It felt like waking up after being that thing. After wearing that mask and doing who knows what in the odd hours of the night. The pain rolls through his head mercilessly, and he feels nauseous. For a slight moment Tim panics in his confusion – had he been wearing the mask? What had he done? He wrenches his eyes open with a gasp.

He's lying on his back, staring up at the night sky. Stars speckle the inky blackness, and the ends of tree branches reach out from the corners of Tim's vision. He blinks and takes a deep breath, the smell of wet dirt and pine filling his nostrils. He feels something plastered on his skin leading from his nostril to the brim of his upper lip; he touches his fingers there and pulls them away, along with dried blood.

Then it all comes back. The trial site, the man in the skeleton mask, and the suited creature. Jay! Tim tries to shove himself into a sitting position; the motion makes him dizzy and he lies there on his side with his eyes closed, trying to resist the urge to throw up. When the feeling has passed, he shakily climbs to his feet.

"Jay?" he calls out weakly into the darkness. "Jay!" He digs into his pocket, pulling out his phone to use it as a flashlight. But the battery is dead, despite it being fully charged when he and Jay had gone into Rosswood that morning. Shoving the now useless device back into his pocket, he waits for his eyes to adjust to the low light that the moon provides. He turns around slowly, studying his surroundings. He stops, chills spilling through his body.

The tunnel looms before him, its open mouth pitch black in the night. Tim stumbles a few steps backwards, bracing himself to run. But then his eyes catch sight of a huddled form lying just inside of the entrance of the tunnel. He squints his eyes into the darkness, but can't make out what it is. Cautiously, he takes a few steps forward. Now more than ever he wishes he had some source of light. He stops three feet from the form, narrowing his eyes to try and make out what it is.

"Jay?" he stutters. He rushes forward the final few feet and drops to his knees beside the body. "Jay, buddy? Can you hear me?"

Jay is lying on his side, facing away from Tim. His eyes are closed, but to Tim's relief he can't see signs of blood anywhere on Jay. "Jay! Come on, wake up!"

Jay's eyes flutter open; he winces, pain flickering across his face. "Wha –" he shakes his head dully. "Where…wh…Tim?" he looks up at the form bending over him. "What happened?" he asks, the words slurred in his groggy state.

"That thing showed up," Tim answers ruefully. He keeps one hand on Jay's back, helping him sit up. "I was chasing the man in the skeleton mask when it appeared. Were you behind me? Where were you?"

Jay presses a hand to his forehead, his face scrunched up in pain. "Yeah…yeah I think I was. I think I was following you." He groans. "I don't really remember though." He blinks, and looks around him drowsily. "Where's the camera?"

Tim twists his body around, searching. "I don't – oh." He points to where the camera lies a few feet from them. It's angled so it had been recording both of them in their unconscious state. Tim unsteadily stands and helps pull Jay to his feet. Together they walk over to the camera.

Jay picks it up. "It's still recording," he comments, turning the camera over.

"Charming," Tim mutters. He glances about them warily. "Let's just go."

Jay nods. He pats his jeans pocket, confusion on his face. "Hey…my pocket knife is gone."

Tim checks his own pocket. "Mine is too. Awesome. And we just bought those." A sudden thought crosses his mind, and he shoves his hand into his shirt pocket. Horror fills him when he feels nothing there. "The bastard took my medicine!" he growls. He gives a nearby rock a vicious kick, sending it flying into the tree line. "I swear, when I get my hands on that masked freak…"

Jay decides it's best not to say anything relating to the subject of "masked freaks," so he simply adjusts the night vision on the camera and lifts it to chest-level, pointing it into the seemingly still woods. "Come on, Tim," he says quietly. "We're doing no good just standing here."

Tim doesn't respond. Fuming, he stalks off in the general direction of the pathway that will eventually lead them back to the parking lot. Jay follows silently.

It's fairly difficult to trek through the woods with so little moonlight filtering through the trees, but Jay eventually takes the lead, using the camera's night vision to help see. They've only gone for about ten minutes when Jay throws out his arm, stopping Tim.

