"I don't want to talk," I said.
I could feel myself getting worse—dark thoughts crawled over and through me like maggots in a carcass, and it was all I could do to quell them. I wanted to kill Mr. Crowley, but not anybody else. The monster was confused, and ratded my mind like the bars of a cage. It whispered and roared, begging me constantly to hunt, to kill, to feed it. It wanted more fear. It wanted to possess. It wanted Mom's head on a pole, and Margaret's, and Kay's. It wanted Brooke tied to a wall, screaming for no one but us. Over the past few weeks, I'd found myself yelling at it to stop, or hurting myself to hurt it, but it was stronger than I was. I could feel my control slipping.
We rode in silence the rest of the way, and when we got home I poured a bowl of cereal and turned on the TV Mom turned it off.
"I think we need to talk."
"I said I don't want to—"
"I know what you said, but this is important."
I stood up and walked back into the kitchen. "We don't have anything to talk about."
"That's exactly what we have to talk about," she said, watching me from the couch. "Your best friend's dad was murdered—seven people have been murdered in four months—and you're obviously not dealing with it very well.
You've barely said a word to me since Christmas."
"I've barely said a word to you since fourth grade."
"Then isn't it about time?" she asked, standing up. "Don't you have anything to say, about Max, or your Dad, or anything?
There's a serial killer in town, for goodness sake, that's your favorite thing in the world. We couldn't get you to stop talking about them a few months ago, and now you're practically mute."
I moved out of sight behind the kitchen wall and ate another bite of cereal.
"Don't run away from me," she said, following me into the room. "Dr. Neblin told me about your last visit—"
"Dr. Neblin needs to shut up," I said.
"He's trying to help you," said Mom. "I'm trying to help you. But you won't let us in. I know you don't feel anything, but at least tell me what you're thinking—"
I hurled the cereal bowl at the wall as hard as I could, shattering it. Milk and cereal sprayed across the room.
"What the hell do you think I'm thinking?" I shouted.
"How'd you like to live with a Mom who thinks you're a robot?
Or a gargoyle? You think you can just say anything you want and it will bounce right off? 'John's a psycho! Stab him in the face—he can't feel anything!' You think I can't feel? I feel everything, Mom, every stab, every shout, every whisper behind my back, and I am ready to stab you all right back, if that's what it takes to get through to you!" I slammed my hand down on the counter, found another bowl, and hurled it at the wall. I picked up a spoon and threw it at the fridge, then picked up a kitchen knife and prepared to throw it as well, but suddenly I noticed that Mom was rigid, her face pale and her eyes wide.
She was afraid. Not just afraid—she was afraid of me. She was terrified of me.
I felt a thrill shoot through me—a bolt of lightning, a rush of wind. I was on fire. I was floored by the power of it, of pure, unfiltered emotion.
This was it. This was what I had never felt before—an emotional connection to another human being. I'd tried kindness, I'd tried love, I'd tried friendship. I'd tried talking and sharing and watching, and nothing had ever worked until now. Until fear. I felt her fear in every inch of my body like an electric hum, and I was alive for the first time. I needed more right then or the craving would eat me alive.
I raised the knife. She flinched and stepped back. I felt her fear again, stronger now, in perfect sync with my body. It was a jolt of pure life—not just fear, but control. I waved the knife, and the color drained from her face. I stepped forward and she shrank back. We were connected. I was guiding her movements like a dance. I knew in that instant that this is what love must be like—two minds in tandem, two bodies in harmony, two souls in absolute unity. I yearned to step again, to dictate her reaction. I wanted to find Brooke and ignite this same blazing fear in her. I wanted to feel this shining, glorious unity.
I didn't move.
This wasn't me.
The monster was entwined around me so fully that I couldn't tell where it ended and I began, but I was still there, somewhere.
More! it screamed.
My wall was gone, the monster's cage destroyed, but the rubble was still there, and somehow in that instant I found that wall again. I was standing in the rubble of a life I had built meticulously for years—a life I never enjoyed, for I had cut myself off from joy, but a life that I valued, joyful or not. I valued the ideas behind it. The principles.
You are evil, said myself. You are Mr. Monster. You are nothing. You are me.