A/N: I'm sorry.

I haven't updated in forever, haven't I? I just couldn't bring myself to start writing this, you know. This is… uh. I can't really explain why. Oh well, whatever. Thanks to all of you who have been reading. Now onto the chapter, I guess.

(BIG BIG thanks to my beta, TristaStrange02)


I really don't want to go there.

I mean, I don't want to meet the Killer again. Not that I'm scared – no, of course I'm not; but, see, I'm unsure of what to do when I meet him. See, I kind of want to become his friend. Well, to make him think that I'm his friend, that is. So that I know for sure he'll be around on November 5th. So that he'd never suspect anything. So that he won't fucking murder me. But it's hard – I mean, not running away the moment I see him, not yelling "Oh, just SHUT UP!" when he starts talking. All that, it's so hard – and I bet it's going to get worse…


I'm walking home from work, struggling not to start grinning. I know I'm going to meet him now, and this won't be a particularly enjoyable meeting, but I'm so pleased with myself, you have no idea. Because I'm so prepared now to deal with him – I even have that cherry soda he liked, to throw at him in case I'll have to calm him down or something. However, as I approach his house, I can feel my wonderful mood fade, and when I'm about to press the doorbell, I'm not happy at all, and my stomach is tightening into a knot. I gather all my strength and bravery and force myself to press it.

And all I can hear is silence. No screams, no horrid noises, nothing.

I wait patiently, with my hands clasped behind by back. But there's nothing. The house is silent. Dead silent – har har har, oh I'm so funny.

I wait, and wait, and wait, and right when I decide he's not there at all and turn around to go home, the door slams open. For a second nothing happens, and then the Killer yells "That's… that's you again!"

How did he even recognize me? He was looking at my back!

I spin around, force a little smile to appear on my face, and announce, quite cheerfully: "Yeah, that's me!"

He's staring at me, and I don't like his face, don't like it at all.

"What. Are you doing here," he says very slowly and menacingly, his left eye twitching just a little bit.

"I've come here," I start. "To apologize for what happened yesterday. For that… incident with your soda."

"Fiz-Wiz," he corrects me softly. Oh my freaking God, this is so ridiculous.

I nod. "Yeah, that. Fiz-Wiz. Well, you know, since we're neighbors and all, we shouldn't, you know, dislike each other or something…" Did you notice how stupid I sound when I talk to him? He's apparently noticed, since his eye is twitching a little bit more. Oh God, please help me. I swear I'll be good… well, you know, after I kill this freak. "And we could as well be friends."

His right eye widens a little bit.

"Friends," he repeats slowly, and now I can't understand his tone at all.

"Yeah!" I nod.

"Friends," he repeats again, and his expression changes from that weird to a slightly freaked out one.

"Yeah," I nod one more time, and oh no no NO just don't get irritated Suzie stay calm… calm… CALM…

But seriously, what's so hard to understand? Wait, maybe he doesn't know anything about making friends. What if he was raised in a horrible, horrible place and no one ever loved him? That kind of explains everything, come to think about it. I feel like I'll need to sing some stupid song about friendship like they do in Disney movies to enlighten him a little. And that would be just so incredibly stupid! Why did I even think of that? What am I turning into?

"You are a fucking idiot," he announces finally.

Now, that's, that's not nice of him at all.

"I'm not," I mumble. "And I- I- oh, wait!" I dig into my bag to find the soda – oh sorry, the Fizz-Wizz - when all of a sudden he grabs my bag and pulls it away from me.

"What do you have in there? HUH? WHAT IS IT?" he yells, shaking the contents of my bag out and onto the ground. When he spots the soda, he abruptly stops being crazy and raises an eyebrow at me.

"SEE!" I yell a bit too loudly than necessary. "It's just a so- a Fiz-Wiz! And it's for you!"

Then he gets angry again. "Well, how do I know it's not poisoned?"

Poison? Oh, why haven't I thought of poison? Damn, I could poison him! It's way better than shooting him or blowing him up, and is probably less expensive – I mean, I don't have buy anything, I can just make him drink a bottle of shampoo or something and… oh… I don't know. Why did he think it was poisoned, anyway? Do people try to poison him that often?

"It's not!" I pick the can from the ground, open it, give him a death glare and take a sip of the Fiz-Wiz. And it's not that delicious, by the way, and certainly not something to go crazy about. "See? I drank it!"

And he gives me such a look, such a look, I think he's gonna kill me.

"And you think that I'm going to drink this after you did? You left your spit and germs in there".

Oh shit. I didn't think of that. Now I don't have anything to calm him down. Now he is going to get mad at me for spoiling the drink and set me on fire. And I have pyrophobia, so that's not exactly something I'm looking forward to. Speaking of which, how the hell am I going to blow him up with my pyrophobia – explosions involve fire, after all – and how come I didn't think of that until now? How. Come. Though, shampoo is also an option now, so never mind.

"I- I- I can buy you a new one!" I say quickly with the most kind and sincere look I can muster. He seems to consider my offer. Well, at least it's what it looks like. I think. I hope.

"Fine," he mutters finally, spins around and proceeds to walk down the street in the direction of the 24/7 store. I stand on my spot for some time, trying to pull myself together, and then gather my things from the ground, stuff them into my bag hurriedly and follow him as fast as I can.


Okay, you know what, he's fucking annoying!