"What?" Tim snaps, still wound up in thoughts over his missing medicine.

"I heard something…" Jay replies, his voice low.

Immediately the muscles in Tim's body tighten, and for a moment his rage at the masked man is forgotten. "You sure?" he whispers.

Jay nods silently, swinging his camera from side-to-side, searching. Tim glances around them, straining to hear any sounds. A few seconds pass, and the only thing they can hear is the distant chirping of crickets.

"We should keep moving, Jay," Tim says in a low voice.

Jay hesitates, taking another sweep of the woods in front of them with his camera. But then he continues forward, his step much more cautious than before. They haven't even moved ten feet when Jay hears it again. A crack. A subtle rustle of leaves. And this time, Tim hears it too.

"Should we run?" Jay whispers.

"If it's that masked jerk, I'd like to give him a proper greeting…"

"Shut up, Tm, I'm trying to hear," Jay hisses. And then, "Oh no…"

Tim looks over at Jay, who is staring at the flip screen of the camera. Tim leans forward to do so also and when he sees what it is, feels his stomach drop. A break in the footage, followed by a few lines of static rolling down the screen.

"Shit," Tim mutters. The crunching footsteps behind them are much closer now. "Forget it," Tim says, not bothering to lower his voice anymore. "Run!"

Immediately, Jay bursts into a run, Tim not a moment behind him. Branches claw at their arms, vines swipe at their necks, and roots try to ensnare their feet. Yet they stumble on, Jay leading Tim with the camera held up in front of him. Their heavy breathing and pounding feet seem deafeningly loud to their ears, blocking out almost any other sounds. But vaguely over that, they can make out the noises of someone following them. The brush behind them seems alive as branches are shoved aside and the footsteps of their pursuer get louder, closer.

Then, Tim's foot gets caught in a slight indentation in the ground. Before he can register what is happening, he feels himself tumbling forward, and throws his hands out to protect himself as he crashes to the ground. Not even a second has passed when a dark figure bursts through the bushes behind him and lunges right at Tim.

Tim shoves himself to the side, still trying to catch his breath from the fall. The figure stumbles forward into thin air, but quickly recovers. He snaps his head towards Tim, his skeleton mask reflecting dully in the dim moonlight.

Tim pushes himself to his feet. The masked man straightens, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a knife. He flips open the blade, and Tim immediately recognizes the knife as his. He grits his teeth, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. The masked man jumps forward, swiping the knife at Tim's mid-section. Tim throws himself to the side and tries to knock the man's arm holding the knife upwards, but the man steps back, pulling it out of Tim's reach. He quickly swings the blade around. Tim tries to maneuver his hand around the weapon and grasp the masked man's arm, but is too slow. The knife slices along his forearm about three inches before Tim stumbles backwards with a hiss of pain.

The masked man advances, and Tim looks wildly about him for something to use as a weapon. The man prepares to lunge again, and Tim braces himself. But then there is the sound of something like a muffled crack, and the man's shoulder snaps to the side, causing him to stagger into a nearby tree. Surprise shooting through him, Tim jerks his gaze to the left – and sees Jay standing in front of a tangle of bushes, his hand that had just thrown a rather large rock still poised in the air.

"Sorry I took so long," Jay says breathlessly. Tim runs over to Jay's side, and the two re-focus their attention on the masked man.

Giving his head a hard shake, the man turns his body to face Tim and Jay. But he doesn't advance.

"Guess he doesn't like being out-numbered," Tim mutters. "Come on, let's take him."

"Tim…" Jay says. He hasn't even finished saying Tim's name when Tim feels it. The tightening of his chest, the sparking of pain in his head. He glances wildly at Jay, who's staring at the camera's flip screen; it's completely ravaged by distortion. Tim, Jay, and the masked man all suddenly turn their attention to the right; there, standing distantly among the trees, is the creature.

