Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter Ten

The phone was ringing. It was ringing and I was trying to sleep and Hal wasn't even in the room to answer it. Why'd he have to leave his cellphone in the living room? Why did I have to have no knowledge about cell phones? I just wanted to turn it the f**k off. Why was this person calling so many times anyway? Whatever it was, it must've been important. It wasn't even 10 in the morning yet, surely it could wait- ugh.

I sat up and grabbed the small device off the coffee table, kicking off the thin blanket I had acquired since my first night here and walked to Hal's room. The door was closed, so I sighed and raised my hand to knock on the door.

It opened moments later, and a sleepy dishevelled looking Hal stood there, confused. His hair was a mess and he literally looked like a day old corpse but somehow he still looked good. I held out his phone, which was still ringing, and he looked at it with disgust showing that he was not in the mood to deal with whoever was calling.

"Who is it?" I asked, as he took the phone out of my hand and stared at it.

"McCracken." He groaned, before answering the call finally and holding the phone up to his ear.

"What do you want now?" He asked, then squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple, seemingly disapproving of whatever this guy had said.

"It hasn't even been a week.

Yes, I'm sure she's dead.

...Well f**k, what am I supposed to do about that? Call the police and tell them she's dead? Of course she's still labelled as a missing person.

...How the f**k are they supposed to find a body that's buried 6 feet deep in the middle of a f*****g forest.

...You're a f*****g moron, she's dead, stop calling me.

...Fuck's sakes. Why do you care anyway? Even if she was with me it's still doing the same damage to her dad.

...No, I'm not saying she's- you know what? I don't have time for this, f**k right off, goodbye." He hung up and looked at me with the most annoyed expression. "f*****g idiot."

"Well, he's not wrong-"

"Even if I did kill you he'd be asking the same dumb questions. I don't even know why he's so fuckin stuck on it. Whether you're dead or missing, your dad still doesn't have you."

"Probably 'cause he paid you a lot of money to kill me and he doesn't wanna get ripped off," I paused. "And taking me away from my dad isn't gonna do s**t to him, he never cared about me."

"If he didn't care he wouldn't be looking for you. Don't be so dramatic, it doesn't suit you." He had bluntly stated and walked past me to get to the kitchen.

"If he cared about me he wouldn't be a drug dealer, he'd get an actual job and maybe pay attention to me every once in a while." I defended, following him into the kitchen with furrowed eyebrows and a now pissy mood. He didn't know anything about me.

"That's loving someone, not caring about someone. Don't get ahead of yourself there, buddy"

"Well there, he didn't love me. Taking me away from him is pointless. I could go back, he'd probably hug me for the first time in my life and then go off with his drug buddies and do coke for three days without a word." I was just getting angry now. I didn't have any business telling him any of this but it was just spewing out of my mouth and I couldn't shut it for the life of me. I guess I just didn't get enough sleep.

"I don't know why you're getting into this so aggressively, I'm not arguing with you. We've all got s**t and I didn't ask for yours." He said in a monotonous voice.

"Wow, ok, for a second there I thought maybe you cared about me but I guess not cause you're a f*****g psychopath, right?" I spat back, shoving my hands in my pocket and leaning my back against the wall. I don't know if it was our rude awakenings that were making us so irritable, but I went from slightly annoyed to f*****g pissed in seconds and he looked like he was ready to kill someone. Which, he probably was anyway.

He stopped what he was doing and he turned to me.

He approached me, he took the collar of my dirty white t-shirt in his fist and he pulled me towards him. "Don't tell me how the f**k I feel about s**t, I probably have more emotion in my f*****g pinky finger than you have in your entire body, and I'll warn you again, never, ever, pick fights with a serial killer." He let go of my shirt and even smoothed it out a bit, running his hand over the fabric a few times to get rid of the stretches and wrinkles he put there. "Also, you smell deader than your dreams and I've got five thousand dollars with your name on it. We're going out after I make coffee." I didn't say anything. He just stood for a moment, quite a few centimetres too close for any normal interaction. I was staring at my feet, my toes almost touching his at how close he was. He sighed and turned around, starting to fumble around with the coffee maker again.

I left the kitchen after that and sat on the couch. And I even had the audacity to pout, by myself. "Deader isn't even a word."

And f**k, now he left me wondering again. I hated wondering. All I wanted to know is if he cared about me and after the things he said to me I wasn't too sure if he did. But at the same time, he wouldn't've reacted like that when I said he didn't.

Hal came out into the living room later with a travel mug in hand, and a ball of clothes in the other which he blatantly threw at me. I sighed and gathered the now scattered outfit and slinked off to the bathroom, before changing into them. It consisted of another pair of grey incredibly tight jeans, a Doors t-shirt, and a large black hoodie. A very large black hoodie, so large that the sleeves hung over my hands and the bottom of it reached down to my mid-thigh. I just sighed and rolled up the sleeves, before exiting the bathroom and walking out into the living room. Hal just chuckled at me.

