A/N:
Trigger Warning: A bit of gore in this chapter, descriptions of blood.
The supermarket was packed on a Thursday, much to your relief. You didn't think you should stand any more solitude, not even when buying groceries.
Though these days, it seemed, you were never truly alone. You had found your car sitting inconspicuously in your usual parking space, meaning the masked man had taken the liberty of driving it all the way home from the library. He had saved you a ticket, sure. But driving the car to this Aldi when you knew he had sat in the very same seat, touching the same steering wheel, was one icky fucking feeling.
Now, as you perused the aisles and enjoyed your liberty (because God knows you were worried it wouldn't last), you felt a buzzing in your pocket. You grabbed your phone out - a part of you had wanted to leave it in the apartment, just to spite the masked fuck. But as much as you hated the idea of him tracking you, you didn't want to provoke him either.
One new message from 'Fuckhead':
Pop-tarts are half price.
You scrunched up your face as you read the notification. You couldn't help but look around you, wondering if he had followed you to the grocery store or was merely watching your location - either from your own apartment or from wherever the fuck he spent the rest of his time. He probably had a disgusting man cave. Maybe he lived under a bridge, like a troll.
There was no sign of the man right now, but that didn't mean he wasn't lurking around here somewhere. You promptly sent a text back:
'🖕'
Being the little shit you were, there was no way you were going to buy any more pop-tarts now. Harry could starve, at this point you didn't care. You suspected he was probably eating ramen right now anyway, finally home alone so he didn't have to be in your presence.
You did have your qualms about ditching your brother alone in the apartment, thinking that perhaps the masked man was trying to lure you away so that he could have easy access to Harry. But the masked man had all but ordered you out of the apartment, texting multiple times to 'remind' you. You didn't want to know what he'd do if you disobeyed him.
You sighed as you reached your final destination (which you had been avoiding) - the deodorant section. You grabbed a can saltily, tossing it in your basket too hard as you thought about the masked man's sly dig at you last night. He had been insinuating that you smelled bad, having not showered in three days. As if you cared what he thought. Annoying bitch.
Having grabbed everything you needed, including a hefty supply of food, you made your way to the checkout and paid. As you handed money to the cashier, you wondered if Harry was going to lose his job. He worked here, stocking shelves at this particular Aldi, and he'd missed two shifts since Monday. If he got fired, you were both kind of screwed since your rent was due in a few days. You really needed to coax him out of his bedroom ASAP.
Making your way to your car, bags in hand, you sighed as you fixed your seatbelt over yourself. The feeling of the strap was gross, reminding you of how the masked man had buckled you in tightly that night in his car, like you were a fucking child. But you were in the driver's seat now, a capable adult with a driver's license. Fuck him.
—
The drive home was tense. Driving with only one hand was stressful, and you didn't want to know what awaited you when you re-entered the apartment. Worst case scenario, you'd find Harry shot dead on the floor. Best case, and he'd be alive and well and actually ready to have an adult conversation with you.
You felt like you were losing your mind without talking to your brother, but you refused to let him make you feel guilty. You had run away for the sole purpose of trying to keep the masked man away from him, he'd come around and realise that eventually. He had to.
You unlocked the front door, squeaking open obnoxiously as always.
Something was wrong. You could sense it the minute you opened the door, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it yet.
There was only one thing amiss at first glance - the fridge door had been left flung wide open. Maybe out of a temper tantrum, maybe something more sinister.
You padded into the kitchen and over to the fridge, closing it with a dull thud.
You looked around you, sensing a dark energy in the air. What else was wrong?
Then, your eyes landed on the kitchen sink. The faucet wasn't all the way off, water dripping slowly into the eerie silence. Instinct had you quietly shuffling towards the basin, something was off.
You gasped as the bottom of the sink came into view. A pool of red moisture stained the metal, being slowly carried away in thin streams by the slow drip of cold water.
Blood.
Harry's blood.
You hastily backed away from the counter, making a beeline down the hall for your brother's room.
"Harry?!"
You pounded on the door with a fist. It rattled with the pressure.
Behind the door, all was silent.
"Harry, open up!" Your voice cracked, distress filling your tone.
Still nothing. Your hand drifted down to the doorknob. You knew you shouldn't try and open the door - it was probably still locked, if he was still in there. God, let him please still be in there.
Driven by worry, you found yourself twisting the knob anyway.
The door opened with ease.