"Tim, let's go!" Jay shouts. Tim glances back at where the masked man had been; he is no longer there, though Tim can hear the faint sounds of someone running in the opposite direction that the creature is in. Jay is pulling desperately at Tim's sleeve, and the next second the two are running through the woods once again.

They don't look back to see if the creature is following. They simply run, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Their lungs are burning, and every once in a while they hack out ragged coughs, but they do not stop. It feels like they run for hours, but finally they reach the edge of the woods. Bursting through the tree line, the two gradually slow to a walk, gasping for breath.

"Is – is it – following us?" Tim manages between wheezes.

Jay looks behind them and shakes his head. "I don't – think so."

Tim glances back himself, then nods slightly. "Let's go."

They hurry back to Tim's car, which waits for them in a pool of orange light provided by the streetlight above it.

"What time is it?" Tim asks as they pull out of the parking lot.

Jay tilts his head slightly to look at the time on the car radio. "Five to nine."

Tim presses his lips into a hard line. "We were out of it for a while."

Jay just nods. He places the camera on the dashboard, turning it so it's filming the road in front of them. He coughs weakly, his body shuddering. Then his eyes catch sight of the dark line of blood running down Tim's forearm. "You're bleeding," he says, almost deadpan in his exhaustion.

Tim glances at his arm. "Oh. Yeah. That masked man nicked me just before you came. But it doesn't hurt – it's really shallow."

"We should bandage it."

"It's pretty much stopped bleeding. The blood is just caked on my arm now. It's fine."

"Don't you have a first aid kit in here?"

"Don't worry about it, Jay. I'll clean up at the motel." Tim grimaces, and he gives a short cough. "Fuck. I can't believe that bastard took my medicine. Well, I can believe it, but that doesn't make me any less pissed about it." He bangs his head against the seat's headrest.

"Do you have any extras back at the hotel?" Jay asks.

"They're in a lockbox in the false bottom of my car's trunk," Tim answers. "I probably should've gotten some out before we drove off, but getting away from Rosswood seemed more important at the time."

"It's fine," Jay says.

Tim grunts in frustration. "Even with the extras, I don't have a lot left." He sighs. "I wish there was someway we could get you to a doctor so you could get some. Just so I know there will be enough for you too. And don't even think about saying you don't need the help." He casts Jay a stern glance.

"I wasn't going to," Jay says. He rubs a hand across his eyelids wearily. "I think being kidnapped by that thing for two years is enough to make a person understand when they need help."

Hearing Jay admit to needing help doesn't make Tim feel the way he had hoped it would. Instead of satisfied or relieved, he feels uneasy, sad even. Sad that Jay sounds so resigned to his fate – that he believes that he is finally "damaged" enough to need the help. It disturbs Tim. It's as though the last of the fight within Jay has been torn out of him, as though whatever happened to him over the past two and a half years succeeded in finally breaking him.

"I don't think I even can get a prescription though," Jay says, jolting Tim out of his thoughts. "I mean, don't you need an address, a phone number – those kinds of things for prescription medicine? I don't have any of that. I don't have an ID card – nothing. It's like…I don't really exist in the world. I mean, I'm here, but, I can't prove who I am…I don't even have an identity anymore." The hopelessness in Jay's voice is almost overwhelming.

Tim's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Jay, it's going to be okay."

Jay doesn't answer. He simply turns to the window and focuses all of his body and attention on the passing darkness outside.

They stop at a small convenience store to buy some gauze and other medical supplies for future needs. When they get back to the motel, neither feels much like sleeping. After wrapping his arm, Tim decides he needs a long smoke "to think," and allows Jay to borrow his laptop while he does so.

Sitting on the cement curb just outside of their motel room, Tim takes a slow drag from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to flow through him lazily. It relaxes him, and he blows it out carefully, staring up at the night sky. Every few seconds or so he scans the edge of the parking lot, searching the distant trees for anything moving in the shadows.

"Tim?"

