1
DAY
W?h?y? ?w?o?n?'?t? ?t?h?e?y? ?s?t?o?p? t?a?l?k?i?n?g???
W?h?o?r?e?s?.? ?T?h?e?y?'?r?e? ?a?l?l? ?f?u?c?k?i?n?g? w?h?o?r?e?s?.?
T?h?e?y?’?r?e? ?g?o?i?n?g? ?t?o? ?e?a?t? ?y?o?u? ?r?i?g?h?t? ?u?p?,? ?y?o?u? ?k?n?o?w?.? ?E?a?t? ?y?o?u? ?r?i?g?h?t? ?u?p?.?
Day Hanley did not like leaving the house.
The house was safe. The house was quiet. The house had yards of soundproof foam.
The city was not safe. The city was not quiet. His noise-canceling headphones helped some, but he had to keep an extra pair with him for when the batteries inevitably died. He ducked into an alley to switch to the fully charged set in his backpack, and his ears were immediately assaulted by the horrible screams from the crowded street.
W?a?n?t? ?m?e? ?t?o? ?s?u?c?k? ?y?o?u?r? ?d?i?c?k???
?C?o?m?e? ?o?n?,? ?j?u?s?t? ?s?u?c?k? ?m?e?.? ?J?u?s?t? ?s?u?c?k? ?m?e?.?
?L?e?t? ?m?e? ?t?o?u?c?h? ?y?o?u?.? ?I? ?p?r?o?m?i?s?e? ?i?t? ?w?o?n?’?t? ?h?u?r?t?.?
Day shuddered, his thoughts reeling as he scrambled to get the new headphones on and shut out the noise. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding away as he listened to the low hum and tried to calm down.
Father would have told him to be brave.
Day wished he could talk to him. He didn’t have a phone to call anyone. He didn’t even have power now. The house was quiet and safe, but also dark and cold, and he was hungry.
He had to eat.
There used to be a corner store a few blocks from the house that he could walk to. It was closed now, forcing Day to take a bus across town to get to a grocery store. He hadn’t even made it inside before his headphones had died.
How long was he on the bus for? Had he missed his stop and taken the route all the way around again?
W?h?o?r?e?s?.?/
The fluorescent lights of the Super-Saver were too bright, and Day squinted against the glare. His head hurt, and his stomach ached from not eating in so very long. He needed to grab food and check out as fast as he could. He reached for a shopping basket…
You did it again.
Day didn’t understand what was wrong.
Father sounded angry.
Then Day looked down.
His hands were covered in blood.
You did it again.
Day sighed in frustration, and he went to the sink to wash up.
He was inside a bathroom. There was only one urinal and one stall, and he’d locked the door behind him. He hummed along with the humming in his ears in short bursts as he scrubbed at his nail beds and in between his fingers. He didn’t see any other blood on his person. He’d still need to do a better job of washing up later, but this should be good enough to get him out of here and home safe.
The body, on the other hand, was a problem.
It was Mark Edwards, a schoolteacher.
The venom had poured out of his mouth until Day thought he was going to drown, and he had to make him shut up. He had to make it stop. He had to make it stop. He had to make it stop.