He walks too fast! No matter how much I struggle, I can't really walk that fast while being casual. I mean, how? How can he walk that fast and seem relaxed? I mean, he's not that much taller than me! I bet he's doing that on purpose! That bastard, he just wants to be cruel to me because I spoiled the bloody drink that wasn't even actually his!

So, well, I'm forced to walk behind him instead of walking next to him, and I can't figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Oh, whatever.

It's a nice day by the way. Well, afternoon. Or evening, I don't even remember, but it's still kind of sunny, not too cold, the slightly chilly wind blows into my face and the sun warms me… And the streets are almost empty, which is a good thing, I suppose. I mean, he's probably not going to randomly kill everyone if there's almost no one around. Something like that.

All of a sudden, he stops in his tracks and I almost bump into him, though manage not to. We are now standing in front of that place with Mexican food, which isn't something I particularly enjoy eating. Besides, the place itself looks horribly dirty. I've been there once because Kelly dragged me there (she's said: "A burrito is just what you need to stop being moody!", and I don't see what burritos have to do with my mood. Or anything at all, actually.) and I didn't eat a thing since everything there was just hideous.

"We… can we go in there?" Johnny asks.

"Eh?" I reply stupidly. "I thought you wanted a Fiz-Wiz!"

"Yes, but now that I've seen this place, I want a taco," he says, and he sounds surprisingly polite. "So, it would be nice if we went there instead".

"Oh…Okay, I don't care, let's go there," I shrug. He then gives me the most terrifyingly creepy grin in the world, and now I'm most certainly not calm anymore.

He walks thorough the glass door merrily, and I follow, trying not to walk too close too him. He chooses a table in a corner – a dirty, dirty, table in a dirty, dirty corner – and I realize that I don't really want to join him. Because the chair I'm supposed to sit on isn't very nice looking. How can anything get this dirty, seriously? But I don't have that much of a choice, so I take a deep breath and sit down cautiously.

Then, we sit. And wait. And nothing happens. And the waiter is nowhere in sight. And I can tell Johnny is getting a little impatient. And I don't know if he's angry, but he's not smiling anymore – actually, he's frowning, and that's not a good thing. That's a really bad thing, I believe.

"Soooooo-" I say. He looks at me and waits for me to continue. But I have nothing to say. I desperately think of how to start a conversation, but my mind is pretty blank. He's getting more impatient. "So… What… do you do… for living?"

That – that was just brilliant. Excellent. It's really, really the best way to start a nice little talk. I'm bloody amazing. So what are you gonna say, Mr. Insane Wacky Dude? Huh?

He stares at me for a long time, unblinking, which is kind of disturbing. Why am I still surprised by anything?

He then finally opens his mouth to speak, and says slowly "I… do… stuff".



"Okaay…" he isn't saying anything. Why can't he ask me the same thing? Is he that uninterested in me? But why? I'm bloody amazing!

"So… Do you have any…hobbies?" I ask. Other that being a freak and killing everyone? Huh?

Now he looks kind of upset. This situation is not going to end well. "I used to draw, but I can't anymore".


He gives me a death glare. This situation is going to end awfully. "No reason".

This is getting so hideously ridiculous I want to facepalm. Many, many times.

The waiter still isn't here. The whole place is empty, actually, and I start to get a really bad feeling. Does… does he have any kind of weapon with him? Oh God, what if he…

I need to get out of here, now. I'm nervous. I don't like being nervous.

"Oh but why? Drawing is good, I mean, you could earn money and get rich and- and everything, or, or you could just draw cool things and make world better and-" I hate being nervous. I ramble when I'm nervous. I ramble so horribly. And the look on his face is just so- "And why did you quit? I mean, drawing is awesome and if you have talent, you shouldn't just-"

"Do you EVER shut up?" he snaps, annoyed. "You are just so irritating you make me want to rip out your ribs, one by one, and then feed you to cockroaches – you are so horrible, and also so terribly moronic – how stupid do you have to be to want to be my friend?"

I'm way too nervous right now. I can't control my speech. I-

"You know what!" I snap. "Stop talking about me like you know me! I just want to be your friend, I buy you a soda, I bring you here and I'm moronic? I'll show you moronic! You bastard! You know what? I'm going to kill you!"

The whole time I was saying that he seemed to be preparing to attack me and then rip out my ribs or whatever, but when I mention killing him – why? Why did I do that? – he just raises an eyebrow at me.

"What did you say?"

"I'll kill you," I mumble stubbornly, sounding like a little kid and give myself a mental roundhouse kick.

He tilts his head to the side, looking quite amused. "Really? And may I ask why?"

"I'm not telling you," I say, feeling even stupider that before. "It's none of your bloody business."

And then he starts laughing.

First he just chuckles, then giggles maniacally, and then laughs so hard he falls out of his chair. And there he stays, on all fours on the really dirty floor, still laughing with his creepy cartoon villain laugh.

"That's- that's not fucking funny!" I say at last, but he doesn't seem to hear me. He just laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and doesn't it hurt him to laugh for so long?

"I'm leaving!" I say loudly, but he doesn't pay any attention to me. So, well, I leave. Angry, I storm out of the nasty, dirty, smelly place and walk home as fast as I can. It doesn't seem like he's chasing me, but who knows.

At home, I close all windows, check three times if the front door is locked, and can't bring myself to go to that kitchen window. Instead, I go upstairs, carrying a frying pan with me just in case, then take a shower and go to sleep, holding the pan kind of like a child would hold a teddy bear. So lovely. So sweet, I might just throw up.