Tim breaks his gaze away from the trees, twisting around to see the thin form of Jay standing in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"I think you should see this." There's concern in Jay's voice, but – to Tim's surprise – there's also anger. A lot of anger, actually. Tim frowns.

"Yeah." Tim flicks the cigarette to the ground and grinds it out. "Yeah, sure." He gets up and follows Jay back into the motel room, closing the door behind him. "What's wrong?"

Jay gestures to the laptop sitting on the motel bed. Tim approaches it cautiously, sending Jay a questioning glance. As he pulls it towards him, Jay begins talking.

"I went onto the Marble Hornets account to check for anything new from totheark. While I was on it, I noticed that there were a lot of unread messages in the inbox. I was browsing through them and…well, see for yourself."

His frown deepening, Tim focuses on the laptop screen and sees about a dozen or so messages, all opened and already read by Jay. He clicks on the first one.

...

9/2/14

Tim,

I'm so sorry to bother you. I know you probably don't check this channel anymore, but I don't know what else to do. I…I think I've seen that thing. That thing that followed you and Jay. I don't know, it's always just out of my line of vision, and I can't afford a camera so I don't know if…I don't know. Is it following me? I'm so scared. I don't know what to do.

Lila

...

12/14/14

Tim,

I think that thing is following me now. I've tried catching it on film, but most of my footage is so blurry or distorted that I can't get a good picture of it to send to you. I don't know if you have any advice for me. I don't want to admit this, but…I'm kinda freaking out, man.

Get back to me if you can.

Mike

...

5/22/15

Tim,

It's about my little sister, May. She's only eight, but she keeps telling me about this "faceless man" that's been "keeping watch over her" for a few months now. It's really beginning to freak me out. I really hope I'm wrong, but I don't know…could it be that thing that followed you and Jay? You said you experienced things like this when you were a kid. Is there any advice you can give me? I'm so worried about May.

Becky

...

The other messages in the inbox are similar in content – all about seeing a faceless creature similar to the one that had stalked Tim and Jay. The messages get more heavily spaced out as the months go on, the most recent one sent about five months ago.

Tim stares in horror at the messages. This couldn't be right – he has stopped the disease from spreading. He had contained it to himself…and Jessica. "I…" He's at a loss of words. What is supposed to say? What can he say?

"Have you checked this channel at all since you had uploaded Entry 86?" Jay demands.

Tim's mouth is dry. His throat feels closed up, and he can't speak.

"These people have been asking for help for years, and you just ignored them?" Jay's voice is white hot with anger. "You didn't even bother to check once, to see if anyone had messaged you? Don't you get email notifications about new YouTube messages?" His words take on a more malicious tone. "Or did you just delete them right away without bothering to check what they were about?"

Finally Tim finds his voice. "I didn't ignore them on purpose, Jay," he snaps, hurt and guilt coursing through him. "I would never have if I had known what the messages were about. I…yes, I did delete the notifications. I didn't want anything else to do with it." Seeing Jay's furious expression, Tim feels anger of his own rise up. "You had died, Jay! You were killed, and taken by that thing! And it was my fault. I thought I had contained the disease the best I could after that – short of killing myself. So yes, I ignored the channel. I didn't want anything else to do with it. I couldn't. Yes, I know it was a childish thing to do, and I'm sorry. I just – fuck." He runs both hands through his hair, gripping the ends of the black locks tightly. "I fucked up. I'm sorry. That's all I can say. Nothing else I say is going to change this."

The fury in Jay's face is still prevalent, and the muscles in his body taunt. "I know you're sorry, Tim. I can understand why you deleted the notifications but…still, Tim. I mean…this is bad. This is really bad."

"Don't you think I know that?" Tim asks viciously.

"I just said I understood, Tim!" Jay retorts, his voice rising. "But that doesn't make up for the fact that there are a lot of people out there who have been needing your help for years and –"

"My help?" Tim shoves the laptop away, standing to his full height. "Why does it have to be my help?"

"Because you were the only one left!"

