… NO! NO! NO NO NO!" I begin to scream out loud as the creature looks me in the eyes. The brown eyes I watched fade away. I watched him die. "STEVEN YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD! YOU ARE DEAD! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE!?" I scream as loud as I can. I hear the piercing scream that Darkseekers make, and I can't move. I can't move, and I'm going to die by the man I couldn't save. Why? Why couldn't you just die?

I watch as he lowers and begins to run, and everything goes slow. Why is this happening, why is he even here? Did he remember where we lived? Was it a natural reaction? Go somewhere that he felt safe then eat us? Oh god, does he smell the blood of the other Darkseekers and was attracted here? Did we not scrub this place down well enough and his sense of smell is that much more acute than ours? Why the fuck am I still asking questions and why can't I get my gun and shoot Steven?

I hear others behind me in a distant room and realize the others are awake, and coming to hear the source of the chaos and panic. If they come out they might die too, or they'll watch me get torn apart and then have to live with that. Everything comes to speed again, and I watch him close on me. I turn to scream "Lock the door," and when I whip my head back he's gone.

I hear them slam the door open, and hear heavy footsteps run towards me. I see Jack run past me and sweep the room with his pistol, out of my peripherals watch Mark run to the stairs to examine down the stairs and then watch Jack run to him as they walk downstairs. I feel the girls basically breathing down my neck. They are talking, I can feel it, but I can't hear anything. And I can't look at them. I'm stuck staring at an empty room where the monster that was once my best friend is gone. And there is no trace that he was ever there. I stare at this room with my jaw almost on the floor, my hands stuck at my sides, my feet, like lead, firm in place. I feel small hands shake me, but I still can't move.

STEVEN YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD! YOU ARE DEAD! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE!?The words ring in my head. I see the image. He was there, I know he was. He was there and he was a Darkseeker and I should have died. I should have died by him 'cause he was there and I know he was, and I'm not fucking crazy 'cause I saw him. I know I did. Steven is a Darkseeker. He is in the house. He is here. Where the fuck did he go though? Where is he, where is Steven, where is—

CRACK! I feel my cheek sting as my face follows the hand that just knocked the senses back to their rightful places. I look at the owner of the hand, and to my amazement see Becca, with tears in her eyes. Becca smacked me. "Kel what did you say? Did you say Steven? Are you stupid? We saw him die!" She says, the words breaking through the ringing in my ears and the silence that filled the house moments ago. "It's clear!" Mark shouts from the 1st floor. The hands on my shoulders that were shaking me are now crossed underneath Cathy's breasts, the owner staring at me, a hard look on her face. Becca stands, waiting for an answer, the tears now falling. I just stare.

"Hey man, what the hell was that?" Mark snaps, walking up the stairs. "You said Steven? Man y'alright? Ya get enough sleep?" I don't know what to say, I can just look from face to face, jaw still open, cheek on fire. When I finally regain control of my hands, I reach for Becca, but she pulls away from me. So she's mad. I don't understand why, I know what I saw. But she is. I just nod. It makes no sense, me nodding, but I can't figure out what else to do.

"I… I don't know, I saw him though. I saw Steven. I was searching the house—"

"Wait, why were you searching the house alone? How long have you been doing that?" Mark snaps.

"I've been doing it for a while, but today was the first time I did it alone. I usually have Stev-" The name catches in my throat. Mark seems to loosen up a bit and he makes a mental connection that is unattainable to me.

"You've been searching with Steven each morning?" He asks, his southern drawl drawing out the word 'searching.' He looks me in the eyes, examining each one, and nodding the whole time.

"Well, yeah, I don't sleep well and Steven could never stay asleep, so we started searching in the mornings in case something got in." I replied to him, my voice still mellow and distant. I am finally able to raise my jaw.

"I understand man, I don't blame ya for imagining you saw Steven, but," He raises a finger as I open my mouth to interrupt him, "You can't go screaming like that, you damn near gave all of us a heart attack. I mean Becca was about to rush out without any of us, and if that had been a real incident, she'd have been dead. That goes for you too. If you're going to search the house, at least make sure you got someone, anyone, with you. Please." He finishes. I don't even feel like correcting him. '…imagining you saw Steven…' There is no way I imagined that… No way at all.

But what if I did. Am I going crazy? Why was he there if I didn't imagine him and where did he go? This whole situation is impossible. Especially me being crazy.

I look at the others, all looking at me, but not saying a word. "Yeah, I guess the stress got to me." I finally blurt out, giving in to the pressure of all of those eyes. Becca nods and basically tackles me, embracing me in a full hug. I feel numb. I just sold out my ideas, but maybe they're right. I think I am just letting the stress get the better of me. I look in the corner of the room where Steven was and I see liquid. Saliva more appropriately. Oh my god he was there.