Deranged [REWRITTEN]

Chapter Twelve

He runs a hand through his freshly cut hair. He throws the black dye bottle in the trash bin before staring at himself in the mirror. He tried covering the ugly scar dragging across his cheek but it's still visible. He rubs his cheek, the memory of the bullet still etched in his mind. It should have ended my life.

He turns off the bathroom light and walks toward the motel bed. He sits on the edge of the bed and sighs.

It's October. More importantly, it's Halloween. He used to love Halloween. Now an adult, it's not the same anymore. The one memory he has with his parents is dressing up as Batman for their last Halloween together.

He grabs the dead and dusty remote thrown to the side with no use of it. The TV had been taken by thief's soon after the motel shut down years ago.

He stares at the remote, lost in his thoughts.

He wants to discard all the candy in the world and just drown away in liquor. A cheap bottle of beer sits on the nightstand. He grabs it and downs it all before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He hears little whispers and his head ticks at the sound.

He rubs the back of his neck and shuts his eyes tight. "Stop," He mumbles, jaw tightening. His head ticks again and he clenches his fist as he stands up. He opens the motel room window and slips out, leaving all of his trash behind.

It's dark out. People litter the streets with their children, candy in their bags and smiles on their faces. He roams the streets, straying far away from everyone. He pulls out the phone he pit-pocketed from a passerby the other day. His shaking fingers type out the number given to him.

He raises the phone to his ear and listens to the ringing. He is breathing heavily as he looks around to make sure no one is nearby. He feels paranoid, like there are eyes watching his every move. A cop will jump out any second and take him back to prison where he will rot for good.

"Hello?" A light voice speaks through the phone and shakes him out of his thoughts.

"It's Harry." His voice is shaky and deep as he speaks. "I... something doesn't feel right. Can you help me?" He wonders when in his life had he ever resorted to asking for someone's help, but soon realizes that habit began ages ago.

She sighs through the phone and there's a long silent pause. It felt deafening.

"Where are you?"

He looks around, the streets signs all blurry and unreadable. It's like the words keep moving and he can't get them to focus for one second.

"I don't know where I am. I was just in an old motel." Luckily, there is only one old run down motel in town.

"I'll be right there." She hangs up and He stuffs the phone in his pocket, leaning against the brick wall. He feels so relieved to have someone on his side helping. Although she may not actually be on his side, the thought that she is willing to help him has to be something.

He sits there for a few minutes trying to compose himself. Every person that walks by, he feels the overwhelming urge to do something, to cause them pain. Chattering from across the street catches his attention.

He looks up at the group of guys. They are clearly drunk, flinging beer cans at the windows they pass by. He slowly stands up, watching as they cross the street and start walking his way. They are laughing at something but when they see him they abruptly stop smiling.

"Hello," The guy standing in front of the group speaks up, a smirk on his face. There is no response and the guy laughs at that. "Not much for words, huh?" He's teasing him.

"Wait a minute," A random guy speaks up, redirecting his attention. "I know you. Aren't you that guy that's all over the news?"

"Oh shiiit!" Another guy speaks up, bringing a fist up to his mouth in disbelief.

"Dude, what you did was fucked up," They laughed. He watches them carefully, noticing the one guy subtly typing on his phone and acting casual.

"What are you doing?" His voice is deep and growly. The guy looks up and his eyes nervously flicker from him to his friends.

"Uh, nothing," He shrugs and laughs it off. He moves away from the wall and steps toward the guy. The group of guys collectively jump at the flicker of the lamp they are standing underneath.

"Give me your phone," He demands, eyebrows furrowed with an angry expression you wouldn't want to be the reason behind.

The guy laughs again. "What? Dude, no."

He feels incredibly paranoid. Is he calling the cops?

"Did I fucking ask? I didn't, so give me your phone." He shuffles closer. In the corner of his eye he see's another man pull out a shiny object. He turns to him and the corner of his lip pulls up. "You don't want to fuck with me."

The street light above them flickers harshly and it scares the men enough to where they have had it.

"Yo, let's just go."

"This guy is psycho," The one with the knife speaks up. In a sudden adrenaline rush, the guy charges at him with the knife. He doesn't get very far before he's grabbed by the wrist and shoved to the ground, face pressing into the concrete.

He feels some sort of relief controlling them like this. The light from above flashes quicker than before.

"What is that!" A guy yells.

He feels a heated sensation creep up his arms and neck. With his hand around the man's throat, continuing to shove him into the ground, he turns around and he is surprised.

Hanging from around the corner of the building they are standing next to, is a large black mass. It's creeping closer to them.

"What?" Harry whispers to himself, confused as to where the black smoke is coming from.

The heat on his neck and arms rise as he can't ignore it any longer. Harry looks down at his hands and sees that his veins are black. The black veins continue to creep up to his fingers. No matter how much he wants to stop this, the feeling of anger slowly overtakes him.

"Let me go!" The man below him yells as he tightens his grip around the man's throat. He tilts his head and stares at the man. It is almost as if he is millions of miles away in his own mind. Not present at all.

"Harry?" He hears a light voice a short distance away. In an instant everything goes back to normal. The light above them stops flickering and the black veins seep away. He blinks a few times, realizing his hand is around someone's throat.

He lets out a gasp and jumps away from the man. The man takes a huge relieved sigh, trying to crawl away, his friends long gone by now.

"What happened?" The voice is closer and he quickly looks over his shoulder but the black mass is nowhere to be seen. He flinches when a hand touches his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He looks above him and he see's Grace, a concerned look on her face. She looks over to where the man crawled away and disappeared.

"I..." He is breathing heavily, his mind a complete jumbled mess. "I don't know what that was."

"What were you doing with that man?" She asks him as he sits up and stares at his hands. That has never happened before.

"That wasn't me," He shook his head at her. "It was something else.. inside of me. I could feel it, it was hot. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear everything."

She stares at him like she has a million questions.

"Grace, there is something inside of me," He whispers, terrified to hear those words come out of his mouth.