"Exactly! I was the only one left, Jay. I had no where to go, no one to go to. It was just me. You were gone, Brian was gone. What was I supposed to do?"

Jay runs a hand through his hair, making a noise of frustration. "I don't know. I don't fucking know." He pulls his hand away, his eyes draining of their anger and filling up with raw hopelessness. "There's so many of them," he says, his tone quiet, horrified, almost. "What are we supposed to do?"

Tim rubs the back of his head, gritting his teeth. "I don't know, Jay."

"We have to find them," Jay says suddenly, hard determination taking over. "We have to help them."

"Those messages are years old, Jay."

"So?" Jay snaps. "That doesn't mean it still isn't stalking them. It followed us for years." He gives a bitter, harsh laugh. "It still is!"

"Exactly. It's following us right now. It's pre-occupied with us, which means the others are safe – for now. We need to focus on finding out how you got back here –"

"How that's going to help anything?" Jay demands. "No one cares how I got back here, and it's certainly not going to help those people –"

"I care," Tim grinds out. At that Jay stops. "I fucking care how you got back. I want to know where you've been. I want to know why you've been alive this whole time, and how I didn't know. I should've known. I should've…fuck, Jay."

Jay's shoulders slump slightly. "Tim…"

Tim avoids Jay's gaze. "I know figuring that out isn't going to help those people. I know it's selfish of me. We should be finding a way to destroy that thing – if that's even possible. But…I don't know. If we can keep it focused on us at least…"

Jay watches Tim with a pained expression.

"Just…please, Jay. We just need to…" Tim stops and looks about him helplessly. "I don't even know what we need to do."

After a moment, Jay sighs. "Look, I have no idea where we need to go to find more information on how I got back to Rosswood. We tried searching the trial site, and that didn't turn out how we'd been hoping at all. There was nothing there. You've researched all you can on it…I just, I don't know what else we can do about it. But – these people, they need our help, Tim. I just think we'd do a lot better contacting them –"

"How are we going to help them?" Tim cuts in. "We don't even know how to help ourselves. What are we going to say to them? 'Just take some medicine, that's about all we've been doing so…good luck?' Come on, Jay."

"It's better than just abandoning them!"

Tim scoffs. "Right. Fine, whatever. Go ahead and try to contact them, Jay. If that's going to make you feel better. But it's not going to make a difference." Spinning on his heel, he walks over to the door leading to the parking lot, throws it open, and storms off into the night.

/

It's almost one in the morning when Tim gets back to the room. For hours he had simply walked up and down the stretch of highway next to the motel. Smoking cigarette after cigarette and trying to form some sort of clear train of thought. But all he could feel was anger, confusion, and guilt. A lot of guilt. How could it have spread? He had done everything to make sure it was contained. And it had all been for nothing. Now even more people are in danger because of him.

He's so wrapped up in guilt and anger that he doesn't even bother to keep himself aware of his surroundings. Subtly, Tim knows it is an incredibly stupid decision to walk alone at night for so long. He knows it's reckless, even selfish of him. But it just doesn't seem to matter right now.

Fortunately the night seems as still as ever, and it remains uneventful as he finally opens up the motel room door and steps into the dimness. Jay is asleep on his bed, propped up against the wooden backboard with a pillow, with Tim's laptop open next to him. A quick glance at the screen and Tim can see that Jay had replied to every single message sent. Unsurprisingly, there are no responses yet.

Shutting the laptop, Tim kicks off his shoes and drops onto his bed with a tired groan. It is a long while before sleep comes to him.

/

"So what now?" Jay asks stiffly, pulling on one of his shoes.

It's early morning, and the two are packing up to leave the motel. Jay had woken up a few hours before Tim, and had spent the time looking through the footage they had filmed of themselves so far. There had been nothing unusual to report.

Tim looks over at Jay, who seems to be careful to avoid his gaze. The tension is awkward between the two, and Tim turns away from Jay before answering. "I don't know." He grits his teeth. "You were right – we have nothing to go on about figuring out what…happened to you." He bites his lip, hating to say what's next, but knowing there is nothing else to do. "So maybe…maybe we should try and find those people who had contacted us."

