{Jack's POV}
Frustration filled Jack as he returned to the cabin, slamming the door behind him. He tossed his mask onto the table and slammed his fist on the wall, shoulders heaving as he seethed with silent rage. Yet again, another failed night of hunting. Every evening he'd practice on dummies before hunting, but after eight days he'd only recovered a fraction of his original skill. More often than not, he had to sedate or slit his victims' throats before removing their organs because he still felt too weak to guarantee a successful kill if they were conscious.
This time, though, it wasn't because of his weakness. He'd been at his peak today, the best he'd been since escaping captivity. No, this time he failed because he'd been distracted by the male occupant of the house he targeted. When he climbed into the window and found him asleep on the couch Jack had been shocked to see him. The man was grizzled and tan, with a bit of a beard and balding at the top. Everything about him looked just like Buddy.
At that moment, something made Jack freeze. It felt as if he was paralyzed, his chest constricting violently. His breathing suddenly became labored and heavy, his heart pounding in his chest so loudly he could hear it. Dizziness overcame him and he nearly fell to his knees, his hands numb as he pressed against the wall to steady himself. Sweat rolled down his face, and he trembled uncontrollably for no reason.
During this little moment, of course the guy woke up and saw him. His startled shout snapped Jack out of whatever was happening to him, and he quickly silenced the man, slashing his throat with his scalpel, before running down the hall. The shout had been directed to some woman in another room, telling her to run, and Jack had to quickly take care of her. By the time he found her hiding in a closet she was already on the line with the local emergency dispatcher, and after slashing her throat Jack was forced to flee empty-handed before police arrived.
Thinking about it made his blood broil. It was just so frustrating, so... so... Jack screamed as he pounded the wall again, his fist slamming it so hard that the drywall cracked and broke from the impact, leaving a sizable dent and his fist bloody. Sucking in his breath, he gritted his teeth as he clutched his bleeding hand, the pain quickly replaced by numbness. Tears welled in his eyes as he slowly slid to the ground, his vision blurring.
Why?
Why did he feel like this?
Why had he frozen up then?
Why did he feel so afraid?
Suddenly he found himself back in that dungeon of a basement, sitting on the cold floor with his arms chained to the wall above his head. Panic filled him as he rattled the chains, struggling to break free. The metal balls encasing his hands rang as they banged against the wall behind him, the loud ringing sounds making him wince. Desperately he yelled, wordless screams and cries for help. Silent tears trickled down his cheeks as he heard a dark chuckle from across the room.
"Struggle all you want, but you won't be able to escape anytime soon," a deep voice declared. "You'll be here a looong time." It began laughing malevolently as Jack continued thrashing against his restraints.
Squeezing his eyelids shut over his empty sockets, he emitted a final, ear-shattering scream before opening them to find himself back in his home. He was on the ground by the door curled in a small ball, still cradling his bleeding hand with both black cotton gloves stained red. His heart was thundering so hard his body seemed to shake with each beat, and his breathing was still heavy. Jack panted heavily, staying like that for a few moments as he waited for his heart to slow before rolling to his feet and tugging off his gloves.
Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, staggering towards the kitchenette and nearly falling several times before reaching the sink and turning the faucet. Cool water flowed out of the spout, and he splashed the liquid onto his face, rubbing it in as he stared at the window. The black sky outside the window caused it to act more like a mirror, allowing him to glimpse a faint reflection of his face. Even if it was difficult to see and out of focus, he could tell he looked awful. His skin was paler, his face tired and bags under his eye sockets.
Jack panted as he stared at the reflection, and he had to force himself to look away from it. Blood mixed with the water in the bowl as he ran his injured hand under the water, the mixture swirling and spiraling down the drain. Shoulders sagging as he watched it, he waited about thirty seconds or so before turning off the faucet and heading to the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. If he were human, his hand would have been broken by the punch; as it was, it was just bruised. The skin around his knuckles was starting to turn purple and blue with hints of green, a rather unsightly color, though it was quickly hidden behind several layers of bandages.
He sighed as he stared at his bandaged hand, flexing his fingers. It hurt, but it would be fine after a few days. For the moment, he just felt... hollow. Empty. He didn't even feel tired. His mind raced but at the same time nothing ran through it. Actually, wait, one thing did: hunger. He returned to the kitchenette and opened the fridge, pulling out a jar with a half-eaten lung left over from his last victim. It wasn't much, but it would. Munching on it absently, he sat at the table slowly, not really thinking.
Then he heard a soft whimper and suddenly tensed. Shit! [Name]! He started to jump up from his seat and run to her room, only to freeze and slowly sit back down. No doubt she had heard his little fit. Even if she'd been asleep when he'd returned, his screaming would have undoubtedly woken her up. Right now she was probably huddled in her bed, terrified for her life. If she were to see him as he were now—sans mask with a bloody bandaged hand and still covered in a cold sweat—well... It wouldn't really comfort her.
Jack sighed as he lowered his eyeless gaze to his bandaged hand. What was that?
{Reader's POV}
The story had just reached its climax, the main character confronting his number one suspect, when suddenly I heard the front door open. Immediately I tensed, glancing at my own door anxiously. I didn't have a clock, but based on how far I'd gotten in the story it couldn't have been more than a couple hours since Jack had left. I held my breath, waiting for the new arrival to give some indication of their identity, hoping it wasn't one of the "friends" Jack had mentioned.
Soon enough I confirmed it to indeed be Jack as I heard his voice, but it wasn't very comforting. I heard a loud thump as he yelled out in frustration, making me wince. Bad night, it seemed. I sat frozen, book still open in my hands, silently praying for him not to enter my room and take out his wrath on me. He yelled again and there was another thump, but this one was heavier than the first, almost like a crash, and he gave a startled yelp. For a moment, all was silent, my heart pounding.
Then he screamed.
This scream wasn't angry like his earlier shouts. No, this one was much darker and complex. A violent vortex of dark emotions swirled in his wordless yell, emotions I had never expected to hear from him: Desperation, panic, anguish... fear. His scream sounded so painful, like a wounded or cornered animal crying for help. A chill ran down my spine as I listened, the pain in his voice ringing through the air.
Slowly I closed my book and rose from the bed, quietly approaching the door. I had no idea why I did that. I reached a shaky hand for the doorknob, but stopped short of touching it. Part of me wanted to go outside and see what was wrong—because clearly something was—but I couldn't bring myself to open the door. I just stood there, feeling helpless and paralyzed as I listened to the desperate wailing continue.
Eventually his screams died out, and after a while I heard him moving. I held my breath as his footsteps approached the hallway but he just went to the bathroom across the hall, messing with the drawers before returning to the main part of the cabin. Deafening silence fell over the house, and slowly I let out my breath. As I did so, a whimper slipped out. Suddenly I heard a chair scrape against the wood flooring and I winced, waiting for him to enter, but... nothing happened. After about two minutes I realized he wouldn't be coming to my room.
Shaking, I quietly switched off the light and returned to the bed, crawling under the blankets and pulling them over my head. His screams played in my mind over and over as I laid there, repeating indefinitely as I squeezed my eyes shut.