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Sometimes Taylor saw themselves dead. Although, no, this word didn’t really describe what exactly they saw. Their body, gutted, oh, they could see chewed pieces of their own organs, covered in mucus and blood. Their limbs broken. Used and thrown away.
Taylor shuddered, remembering how the sticky feeling of that animal, primal horror covered them fully. And then they woke up, vomiting on the floor. Fortunately not on their bed sheets. They had little to no energy to change them.
So they spent the rest of the night sitting at their desk, pouring mug after mug of caffeine inside their shaking body.
Their eyes ached from the lack of sleep, brain was beginning to shut down, but they couldn’t force themselves to stand up and go to bed. So Taylor was stuck sitting there, mindlessly scrolling over the photos stored in their folders. Until they accidentally click on that damned .txt file, which was frequently disappearing and reappearing on their desktop.
This time that file has been updated. And it happened only sometimes, when the infamous Alber Kruger felt, you see, lonely. Taylor sighed, rubbing the bridge of their nose.
Good time to you:-)
Do you mayhaps have time for a walk with your favorite friend tomorrow?
23:12
With their favorite friend, of course. Rather the brat they signed up to babysit, after that damned dream therapy session.
“No, Albert, subjecting your clients to mental torture is unethical.”
“No, Albert, no matter how loud the children outside your window were, you can’t throw bricks at them.”
“No, Albert, feeding everyone to sleepwalkers is bad.”
If Talor was being honest, they began to understand what it was like for Albert himself to explain something like this to his colleague, named William or Vincet or whatever the fuck his name was.
Sometimes Talor thought it would be way easier to just… ignore it all and let that psycho do whatever he wanted. Because they had less and less energy left and, worst of all, they felt as if they were drowning in a feeling of their own helplessness. Because no matter how hard Talor would try, they wouldn’t be able to push Albert to the better side or do anything about the murders.
He was a fucking boss after all, a damned big shot of G2.
So… All they could do is to live on. And wait, probably. And put up with it.
After all they still had no direct evidence against him, except for this .txt file.
Taylor sighs.
Why can't you just use a normal messenger?
01:48
What for? Our current way of communication is great! Quite convenient and, most importantly, not tracked.
01:53
Lo and behold, he answered almost immediately. Also fucking up his sleeping schedule, huh?
Taylor frowned: if they had the more energy, they would’ve said that Albert most likely simply did not know how to use a touchscreen phone or that his computer hadn't yet upgraded enough to download messengers. But now they didn’t have it, and they could hear his mocking, fag voice even through the text, which irritated him even more. And the fingers just twitched, as they typed only: “This is creepy.”
Not enough argument to convince me this file is worse than messenger.
So, dear Taylor, will you go for a walk with me
tomorrow
today
?
02:00
Depends where.
2:01
Oh, I thought of taking you to one place, I think, you’ll like!
2:01
Taylor yawned, rubbing their eyes, and leaned back in the chair, watching as the address of the Voorhees Shopping Center slowly appeared on the screen, letter by letter.
Nothing bad as far as they knew. Though the fact that his idea didn't sound murderous didn't change their lack of desire to go there.
Taylor sighed, pursing their lips. Okay, what if…
Fine. At four in the afternoon today?
2:03
Wonderful! I'll be waiting:-)
2:03
Taylor stared for a moment at the stupid smiley face at the end.
"Fuck. - They muttered, leaning back in the chair. Why, why he was free at that exact time?
Anyways. Taylor glanced at the clock. It's two in the morning. And they weren’t sure if playing “sorry turned out that I have an appointment at that time” was safe.
So, it's better to chuck in some sleeping pills and try to sleep.
There’s no use wasting their energy and brain cells, being angry at that fuckface.