Jay looks at Tim in surprise. "Seriously?"

Tim tightens his jaw. "Yeah. I don't know what else we can do right now."

Jay nods, considering. "But…won't that thing follow us to them? After what you said about it being drawn to us…"

Tim shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. But, it's already found them, right? I mean, that sounds kinds harsh, but, if they want the help…"

Jay blows out a puff of air. "Sure, yeah, I guess we can do it. I'll check and see if anyone's replied to my messages."

"I'll take this stuff out to the car."

Jay just nods absently as he pulls Tim's laptop over to him. Tim slings his backpack over his shoulder and grabs the handle of his duffel bag, making his way outside to the parking lot. He starts walking past the driver's door, popping the trunk lid with his remote key. But he stops, spinning around to stare through the windows of the car. Dropping the bags to the asphalt, Tim hurriedly unlocks the car and wrenches the driver's door open.

Scattered throughout the entire inside of the car, covering the seats and floors, are dozens of white pages. And scrawled over every one are sporadic scribbles written in black marker; odd drawings, jerkily written words, and that symbol – everywhere.

LIAR

HOW

RETRIBUTION

CAN

COMES

HE

DECEIVER

TRUST

WHO'S TO

YOU

BLAME

And lying on top of all the papers, in the center of the driver's seat, is a photo. Tim picks it up carefully, coldness running through him, almost choking him at the sight of it all. It's a photo of him, from last night. Wandering along the highway, smoking, and completely ignorant to any danger around him. Tim flips over the photo.

WATCH YOUR BACK

Tim throws the photo onto the pile of papers, breathing hard. The next second he's frantically gathering them up and stuffing them into a nearby garbage bin. When the car is empty of the papers, Tim throws the bags into the trunk and slams it shut, his chest heaving. He braces his arms against the car, blinking hard to try and rid himself of the words that seem burned into his eyes. It takes a long minute, but his heart finally calms down enough that he feels he can walk back into that motel room and act as though nothing had happened.

So he does. He walks in, and sees Jay sitting on his unmade bed, excitement on his face. "Someone replied! I can't believe they did so fast!" He tilts the laptop screen towards Tim, pointing at the new message.

...

Tim? Is this really you?

My gosh, I can't believe you replied. It's been so long…where have you been? Sorry...that's not my business.

But yes, if you can, I'll take any advice you can give me. My sister, May, she's almost ten now. But her…"friend" as she calls it…she can still see it. It hasn't been as frequent as of late, but…I'm so scared for her. She'll wake up screaming from nightmares, and sometimes doesn't remember things normal kids her age should have no problem remembering. Like where we had gone earlier that day, or what her favorite doll's name is. My parents think it's just a thing some kids her age go through when having trouble adjusting to a new school grade or something, because nothing too severe has happened yet. But they're wrong – I know they are.

Please help her.

Becky

...

"Where do they live?" Tim asks after finishing the message. His heart feels as heavy as ever, but his decision has been made. Though he wants nothing more than to figure out what had happened to Jay, after reading Becky's call for help, he realizes what is more important right now. And he despises himself for hating what the answer is.

"I don't know," Jay admits. "I'll have to message her and ask. Wait." He looks up at Tim with embarrassed – but hopeful – eyes. "Are you saying…do you…will you come with me?"

Tim sighs. "Well, since I have the car, I don't know how else you expect to get there."

A shy smile breaks out onto Jay's face. "Thanks, Tim."

Tim shrugs. "Yeah, well, someone has to watch out for your dumb ass."

Jay snorts. "Thanks," he repeats, this time the word laced with much more sarcasm. But the look in his eyes is so grateful, that the remaining tension from their fight last night seems to fall away. For the most part, at least.

