Reunited

It was a beautiful day. Yet, my heart stopped. I thought he was dead. But there he was. Right in front of me on the street. Smiling at me. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear and disbelief. If he was back, then everyone I knew was in danger. Around us, people were walking by, minding their own business – not realizing what danger they were all in. I still hadn’t blinked. Water filled my eyes and ran down my cheeks. And still I did nothing. Neither did he, other than smiling. He just stood there, smiling – no – grinning at me. His gaze was locked in mine. His entire figure were darkened, as if standing in the shade. His dark eyes seemed even darker than before. They seemed black. How could they be? How could he even be back? I worked so hard on making sure he never came back. I thought he was dead. I thought I had killed him. In fact, I knew I had. I wasn’t alone in believing he was dead. I had help. We were several people working hard to make sure he could never ever hurt anyone ever again. We worked so hard on making sure he would die. So how come I saw his eyes staring back at mine? I had to blink. Several times I blinked. He was still there. I let out a slight “no”. His grin got even wider, exposing his teeth. He planned this. He planned to make sure I thought he was dead. He knew I would try to kill him. He knew I wanted him gone. And so he let me kill him. Or at least he let me think I had managed to kill him. He hid. He hid while watching me and everyone around me thinking he was gone. All while planning his next move. Planning his return. When, where and how. I couldn’t believe he had chosen to do it like this. He had revealed himself so suddenly and out of nowhere. In broad daylight. In front of many people. People who didn’t know who he was, or what he was capable of. I suddenly realized I wasn’t breathing. I started gasping for air. This broke his gaze. He looked down, smiling still. Slowly, he looked back up on me. He gazed into my eyes again. Maybe for a second, maybe for an hour. I lost all sense of the world around me. Why didn’t anybody grab him? Why didn’t someone shout or scream. Why did nobody react? Nobody knew. Nobody understood. Nobody knew how hard I had fought him once before. Nobody knew how scared I had been. How scared I was at this very second. Even with everyone living their lives around me. I felt like I was being held down by something I couldn’t see or touch. I wanted to scream, but I had a feeling no sound would come out. Like in a nightmare. But this wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. So why did nobody react to him? Surely, his presence stood out. Surely, he was noticeable to others than me. Surely, everyone could feel the stench of horror and desperation surrounding his presence. It had made me turn around. I did not see him at first. I felt him. I felt cold. It was a beautiful day. There were no clouds, it was warm, it was summer. But I had felt cold. As if a hand of ice had suddenly grabbed my heart. In the corner of my eye a shadow had formed, and it made me turn my head. Only to face him. A man I was sure was dead. And he was smiling at me. He smiled as to mock my attempt at killing him. Mocking me for thinking he could ever be killed. Mocking me for thinking I was safe. His smile was telling me that this time, no one would live. No one was safe. No moral compass. No rules. I was terrified. He moved. He looked down at one of his pockets. Then, he looked me in the eyes again. He wasn’t grinning anymore. He was smirking. He looked at my jeans, my pocket opposite of his. Still smirking. For a second, I was confused. Then I started to feel something pressing slightly against my thigh inside the pocket. There was something in there. When did I put something in my pocket? I kept my wallet in my back pocket, which people said was unsafe. But I was never worried. Because I knew what to really fear. I knew the real horror of the world. And he was standing in front of me on the street. Smiling at me. He Moved again. His head tilted upwards slightly. The adjustment made him seem confident that I would play his games. I thought I was paralyzed with fear, but my fear made me move. It made me play his games. My fear tried to defend me from him by doing what he wanted me to. It had been like that ever since I first met him as a teenager. At first, I enjoyed his presence. His dark sense of humour. We were inseparable. Wherever I went, he followed, and wherever he I went, I followed. But as we grew up, his morbid humour turned violent. Cats. Dogs. Girlfriends. Other friends. Family. We had been like brothers. His hazel eyes mirroring mine. Not anymore. He had changed. Evolved. I reached for whatever had been placed in my pocket. I felt a piece of folded paper. As I touched it, he started grinning again. He was pleased. But not satisfied. I slowly took it out and somehow managed to break eye contact with him to read it. My heart stopped for a second time. I started to gasp for air. My hand holding the note was shaking. My other hand made a fist, clenching so hard my palms started to bleed. I couldn’t catch my breath. In perfectly rounded handwriting it read out:  

“I wasn’t done.” 

It was a beautiful day. But something had caught my attention, and I turned around to face my biggest fear. Him. I thought he was dead. But there he was. Staring at me. Smiling at me. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to attack him. I wanted to destroy him before he could hurt anyone else. But a part of me knew I would only hit the store window reflecting the people walking by.