The Killer Among Us

Chapter 43

Two days left

Jacob

It was the crack of dawn when I burst into my motel room and ran straight to the bathroom, feeling the bile rise in my throat. I slumped in front of the toilet and vomited the few contents of my stomach out, dry heaving for most of it. It must have been the alcohol, I told myself. But really, I knew that I was terrified, terrified of the coming day.

My own words played in my mind, over and over again, "Let Aria go and kill me instead." Yet I didn't recognize my voice. Maybe the desperation and hurt distorted it.

Normally, I felt better after vomiting but that time I felt even more wretched than before.

My body screamed, begged even, for rest but I couldn't find it in myself to lay down and sleep, or even eat. Whilst I knew that these were the last hours of my life, I didn't care about making them memorable or even pleasant, I simply wanted to get through them somehow, and quickly.

After sitting on the cold, dirty tiles for a little too long, I forced myself up with shaking legs and aching bones. The stab wound in my leg was itching and burning. Not a good sign, I thought. Would I have cared if my life wasn't about to end anyway?

My mask of numbness started to grumble and with it, my breathing became shallow, rapid. Tension slithered through me, dread cruising through my veins. I felt it in my bones, I felt it on my skin - the all-consuming panic of an inevitable death. For once, I understood my need for alcohol and Adderall. Anything is better than the primal fear of dying. Was this how Ava felt? Did Eddie drown in the knowledge that he was about to die? Did my dad? What is Aria feeling right now? Is she hoping for me to come and save her? Does she believe and trust in me enough?

I fidgeted for my burner phone and swiftly called Eddie's number, without thinking. It rang but there was no answer. I called again - still no answer. It was only then that I realised what I was doing, that I was calling someone who would never pick up the phone again, how my mental state was deteriorating, and I slowly began to weep. Eddie was always just a phone call away. Maybe where I was going, I would be close to him again. I wept at the loss of my best friend and father, at the loss of my first love, at the loss of my own life. When it all got too much, I threw my phone against the wall with all my might, shattering it into pieces.

The room started spinning, my vision blurred, and I knew that I needed to prepare myself for the next day. So, instead of soaking in self-pity, I started gathering my belongings, the files and files of documents, the crime scene pictures and notes. Walking around, doing at least something, helped me calm my mind.

By the time I went through the entire room, ripping out drawers and tipping over furniture, I was completely out of breath. My t-shirt clung to my damp skin. So, I knelt in front of the pile of things I accumulated and wondered if my involvement hurt the investigation. Maybe I should have talked to Burke after all but "It's too late now," I whispered defeatedly.

So, I hastily threw it all into a tin trash can and lit a match. The flame flickered and ate its way down the wooden match. The light and warmth it gave off was tiny, insignificant and yet, when I threw it into the accumulation of materials, it grew into a brighter, hotter flame. The smoke it gave off engulfed my senses and I welcomed the distraction.

I prayed to be like this small flame, insignificant at first but a mighty fire once it is unleashed onto the world. But like the fire in the trash can, I too would die. My light and warmth would soon be nothing more than ashes. I hoped that I too would not be remembered that my sins would burn away, my ashes scattered in the wind and be forgotten forever.

Then, once the fire in front of me had died, I was left in the cold again. Shadows creeped back into my vision, darkening everything they touched. Yet, in some distant, hidden corner of my soul, I still felt the burning of a small flicker of hope, a whisper of peace.

Everything I had was nothing but ashes now. I only had myself, the clothes on my body, my car and the money Gregg gave me. That was enough for me.

With heavy steps I walked into the bathroom again, annoyed at the sudden realisation that time suddenly seemed to have stopped moving. Now that I didn't need it anymore, it didn't seem to pass. My determination, once a gush, was now a trickle.

When I looked into the mirror, I wasn't surprised to see a mere vessel of a man staring back at me. If I stared long enough, I could almost see the cracks in my skin, my carefully crafted courage crumbling beneath the weight of my fear. The foundations of my being, my moral and my values were turned upside down in the last couple of weeks and yet I was proud to say that I made it this far.

I swallowed hard and turned open the faucet. Immediately, a flow of hot water started rushing out of it, steam forming in the bathroom and fogging up the mirror in front of me. Part of me was glad that I didn't have to look at myself anymore. Part of me thought back to the last time I stood in front of this foggy mirror. A man made of darkness stood behind me, lashing at me the minute he sensed my weakness. He left his mark, not only on my body but also on my mind.

Again, I twisted the faucet, making ice cold water rush out of it instead. The mist evaporated after some time and my posture relaxed. Still, I glanced behind me every now and then. With shaking hands, I splashed some icy water onto my tired skin but when I closed my eyes I saw the cassette tapes of torture again, the smell of rotting flesh stung my nose, the screaming of tortured patients replayed in my mind. The gore and horror never left me, no matter what I did.

I found myself standing on the threshold of Tree of Life sanatorium. I thought myself different from the patients inside and yet I finally came to terms with acknowledging that I needed help. Oh, how I wished for a soft-spoken nurse to guide me away and put me into a deep sleep, away from body bags, hidden cellars and sawn off thumbs, away from the snarling voice of The Solemn Serpent.

Then, I looked up into the mirror again. Reality was not that merciful. Instead, I was met with another horrific picture. A young girl stood behind me, but I could only see her through the mirror. Her blonde curls were stained with dried blood, her eyes turned black. Slowly, she raised her hand and pointed at me, and I heard her whisper, "You killed me, Jacob."

I shook my head and clenched my eyes shut. "You're not real," I uttered. The rushing of water almost drowned out my words. When I opened my eyes again, she was gone. Is it pathetic to say that I was sad to be alone again? What kind of loser enjoyed the company of his hallucinations?

Letting out a restricted sigh, I reached for the bottle of pills in my pocket and emptied the entire content in the palm of my hands. For a mere moment I considered the sweet escape that all these pills could bring me if I took them at once. I admit, I stared at them for a little too long and I felt pathetic that I even considered taking them. I looked at them with disgust, holding them cradled in my shaking hand, but then I suddenly noticed something. The pills were not the same shade of blue that I was used to seeing, the shade of Ava's eyes, summer skies and ocean waves. No, they were a different shade of blue, a hint of green coming through the longer I stared at them. "Almost like poison," I whispered.

Immediately, I let them fall into the stream of water, letting them wash down the drain.

I gasped for breath. "No, he didn't. He couldn't have."

I wasn't going crazy; I was being drugged. Somehow, he swapped out my pills and slowly drove me into insanity. Anger boiled inside of me as I realised that the people that I saw, the ghosts that haunted me, weren't memories. They were hallucinations, led on by some drug that I knowingly, yet unwillingly, took. How did I just realize? He was toying with me all along.

This was the tip of the iceberg, making me overflow with fury. A scream formed in the back of my throat, and I let it out gladly. Now I know that the scream was a mere mask that blocked out the painful regret. Then, I let my anger take over and with all my strength I punched the mirror in front of me.

My fists collided hard with the glass, making it shatter into pieces and fall to the ground, almost like a waterfall. Immediately, I grunted in pain, but I somehow enjoyed it, the feeling of the warm blood gushing out of my hand, the aching knuckles. I could have sworn I broke a bone.

Yet, when I looked down at the shards of glass, I saw myself differently. It was as if I regained a piece of myself. I wasn't crazy, I thought. Just foolish.

"Well fucking played," I thought.