Harry's room was pitch black, you had to fumble for the light switch. You let out a shocked sob, as your hand was met with something wet and slimy as you groped along the wall with shaking hands. Please, don't let that be blood.
click.
You screamed.
The sight you were met with had your whole body quivering, bile rising in your throat. The room was covered in a sea of red, white and black.
Blood was smeared along the walls, smattered in dots and cobwebs all over the carpet and light grey bedsheets.
Your good hand rose to your face in shock, smearing the wet substance from the light switch all over your chin and jaw. You gasped, pulling your hand away to look at it. Covered in red, thick, blood. It glistened between your fingertips.
You tumbled back out into the hall, smearing yet more blood on the white doorframe as you tried and failed to catch yourself. Your other arm ached as you whacked the cast against the wall, but your cry of pain was interrupted by grotesque retching as you painfully hurled up the contents of your stomach onto the carpet.
Oh, god. Oh, fuck.
Your vomiting fit soon turned to lame gagging. You wiped your mouth with the edge of the cast, instantly regretting it as your lips were messily smeared with Harry's blood. The metallic taste made you gag again, but there was nothing left to churn up.
Willing yourself to be strong, you staggered to your feet with shaky knees. You turned back to Harry's room, needing to take another look.
You were ready for the blood the second time, holding your breath as you peered tentatively through the doorway. You forced air into your lungs as you willed your feet to take you forward into the room. You needed to see this.
The walls of Harry's bedroom were plastered with paper. Covering nearly the entire expanse of the far wall were black scribbles, black outlines of disfigured stick men.
You gazed at the illustrations, what the fuck? They all seemed to be of the same few images, patterning his wall over and over in aggressive scrawls.
A faceless man in a suit. A sad face. A crowbar. Over, and over, and over.
More alarming still were the words that accompanied the drawings. They repeated continuously along the wall, the same ominous message:
Never Be Free. Never Be Free. Never Be Free.
And yet another,
They Know. They know. They know.
You shuddered as you surveyed the wall, unable to tear your eyes away. One thing was clear, even if the scribblings were nonsensical; your brother was losing his fucking mind. And you had to find him. Now.
You turned to exit the room, unable to endure the sight of Harry's blood for a second longer. As you moved, though, your eyes landed on something that made your insides lurch.
Harry's phone. It sat on his bed, lying innocently among the bloodstained sheets.
You walked over to the bed, and after a moment of hesitation, reached for the object. Harry had told you that he didn't have his phone with him, so you had assumed that the masked man had confiscated it, just as he had with your own. Yet here it was.
You brought the object up, careful not to touch any of the wet patches among the covers. You pressed the sleep button, and were briefly met with the sight of Harry's lock screen (a now gut-wrenching picture of the two of you grinning like idiots at one of his football games), before the screen glitched and went black. Dead as a doornail.
You sighed, tossing the useless object away before it hit you. If Harry had his phone in here with him the past few days, that meant one, horrible thing - the masked man had a way to contact him.
Your blood boiled. This was his doing, it had to be. He had driven your brother to absolute madness.
You turned the rest of the way, darting out of the room and slamming the door shut behind you.
You were going to fucking kill him.
You moved back into the living room, hand now gripping your own phone as you drew it out. You saw red, unable to think straight as you opened your contacts with rage filled fingertips.
Pressing on the contact you had labeled 'Fuckhead', you didn't hesitate as you tapped on the call button. You weren't in the mood to write a strongly worded text message, you were going to wrangle this motherfucker's neck as soon as you got the chance, no longer caring if you provoked the wrath of his gun by screaming profanities. Mama bear mode was a-go.
Ring, ring.
If this pussy bitch didn't pick up, you swore you'd-
Click.
The man didn't say anything, but you could hear him breathing demonically down the line. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, your body reacting to trauma, but you were too mad to care.
You raised your voice to a shout, the grating noise of the voice changer spurring your fury. "What the fuck did you do to my brother?"
Silence. Of course. You were tempted to yeet your phone into the wall, but you needed answers. You needed to find your fucking brother.
Just as you were going to scream a string of f-bombs down the line, the man spoke.
"Call Jade."
click.
You blinked as he hung up on you, removing the phone from your ear.
Jade? As in, the Jade from your school? The dumb bitch Jade, who was fucking your brother?
...oh.
Your hand worked for you, tapping on Jade's number, your mind reeling.
Ring, ring. Ring, ring. You could only survey the living room dumbly as you waited, a sitting duck.
Click.
"(Y/n)."
