Jack was woken up by a scream.
He sat up quickly, the thin blanket falling to the floor, and sprinted up the stairs. He hadn't known who'd screamed, but he'd put money on Ralph, and Ralph had been sharing with Percival and he had a bad feeling about this Jack this is why you don't care about people this is why this is why
He ran into Bill on his way to Ralph's room. Bill shoved him aside without a second glance and flung open the door.
Ralph stood near the window, looking like he was about to faint or throw up, one of the two. Bill gagged and ran for the bathroom. Jack could hear him throwing up. Suddenly Jack was scared to move his eyes from Ralph's face, scared to look at what was procuring that odd smell.
He managed to at last. It was Percival, of course. It had to be Percival. Who else could it be? Nobody else had been up here. Nobody else had been in this room, except… except the ones who had killed him, of course. Nobody could do that to themselves.
With shaky legs, Jack stepped toward Percival's dead, mutilated body. His throat had been cut – probably the cause of death; whoever had killed him (oh who are you kidding Jack you know who it was) hadn't wanted to wake Ralph or the others for some reason. His mouth had been cut into a permanent smile, his eyes were closed, but looked empty; like there was nothing under the eyelids. Jack shuddered.
Internal organs were piled neatly at the foot of the bed, like time had been taken to dissect Percival. Jack swallowed down last night's supper that threatened to come up.
Ralph took off, and then it was just Jack and the dead Percival in the room.
He looked at the window. That's how they'd gotten in; it was cranked open a crack. There was writing on it too, in a substance that looked suspiciously like Percival's blood.
Youre next, Ralphie.
And then a smiley face.
Jack sprinted for the bathroom, shoving Bill, who was just leaving, out of the way and barely making the toilet in time. "I'm going to call the police," Bill said, voice hoarse. "If you wanna… I don't know… hide in a closet or something, feel free to do so."
Jack nodded weakly, pushing himself to his feet. He staggered out of the bathroom and got himself a glass of water to wash the taste out of his mouth. Bill entered the kitchen as well to get to the telephone. Once Bill had finished giving the police his address and hung up, Ralph came seemingly out of nowhere and stuck himself to Bill. Bill petted his head as Ralph sobbed into his shirt.
"Should I… go…?" Jack asked. Bill nodded, reaching for his sunglasses and putting them on. He seemed to calm down after he got them on his face, and Jack went to look for a suitable closet. He eventually found one just off of the kitchen, a pantry of sorts. He crouched in the dark, waiting, and his legs went numb before Bill knocked on the closet door to let him know it was okay to come out.
"There are still a few people in the room," Bill said. "We're heading out. Ralph figured we shouldn't just leave you in this closet, so do you want to come with us?"
Jack could tell Bill didn't want him to come.
Jack didn't give a damn what Bill wanted and didn't want.
He got up, brushing dirt off of his pants – they really needed to learn how to clean, Jesus Christ, this place was filthy – and followed Bill and Ralph out the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out.
It was probably the most awkward thing that Jack had ever done.
Fuck, why wouldn't someone talk?
It's because they don't want you here. They could be having so much fun right now, if you and your STUPID LITTLE FRIEND hadn't shown up and he HADN'T GOTTEN MURDERED, they could be talking or laughing or FUCKING EACH OTHERS' BRAINS OUT you know they would YOU KNOW THAT THEY WOULD don't try and pretend different and really who can blame Bill? You certainly can't. You want to be in his position right now. Right next to Ralph. Right next to Ralph so that RALPH can be YOURS.
All you have to do is get rid of Bill. That's all.
But he wasn't going to do that.
He was going to be sane, goddammit! He wasn't going to be like Roger, he was going to be sane and perfectly fine and yep perfectly fine.
"You okay?" Bill asked, looking over his shoulder. Jack stumbled over the uneven sidewalk and nodded, averting his eyes to the ground. Bill snorted and kept walking. Jack was walking behind the two blonds, noticing how they kept a careful distance. Well, of course they were. It wasn't exactly socially acceptable to be… like them.
The police car passed them, and the events of the morning suddenly came crashing down on Jack. He took a deep breath and hugged his arms close to him. Oh God, the blood had been horrible, the mutilation had been horrible, it had all been so goddam horrible, almost worse than Simon, at least Percival had had a quicker death, right? His death hadn't been barely sharpened sticks beating their way into his skin? Right?
Right…
Right.
And this one wasn't his fault. Nope. He was completely blameless in this one. It wasn't… it wasn't his fault that Percival had wanted to come here – yes! Percival had wanted to come here. It was Percival's fault. Percival's fault. Yep. He didn't have anything to do with this. Really… it was Ralph's fault. For leaving his windows unlocked. Who the hell left their windows unlocked? Sure, there wasn't much to steal in that pitiful house, but still! Jack felt a sudden rush of hate toward Ralph, and had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from attacking and killing him right there.
Maybe it wasn't Bill he needed to kill.
Maybe it was Ralph.
Or maybe he should be safe and get both of them.
and here we go
