November 23, 1982 (2/2)

                                    

                                          
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Big violence, depictions of death, death threats, weapons, police
(also, sorry for making you wait so long to see what would come after that last chapter. I'm a sucker for cliffhangers.)
You returned home after school, surprised to see Al sitting in the living room. He was dressed like a complete psychopath. His shirt was unbuttoned, belt lying across his lap. Most disturbing of all, you noticed he was wearing one of his masks: It was the frowning one.
"Al?" You called. "What are you doing?"
"You gave him the note."
For a moment, you were confused. Then, it all came back to you.
"Yes, I did. And what about it?"
"You let him out." There was unfiltered rage in his voice. It made your blood freeze. 
"Don't talk about him like he's a dog." 
"I ought to kill you." Al ignored your request, continuing on. 
"Then do it." 
Al didn't move. You held out your arms in a t-position. "Well, come on! Kill me! Choke me until my face turns purple and my tongue dangles out of my mouth! Stab me until my blood gives you a new accent wall! Come on, Al; do it!"
Al still didn't move. 
You scoffed. "See, you're too much of a wimp to do anything. Truth is, you're a scared, small man with a God complex. Well, I hate to break it to you, but you aren't God." You didn't know where your sudden confidence had come from, but you weren't complaining. "You're just a man of God. You know you'll have to face him on your judgment day, right? And tell him all of the sins you committed in your life. And, let me tell you, I can count a lot of the top of my head alone. You know what? Let me help you. Let me help you become judged. Speed up the verdict a little, yeah?" 
You walked over to the landline, and you could sense the fear rising in Al. 
"Y/N, don't!" He screamed, standing quickly. In the process, his foldable chair fell to the floor. He tripped over it and landed flat on his face. 
You resisted the urge to laugh as your call was answered. 
"My name is Y/N Shaw. I am the niece of the Grabber. His name is Albert Shaw. He lives at 67396 west Soisson street. He--" Before you could finish, Al yanked the phone from your hands. 
"She's just joking!" He panted. "I'm sorry, officer. We got into an argument and she thinks this is an appropriate way to respond. Sorry for wasting your time." 
He slammed the phone back into the receiver and lunged at you, pinning you against the wall. 
"I didn't want to kill you, but I think I have to now." His breath was heavy, ragged. Through the small slits in his mask, you could see his dark eyes staring straight into yours. 
"Wanna bet?" 
Successfully, you brought your knee up to his crotch, causing Al to double over. He wasn't as smart as Vance, and you were glad for that. You brought your foot down on his lower spine, and he screamed in pain, falling onto his stomach. This gave you enough time to grab a knife from the block. You held it out towards him almost casually, as if you were offering your hand. Instead of meeting skin, however, Al would slice his palm open if he grabbed for it. 
He rolled over and saw the tip of the blade pointed towards him. You watched his chest rise and fall as he quickly realized this wasn't his situation to control anymore. It was yours.