A/N: On to chapter dos! XD This thing has been really fun for me to write…but really hard. I'm a hopeless romantic…and I like to have happy endings, so it's hard for me to write Albel completely heartless…but that's the whole point of Albel being Albel…he's heartless. Anyway…I'll try really hard to make him cruel and vicious…and you can yell at me if he starts getting soft…how does that sound? XD

Disclaimer: I do not own Albel…or Muraki...or Dexter…or any of the other psychos that influenced Albel's character. But seriously…Darkly Dreaming Dexter...awesome book…Dexter the psycho serial killer…

End of hope, end of love

End of time, the rest is silent

-Nightwish "End of all Hope"

Fayt immediately hated the inside of the shack. As soon as he was shoved into the door, his nose was assailed by a terrible odor. His hands were bound so he could not cover his nose. He tried to hold his breath.

"Get used to it," the killer said cheerfully. "The smell will kind of grow on you after awhile."

Fayt doubted it. He felt like vomiting. How the killer could live here without passing out from the smell was beyond him.

"Look around, make yourself at home," the murderer said after he had tied Fayt's arms securely to a bedpost and had deposited him on the end of the bed.

Fayt looked around nervously. The shack was basically divided into two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom, by a small beaded curtain. The bathroom was an outhouse.

"See anything you like?" the killer asked proudly, noticing Fayt turn green.

Fayt's eyes were fastened on the desk in the corner of the bedroom, at the jars of various shapes and sizes, with different decaying organs floating in what looked like sewer water.

"Horrible…" Fayt choked out. "Body parts…the smell."

"Ah yes," the killer said. "I forgot to put those back in the fridge. Silly me."

Fayt buried his face in the bed. He was definitely going to be sick.

"You look a little pale…want me to get you something to eat?"

Fayt fought to keep the bile out of his mouth. If he became sick and weak, there would be no way for him to escape. He had to stay calm, stay rational, stay strong.

The killer laughed with a wild, almost hysterical note in his voice. "You silly, boy. You think I would keep those ungrateful things in with my food? No, I have a special place for them." He snorted with contempt. "The basement is cold and dark, perfect for cowards to hide."

Fayt tugged on his ropes with despair. This guy was clearly over the edge. Talking about body parts like they had feelings? He probably talked with the victims' corpses too and Fayt didn't want to be one of them.

"Didn't I tell you not to fight me?" the killer roared, yanking Fayt's head out of the blankets.

Fayt shuddered as the killer thrust his face an inch away from Fayt's and sneered. "I have other plans for you than the rest of the sons of bitches. Don't tempt me to change my mind. If you do what I say, you'll be one of the lucky ones."

Fayt wasn't sure what being lucky meant. Maybe he wouldn't be killed but he would be bound up in this miserable shack for life. Fayt would rather die.

Fayt's eyes widened in horror as the killer absently pulled a knife out of his trench coat. "No, stop! You said you wouldn't kill me!"

The murderer grinned wickedly. "There are worse things than death."

Fayt squeezed his eyes shut as the killer brought down the knife. To his surprise, he felt his hands finally free again.

He opened his eyes and stared in wonder. The killer grinned like a maniac, the knife still embedded in the rope and the bedpost. "Yeah, I cut the ropes off," the killer said dismissively. "But that don't mean you can run free. I'm still watching you." He stabbed the knife into the mattress for emphasis.

Fayt shuddered and gently massaged his aching wrists. The ropes had cut into his skin, forming red welts.

The killer stood at the desk, absently sorting through the jars of organs. Fayt immediately looked away. He didn't want to see that again. It was turning his stomach even as he thought about it.

Fayt glanced at the single, small window, covered with dirt and grime. It was stuck partway open. Maybe if he was lucky…

The jar shattered against the wall near Fayt's head. His mouth opened in a wordless scream almost at the same time the killer started shouting, his face contorted in fury.

"What did I tell you?! No one escapes from me unless I let them! Filthy bastard! You've no right to live, but you're going to anyway. You're going to hate yourself, wishing you could die."

Fayt whimpered and crawled across the bed, trying to get as far away as possible from this terrifying monster. He stopped as soon as his hand touched something slimy and fleshy.

Fayt jerked back as if burned and began screaming incoherently, huddling in on himself. He shook with terror and disgust.

The killer looked amused. He shoved Fayt backwards onto the bed; spread Fayt's body out flat. Fayt didn't have the strength to fight him.

With a new piece of rope, he lashed Fayt's limbs each to one of the four bedposts. Fayt lay there helplessly, his body limp and his eyes vacant.

"A little to the left," the killer murmured. He nudged Fayt's body into the pool of liquid.

Fayt gasped and his whole body tensed and then became limp again. He stared at the murderer with unseeing eyes.

"So your escape is to cut yourself off from reality," the murderer muttered bitterly. 'My escape is to change my reality."

He glanced at the shards of glass clinging to Fayt's wet shirt. On one particularly large shard was a faded name tag. A clipboard with a list of names sat on the desk. That name was among those crossed off.