Jade's voice was colder than you were used to. She usually addressed you with a sickly sweet edge, but now she didn't bother masking the contempt which you both knew she had for you.
"Jade." What the fuck were you meant to say? My brother is missing, there's blood everywhere, and my stalker just told me to call you.
"...do you know where Harry is?"
Jade let out a high pitched huff, similar to the attitude she'd given you whenever you got on her case about hooking up with Harry.
"Yes, (y/n). I do know where Harry is. He's right here, as a matter of fact."
You were flooded with relief. He was alive, then.
You opened your mouth to ask her to put him on the phone, but Jade's haughty tone beat you to the punch.
"And no, he does not want to speak to you."
You blinked. What? "Jade, can you please just-"
"I said, no."
You felt stunned tears prick at your eyes. What the fuck was going on?
Jade continued, "You need to fuck off for a while, okay honey?"
You shook your head in disbelief, even though the other woman couldn't see you. "Why?"
"You stressed Harry out so bad, he's passed out on my couch with a nosebleed." She didn't let you get a word in, "It won't stop bleeding, so I'm going to take him to the ER in a minute, and I'm going to pay the medical bill. Because you're broke. And pathetic."
You didn't know how to respond.
Another haughty sigh. "Harry's staying here as long as he wants. So do us a fucking favour and don't call this number again."
And with that, Jade hung up the phone.
You stared dejectedly at the empty living room, feeling like you had just been fucking impaled. The tears were streaming steadily down your cheeks now, uncontrollable in your grief.
How could Harry do this to you?
You found yourself on the floor, then, knees to your chest. The phone fell to the carpet, screen still illuminated with Jade's contact. You stared at it forlornly, noticing the tiny smears of blood around the screen. Harry's blood. Harry, who had abandoned you for some horny girl during what felt like the end of the fucking world.
You shuddered, a gasping sob leaving your lips as you shielded your face with your arms. You couldn't go through this without your little brother at your side. It was all too much.
For what felt like the longest time, you sat there, unable to move or do anything but sob. Unable to think coherently, your mind was filled solely with pain.
Knock knock knock.
Three taps in quick succession. You didn't look up immediately, a part of you didn't care who it was - though in the back of your mind, you already knew. Why couldn't he just fuck off already?
Knock knock.
The tapping came again, more forceful this time, rattling the window. You tilted your head up, bleary eyed, to see none other than your masked tormentor behind the glass. Why the fuck was he bothering to knock? He'd never respected your boundaries before. Well, not by normal standards, anyway.
As if you were going to willingly let a masked murderer into your home. If he was that determined, you knew he knew how to pry your window open, lock and all. He'd done it many times before, you assumed.
The man reached his hand down, pulling out a phone.
Buzz buzz.
One new message from 'Fuckhead':
Don't make me break the window :)
Couldn't this bitch see that you weren't in the mood to have another round of passive aggressive threats thrown at you?
It wasn't like you could go and hide from him in Harry's room, and you both damn well knew it.
You extended a hand, flipping off the living room window without bothering to look up.
You thought about it, but you weren't going to try and escape, even with the car. You were tired of running, and just fucking tired in general.
If he was here to try and kill you again, despite his word (not that you trusted it), then so be it. You'd fight tooth and nail, show him teeth, but you were too fucking exhausted to start another goose chase.
The only person you wanted to see right now, the only person who could say something to make you feel okay, was probably in the ER at the moment, claiming to have a 'nosebleed'.
Nobody covers the walls in blood from a fucking nosebleed.
Silence. Now a familiar thing to you, when he was around. Though he had made the lighthearted threat, there came no sound of cracking glass.
You sighed as you picked your phone up from the carpet, unlocking it. Maybe it was because you were lonely. More likely, because you were in an incredibly nihilistic mood.
What the fuck do you want?
You sent the message. The three dots appeared, you watching as he typed out another message:
You forgot the pop-tarts.
Rattle, thud.
You looked up from your phone with an expression of disdain. There, being pressed against the window by a gloved hand, was a box of confetti cupcake flavoured pop-tarts.
The man tilted his masked head at you mockingly, probably thinking he was the funniest bitch alive. Fucking dickhead.
There were two ways you could react to this; option one was have a meltdown, again, because he was tormenting you with a box of Harry's favourite flavour pop-tarts just to rub shit in, and you both fucking knew it.
Option two, do something the man would never expect.
Stare death in the face, look it right in the eye, and laugh at it.
You stood, making your way to the window, and unlocking it with a soft click.