"You okay? You look like you're drowning in that sweater."

I still didn't say anything to him.

"Back to mute Frankie? Whatever, I liked you better that way."

I was fuming. I don't know why he felt like he needed to insult me over and over. Why today? What's different today? Must've woke up on the wrong side of the coffin. By the looks of him, I don't doubt that he sleeps in one. But I was sure as hell done with his attitude. "Okay, what the f**k is your deal?" I finally spoke up.

He just smirked. "What, mommy not tell you that when people pick on you it means they like you?" He snickered and turned away, making his way for the front door where he started pulling his combat boots on. I stood in the same place, my jaw slack as I watched him. I sighed and joined him, slipping on my converse, trying not to make a stupid comeback like 'I don't have a mom.' Which I don't, but by the events of last time I brought up a shitty factor of my life, he didn't wanna hear it.

I wasn't sure if what he said had pissed me off even more or if it flattered me. I mean joking about my smell and calling me annoying might've been reasonable but what he was saying earlier was definitely not 'picking on me'. It wasn't really my place to rant about my life either but he brought it on himself and if he cared about me he would've listened. I guess he got all the 'feelings talk' for his lifetime last night.

Hal locked the door and we continued out to his car.

"Hood up, you're dead." He muttered before stepping out onto the street and walking around to the driver's side, unlocking the car and climbing in. I brought both of my hands up and took the fabric of the hood between my fingers, pulling it up over my head. The hood was fuckin' huge too, hanging down past my eyes. I pulled it back a little bit, letting most of the hood sag off the back of my head and just letting it rest on the top of my head.

"I gave you that hoodie for a reason, keep the hood all the way up."

"I can't see when it's like that,"

"Well, that means people can't see you either." He told me and I sighed, pulling it forwards a little bit. Hal seemed to approve as he started his car and pulled out of the parking spot, beginning to drive down the road.

"You know, I liked Monroeville Hal better," I told him, folding my arms over my chest and letting them hang loosely like that.

"Hal? That's what you picked?" He smirked, not approving of it but not making a fuss either. "Monroeville Hal just had a good kill, and coffee in his system." He said, remembering that he had his travel mug with him, then picked it up and took a sip.

"Sorry... For talking too much and, yeah..." I sighed, running a hand through my long shaggy hair, which was kind of awkward due to the hood on my head.

"I'd apologize for s**t I said, but I don't apologize." He chuckled and looked at me for a few seconds before looking back at the road. "Can I cut your hair?"

"What? Why?"

"It's not bad, it's just... I dunno. You should probably change a bunch of s**t, you look exactly like your missing person's picture. Get a piercing. Get a tattoo. Wear makeup. Dye your hair. I dunno." He suggested, and I admit, there was some logic in that, but I didn't agree with some of his ideas.

"What, so basically turn me into you?" I laughed.

"I don't have piercings or tattoos, pansy."

"Why not?" I asked, he had this whole emo goth aesthetic, his lack of piercings and tattoos was quite surprising to me.

"That's for me to know. But let's stop at hot topic and get hair dye and s**t, 'kay? And you may as well get all your clothes there too, you should probably change your style up a bit. I mean you already listen to punk music so you might end up liking it as much as I know I will."

*****************

By the time we got back to the house, we had quite a few bags. Not enough to make me look like a dumb gold digger, but enough that we had had to carry a few bags each as we entered the house. It was only mere seconds later before his phone began to ring again.

"f*****g Christ!" He groaned, dropping his bags on the floor and pulling his phone out of his pocket. The grimace on his face basically projected the name of the caller. McCracken. He answered it and held it to his ear.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me." His face was grim as he listened to what he had to say. It must not have been very good because his face went stark-white. "You-" he looked out the peephole in the door. I looked at him in confusion and worry and he looked at me with the latter. "No, I'm not even in Belleville right now.

...It doesn't matter.

...Go right ahead. I can assure you whoever opens the door ain't me." And then he hung up.

"Should I hide?" I asked, taking my turn to look through the peephole and saw a man possibly shorter than me but with hair longer- and strangely enough, greasier- than Hal, approaching the house.

"No, he already saw you- just um, sit on the couch and act natural. And- take the bags with you. Just look inconspicuous."

I nodded and quickly gathered up all of the bags and carried them to the living room, placing them on the floor and sitting on the couch, one bag on my lap as I pretended to search through it. I've never really met this McCracken guy, I've gotten a glimpse of him from when he'd visit my dad for drugs, and he'd never come into our apartment so the only time he's probably ever seen me was on the news, meaning there was still a chance we could get away with it if I kept my hood up.

