Ominous Remembrance: Dreamless | Dreamer | [Jeff The Killer Fanfic/ Romance]

[Dreamless] Chapter 6 - Living Proof

Ominous Remembrance

[Jeff The Killer Fanfic/ Romance]

Chapter 6: Living Proof

I almost fell asleep on the couch when nightfall approached, while waiting for anyone who will come home first: Jeff or my Mum. It's been a few days since Jeff came around, pestering me constantly about my lack of emotions, trying to see if he can annoy me in the slightest. In the end, his efforts are always futile, and it was him who was getting annoyed.

I know, I must appreciate his efforts. Nobody in our neighborhood had the patience to speak with good old Louise. The longest one recorded was for about thirty minutes, when somebody borrowed our lawn mower. I can't say that Jeff had the longest amount of patience though, as always he was pissed as hell when we are getting into some touchy subject.

Enough of that.

Normally I would have the impulse to fix dinner for myself. Warm spring nights deserve some vegetarian pizza. But I just laid myself down on the couch, listening to the faint sounds of the day dying down to the night's dominant, silent entrance.

The living room door suddenly bursts open, and out of my body's protective impulse, I sat upright, only to see Jeff blocking the doorway. Well, it didn't surprise me. After all, it's up to him if he'll use the door or the window for entrance. 

"Uh...Hey.." I greeted, straightening my posture. I watched him stagger towards the living room, and as he came closer to my view, I finally figured out what he had in hand. 

A bottle of whiskey.

I moved towards the other end of the couch, and beckoned him to sit down beside me. Drunk (and hopefully passive), he awkwardly stumbled towards my direction, and slumped limply when he reached the cushions. The scent of the liquor was slightly overpowering, along with the scent of blood that lingered around him. That made a distinction to the placid surroundings-- I don't usually smell liquor or blood around the house.

"I'm done with it..." he slurred faintly.

My eyebrow rose slightly. "Done with what?"

"With him," he answered, grinning sideways. He was a mess to see--his white hoodie was splattered with streaks of scarlet. The handle of his knife is poking out of his front pocket, also slick with blood. "Remember...? Three days ago, on the news?" his voice dipped into quiet laughter, that gradually became intense. "He remained unfinished. I relieved him of his pain. And the others...I saved them. Saved them from this damned world."

"Jeff, you're drunk," I reminded him simply. Absently, he took a swig of his liquor. 

"Turn the t.v. on," he mumbled, setting his head against the backrest. 

"Just rest. Just watch the news and your inevitable greatness tomorrow"

He seemed to appreciate my comment, unable to detect sarcasm. He chuckled and patted my thigh. "No..." he laughed. "No. It can't  wait. Watch it, will you? She'll be famous. She's my living proof."

"You're talking nonsense," I shook my head, and stood up to prepare dinner. But even before I can even stand up, he pulled my hand, causing me to fall back down on the couch next to him--close to him. "Man, what's wrong with you?" I murmured.

"Turn the t.v. on," he purred. With that soft voice of his, it was hard to tell that I was speaking to a murderer. "Don't spoil my surprise for you."

I got up from him, poker-faced, and plugged the t.v. on. "Yeah. Whatever." I shuffled for the latest news, and after a few minutes of staring at the television screen for a decent flash news of what he was saying, finally, it came.