Forever Alone (Book 1 of the Misguided Killer Series)

Chapter Three: Broken and Rebuilt

'Like hell i'd let them do that,' he mentally seethed, 'my eyes, my smile, I can fix those back. But the skin? I don't relish the idea of burning myself alive again.' He watched the man walk out and the door closed, nearly invisible seams blending into the walls. He would have glared if he were able. As it was he sat there, wide awake, and waited.

When someone returned he was already getting angry. The surgeon, Dr. Russell he assumed, entered, a face mask on. "Just be a good boy Jeff," he said. That was when Jeff noticed the syringe in the man's hand. He let loose a low growl and the man hesitated. Jeff grinned.

"I get it now," he mused.

"Get what?" Dr. Russell asked.

"Why you want to change me," he hissed through his tightly formed smile, "I scare you. You think that by making me look more human you'll be less scared of me." Jeff managed to stand with a bit of difficulty. He wanted his arms free. Then he could slaughter his way out of this hell. "Let me tell you something then," he said, taking a few steps closer. Dr. Russell held his ground. "You should be afraid of me. I could tear you apart, and I'm not even the strongest among those I know. Wait until they find you have me here. There will be a bloodbath." Of course he knew it wasn't true. No one would look for him. He'd left willingly. They'd have no reason to come after him. The thought depressed him but it didn't show on his face.

It was the sudden stabbing feeling in his neck that made him realize he'd let his guard down. Dr. Russell had jabbed the syringe into his neck, injecting whatever drug into his body. Even he wasn't immune to drugs. "You don't worry me Jeff," the man said, "and your friends, whether or not they actually do come, won't even recognize you if they do get here."

His eyes rolled back, his body slumping against the surgeon. The door opened again, other forms coming in. Hands grabbed him, undoing the straight jacket and pulling it from his limp form. He vaguely noted that his hoodie was gone and it angered him. 'How dare they...' His thoughts faded, and blackness consumed him.

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Burning. Burning pain across his face. He knew the anesthesia was enough to keep him docile, to keep his eyes rolled back in a semblance of unconsciousness. Yet he was awake. He was fully conscious. He felt every pull of skin, every sharp pierce of a needle on his cheeks. They were ruining him. Changing him back to the human he'd been.

'That isn't me!' He wanted to yell out, to lash at the men defiling him. He hated having to lie there helpless as these pathetic humans distorted him. It wasn't okay. Not at all.

'I should have stayed home.' Home. The word held no meaning for him now. Even if he escaped, where would he go? He couldn't return to the cabin in Slenderman's woods. And it wasn't safe enough to skulk in back alleyways and hope he escaped notice in the darkness. He needed to find somewhere to call his own.

A part of him wanted to cry at the idea that he had nowhere to turn. Another part of him scoffed at his weakness. The last piece just wanted this annoying poking to end. He liked how he looked. It reflected the insanity constantly warring in his brain. They were destroying him, rebuilding him the way he was expected to be. The Creepypasta never cared how he looked, many themselves looking mutilated and disturbed. They were his family in a way.

Family. What did that mean? He'd killed his family. They'd lied to him; hated what he was becoming. The images of his brother shooting him like a sick dog came to mind again. Maybe that was what he needed. An execution. Yet the Creepypasta never made him feel like he needed to be put down. Jack and Masky, the silent watchers. Ben and Hoodie, loud and antagonistic at times. Slender.

Oh god. He'd forgotten about Slenderman.

The elder Creepypasta always looked out for them. He kept them safe even when they didn't want his help. He never patronized unless needed, and even then he wasn't ruthless. It made Jeff yearn to return to the cabin. He knew he couldn't. They had no need for him. He was a burden, and one others saw as uncaring. That was as far from the truth as one could get.

In reality, he cared for all the nuts he lived with. They were like siblings. And Slenderman, well...he was something else. Jeff wanted to be able to just lean against him and feel those muscles he knew lie beneath the man's suit.

'No,' he told himself, 'you can't do that. You can't. Not ever.'

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The pain was gone by now. Darkness flooded his eyes in a way he'd never experienced since he stopped being Jeffery Woods and started being Jeff the Killer. It unnerved him the way the darkness persisted despite him moving his eyes. He couldn't move and vaguely wondered if they'd placed him in a dark room or something. Then he heard a voice, Dr. Neal he thought.

"Jeff? Are you awake?" He didn't reply. Couldn't actually. It angered him the way he'd fallen prey to these people. He wanted nothing more than to slaughter the lot of them.

And suddenly he could see. Granted it was only from his right eye but it was something at least. He saw Dr. Russell's hand near his eye. Dr. Neal looked at him worriedly. "See," Dr. Russell said, "he's conscious."

"But are we sure he can function?" Dr. Neal asked, "why wouldn't he have opened them himself.

"He's still drugged," Dr. Russell stated and suddenly he was back in darkness. "He'll figure it out eventually." He was confused as to what he meant until it hit him. The surgeon was to fix him. He knew his worth was no longer sliced open, he could feel it. As for the bullet wound he didn't know. However this darkness could only mean one thing.

Dr. Russell had succeeded in giving him new eyelids.