Tim allows a small smile of his own to slide across his mouth. It's more of a reassurance for Jay than anything else. "Okay, send your message, then let's go eat something. I'm starving, and I demand eggs and coffee. No more of this granola bar and trail mix bullshit."

"Agreed," Jay says, already typing away on the laptop.

They find a small café not far from the motel. It's small, and rather dingy in appearance, but the food is both cheap and passable, so it's good enough for them.

"Holy crap," Jay says in surprise, staring at the laptop screen, which is pushed to the side of the table. The camera sits beside it, recording.

"What?"

"She's close – really close. She's only about a three hour drive from here. Actually, probably a little less than that."

"That's really close?"

"Better than being in Arizona or something."

"True." Tim picks at the slightly burnt crust on his toast. "I wonder if they're all close."

Jay looks up at Tim with a questioning gaze.

"I mean, at first I thought they'd be spaced out all over the country," Tim continues. "But it's like a disease, right? And if it…started with me…then it has to spread out from that starting point, right? So it's going to take time to spread out from Alabama."

"Makes sense," Jay says, taking a sip of his coffee. "I wonder how it's spreading."

"Well, it latched onto Alex when I got into Marble Hornets. So I think the infected person has to meet the new 'victim' – or whatever you want to call it – in person for that thing to attach itself to them." He pauses, thinking. "But I don't ever remember meeting a 'Becky' or 'May' before. Or anyone else from that list."

"Maybe it was a subtle meeting, something in passing," Jay suggests.

"Or maybe they know someone who's known me at some point." Tim frowns. "But then that other person could be infected too."

"Yeah, I guess." Jay sets down the now-empty coffee mug, and flicks a torn piece of a sugar packet partway across the table. He glances out between the thin blinds rolled over the window to the right of the booth they're sitting at, scanning the parking lot.

"Fuck," Tim mutters, getting Jay's attention again. "I mean, I thought I had contained it. I thought I had stopped this thing. Instead, it's grown for years, without me even knowing it. I should've…maybe I should've just…done what Alex –"

"Don't," Jay cuts in, his voice hard. "Don't you dare. Don't let what Alex said get into your head. He was…messed up. That person whom you confronted in Benedict Hall, who…shot me…that wasn't Alex. Alex was dead long before that. That….monster was the one that was behind everything Alex was doing."

"Not in the end," Tim says tiredly. "Somehow, Alex broke away from it. To some degree, at least. He was trying to stop it. By killing us – and eventually himself – off, he thought he was containing it." Tim rubs a hand over his forehead. "What Alex told me to do – that was him. He knew it was the best chance we had at stopping this thing."

"Well he was wrong," Jay snaps viciously. Tim's gaze jerks to Jay in surprise. But Jay is already looking away, slight embarrassment on his face. "He was wrong," he repeats, his voice low. Tim can hear it though. The part of Jay trying to convince himself that what he's saying is true. Tim wishes it was. He studies Jay for a moment, but Jay continues to look at the table.

"Come on, Jay," Tim says heavily, pushing himself out of the booth. "Let's get going."

Jay doesn't speak. He bites his lip, holding his mug in his hands so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

"Jay."

Jay let's the mug go in a swift motion, almost shoving it away. He slides to his feet, avoiding Tim's eyes and walking towards the café's door. Tim is quiet for a moment, staring at where Jay had been sitting. He pulls out a few crumpled bills, tossing them onto the table for the bill and tip, then gathers up the laptop and camera. Casting a nod at the waitress standing behind the bar counter, he follows Jay outside.

/

/

/

NOTE: So about the whole disease-starting-with-Tim thing. There are so many different theories about how the Operator-disease works, and if Tim really is at the source of it. I've read a few theories about how people all over the world could be affected by it – which I think is really interesting. I'm not going to rule out any of those options right now, but since this story is being mainly told from Tim's point of view, he thinks that he's the source. Which is why the disease is talked about the way it is (spreading out from Alabama and what-not) – because that's how Tim thinks it works, regardless if that's how it really does or not.

So that's my little tidbit on that.