Desolation Row

Patrick jumped off the bus, taking large steps towards his house as the bus choked away from the curb. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his blonde fringe off his face as he checked the time on his phone; it had just turned 4:30 am. He rolled his eyes, he hadn’t realised how long they had been talking. A small smile spread across face as his mind wandered back to the three of them in Gerard’s flat; it had been so long since they had sat down together and, despite the circumstances, it was great for them to be talking to each other again. Patrick sighed, he missed them. He reached his front door, fumbling for his keys in the pocket of his hoody and quickly put them into the door; rubbing his eyes as he yawned. He checked behind him, a strange feeling overcoming him as the cold morning breeze blew gently against his face. It was a feeling he had not felt in a long time. It sent a shiver down his spine, haunting him as it tugged away at his thoughts. Patrick shook his off, pushing open the front door and hurried himself inside, gazing up at the ceiling as he pressed his back firmly against it.

He looked back down and flicked the lights on, his eyes growing wide with horror as he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, muffling his cries. The house was a wreck. Pictures had been ripped from the walls and smashed against the wooden floorboards, glass and chunks of debris from what was formally his furniture was scattered among the floor, deep scratches violently carved up and down the walls. Patrick slowly walked through his house, staring at the chaos as he passed from the living room into the kitchen; sofas were turned over and a window in the kitchen was smashed. “What the fuck happened?” He whispered, unable to completely take in what had happened. As he turned to leave, something caught his eye; something that was so out of place in the carnage.

His eyes snapped down to floor, bending down to pick up a piece of paper propped neatly against his Justice League mug that was placed delicately in the centre of the room. He turned it over and saw a picture of him and his friends standing outside their high school on graduation day, their smiling faces scratched out. His eyes widened, dropping the picture. “Pete” he said, grabbing a large knife from the kitchen drawer and slowly made his way upstairs. “Pete?” He called out, his hand shaking as he tightened his grip on the knife. A loud thud suddenly came from upstairs; Patrick ran up the stairs, his heart facing as fear began to rise in his chest. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down the long dark corridor to his bedroom, watching as his bedroom door open slightly. He crept closer to his room, rapidly looking around as the feeling, the growing feeling of being watched, festered within him. Holding the knife out in front of him, he silently pleaded for Pete to be ok. If only he hadn’t of stormed off yesterday, then maybe none of this wouldn’t have happened. He had already lost so many people in his life because of her, he couldn’t bear it if she had taken him too. A deathly silence hung in the air, the only sound coming from Patrick’s footsteps as he finally reached the door.

Taking a deep breath a deep breath, he slowly pushed it open and flicked on the light. Like the rest of the house, his room was ransacked but as he looked around the room, he saw Pete was nowhere to be found. The door creaked on its hinges as Patrick stepped inside. “Pete?” He called out quietly. He was met with an eerie silence. He wandered to centre of the room, looking at the photos of him and Pete that had been torn down from the walls. He picked up one of the pictures, squeezing his eyes closed as he saw Pete’s face had been scratched out.

Something dawned on him as he opened his eyes to take one last look at the picture. He dropped the picture, noticing a red substance trickling down his hand. He looked back down at the floor and saw large pool of blood on the floor. His eyes widened, running his hand through his hair as he glanced around the room, his eyes locking on the bathroom door as he noticed a bloody handprint on the door. He held up the knife, his eyes narrowing as he slowly walked towards the door, his heart pounding. His fingers curled around the cold metal of the door handle and shoved it open.

Patrick kicked the door open. It swung fast on its hinges, hitting the wall with a loud bang as he stepped inside the bathroom. A cold breeze wafted through the open window, fluttering the curtains as his eyes darted around the room; it was empty. He turned to leave, an angry and frightened expression forming on his face when he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. As he looked at, he saw a message written in bright red lipstick:

I’ll Come Back For You Pat x

Notes

So what has happened to Pete and who is Jane's next victim? find out next week
Just a small update, hopefully I should update this more during the holidays.

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