Hal was on the couch beside me, his leg bouncing nervously as the man walked up the front steps to the house. There was a blunt knock on the door, and Hal rose calmly. He walked the door and then he opened it. Thank god he hid his face when we met up with McCracken the first time.

"Nice car there, buddy." The shorter man spoke, a smirk on his face. I totally forgot, he saw the car when we met him. "You know, for a super secret serial killer you're pretty easy to find." He turned to look at me. "Hey, Frankie."

"Who's Frankie?" Hal asked in a confused tone. I honestly don't know why he was even trying anymore.

"Give it up, Zero. I'm not f*****g around here. First, I get ripped off by a sketchy dealer and the f*****g hit I hire on his kid gets f****d up too. You know what I said. You don't kill her, I will. and I'm taking my fuckin' money back too."

"I don't know what you're talking abo-" He then shoved Hal, which was kind of a failed attempt since Hal was quite larger than him. It was when McCracken started walking towards me that I started fully panicking.

"If you hurt her I'll f*****g kill you!" I heard Hal threaten.

"Why, is she your girlfriend now? Hah, I don't care. I've been stabbed before I think I can handle your attempt." I stood up slowly, and I don't know if that did bad or good for me but he was now reaching behind him. He pulled out the knife only a split second before he tackled me to the ground. I looked around with wide eyes, and Hal was nowhere to be seen. I let out a small cry before McCracken raised the knife to my throat, pressing down. I reached my hands up and wrapped them around his wrists, pushing with all my effort to get his arm away. I managed to push it away, leaving the blade of his knife to glide across my neck. I don't know how deep it was but I could feel a warm sticky substance dripping down the side of my neck. The knife fell from McCracken's hand, so I stuck my arm out and hit it away.

"f*****g hell!" The greasy-haired man grunted before wrapping his hands around my throat and squeezing. My hands immediately flew up again and I tried to pry his hands from my neck but he was way stronger than I was. And the white-hot pain from him pressing into the fresh knife wound in my neck didn't help much either. I was losing air, losing fight. Suddenly he was pushed off of me, and I took a deep breath.

Hal was on top of him now, a big kitchen knife in hand, holding it over McCracken's head with both hands as he did back when he tried to kill me some time ago. Seconds seemed like hours as I awaited his next move, knowing that I shouldn't look but I couldn't look away. My eyes were wide, and I flicked them from Hal to Bert, who was laying on his back only a foot away from me, staring right back. More like glaring, I should say.

I jumped slightly as Hal made a sudden movement, driving the knife down, right into the shorter man's rib cage. He did it again, and again, into his stomach, between his ribs, into his chest, over and over. There was blood flying everywhere. I could feel it soaking into the back of my sweater and I could see it slowly spreading in a pool around the dead body in which Hal continued to stab. With one last final stab to the ribs, he stopped. The large kitchen knife was still lodged between his ribs as his now lifeless eyes continued to stare into my soul, the eeriness almost tangible. I tore my eyes away from the sight and looked up at Hal, who wiped the spit from his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a blood smear instead. I looked at him wide-eyed, then looked at the dead body laying directly beside me from my spot on the floor.

"Oh god..." I whimpered, sitting up slowly and feeling my blood soaked sweater sticking to my back, the sound of the blood squelching in the fabric as it moved, causing me to cringe. "Oh god..." I repeated, bringing my knees up and squeezing my eyes shut. I was on the verge of vomiting but I think the shock made it physically impossible.

A man was just stabbed to death right beside me, right in front of my eyes. I can easily say the trauma was way worse this time than it was when he killed that girl he killed yesterday. I didn't watch that time.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Hal asked, now climbing off of the dead body and sitting in front of me. I opened my eyes and looked at him, seeing the tiny spatters of blood flecked across his face. I turned my head slightly and saw the dead body again, sending a shiver down my spine before I shut my eyes again and buried my head in my knees.

"Just... Just take him away" I begged. I wouldn't open my eyes until it was gone. "Get him out."

"Right, right-" He stood up and left the room. He came back minutes later, probably in a new outfit with freshly washed hands and face if he was going out. I whimpered as I heard him drag the body across the floor.

"You won't leave, right?" Hal asked after putting the body in a garbage bag and pulling his boots on. I didn't say anything. He just left then, holding the bag like he would if he was taking out the trash, draped over his holder and hitting his back. I whimpered again and slowly unfolded myself, opening my eyes. I then just sat there and waited. I waited for him to come back. I tried not to think about it, but it was clear in my mind that I was, in fact, sitting right in the middle of a pool of blood and it was soaked right through my clothes.

The blood of another man was on me, and he had been looking at me over anything else in the room when he died. I watched the life literally drain out of his eyes and now I was sitting here alone, in this pool of his blood.