After all our days running from god-knows-what, we realized that neither I nor Hodek had killed in a while. It was a bit relieving for me, but he didn't seem so pleased with himself. It was as if his self-worth was tied into murder, or the other way around. Either way, I knew he was growing antsy. Only a matter of time before he starts again. Or just completely loses it.

We came across another staple American suburbia before long, not that we were too far away from that part of the state in general. There'd be plenty of supplies here that would be easy to get and could do us well. The problem—at least for me—was that a couple people may have had to die in exchange for them. It definitely didn't bother Hodek. In fact, the moment we laid our eyes on the first couple of houses in our path, his face almost seemed to light up. It might have been cute or heartwarming if not for what he was actually looking forward to do.

So it was back to our old business for now.

As we came around the back of a particularly big home, his hands twitched in anticipation and I could feel him just struggling to hold himself back.

"Wait."

His eyes darted around from the roof, to the upstairs window, to the gutters and then his knife. Finally, he let out a disappointed sigh.

"No. We can't do this one. If these people have any sense they'd use the money they clearly have," he said, gesturing to the wall we were staring at (though I couldn't begin to imagine how he was able to tell they were rich), "to upgrade their security. People in this town could have heard about us, or at least about the murders. This one's a no-go."

I blinked. "Well, I'll never know how you managed to gather all that from a wall, but if there's one thing I've learned from the wealthy after all these years, it's that they can be kind of stupid sometimes. And this was when I didn't even bother breaking my path up to avoid being spotted; it was just one house after another in a straight line."

"So you're saying we have a chance here."

"Maybe. Besides..." I walked over to a windowsill, cut up the screen to reach through, and harshly pulled up on the inside frame. Nothing.

"...the windows are shut and locked. Now, these people could just be really paranoid and are trying to be as safe as possible. But it looks to me that they don't have much of a death trap guarding them either way. Take your pick."

Hodek raised an eyebrow. "Weirdly phrased, but you've made your point. Let's see what we can find in there. Can you climb right now?"

"Probably not any better than you. Are we doing the knives thing again?"

He shrugged and produced two more sharpened blades from another pocket somewhere on him. "What does it look like."

"Fair. Maybe I've improved."

"That's the spirit." He grinned and tossed me one knife while he stuck the other two into the wall and rubbed his hands together in preparation. Once he'd reached a high-up window, I took one last gulp of the cold night air and followed.

The inside of this house felt like the physical manifestation of "don't judge a book by its cover," by which I mean it was old beyond belief whereas the outside was polished and modern. Five seconds couldn't pass without floorboards creaking, dust getting caught in my eye or a cobweb clinging to either one of us. Hodek seemed particularly agitated by this, which was a little unusual for him. Maybe he'd had his fill of old, seemingly abandoned houses in the past, what with all the moving. I kept having to blink little particles of dirt away, and shift my weight to the right—"no, the other right"—as we tried to navigate this place.

For a good while, there seemed to be nobody living here. It might have been vacated a long time ago; that'd explain the locked windows and barren, almost ancient interior. But soon enough we heard scuffling downstairs, looked at each other, and nodded. It didn't really matter if somebody was just visiting; in fact, that almost made it better for us.

Halfway across the first floor of the house, Hodek tapped my shoulder and whispered, "Get your twine ready." I searched my belt, feeling a split second's panic before realizing it was already wrapped around my hand. I nodded and held the twine in a tight fist before continuing forward. I heard a soft clunk behind me and whirled around to see that Hodek had set our books down, picking up Runaway and drumming his fingers lightly across the cover.

"You know, we haven't really used this one yet."

"I really don't think this is a time to be planning where—"

"Not for information, dumbass," he chuckled, the name seeming to be more affectionate than insulting. "I'm gonna...you know." He mimed swinging the book flat against something, as if hitting a homerun. I raised an eyebrow.

"And that's going to work? The cover really isn't that hard, I'd be surprised if—"

"Eh, it might. When push comes to shove, I'll just use one of these," he said, raising his other hand and wiggling his fingers back and forth. I sighed.

"Well, then what am I going to need the twine for if they'll just be knocked out?"

"For when they wake up."

—

It was disquieting, how much more time and thought he was putting into this kill than usual. I'd thought that in this deprived state, he would want to get it done as soon as possible. But it seemed just the opposite of that right now. He wasn't looking for information. He wasn't waiting for me to interrogate some stranger about the whereabouts of my family, and he definitely wasn't looking to pick a fight with someone genuinely horrible. This was something different; this was pure bloodlust.

As another person came into sight around the corner, I noticed Hodek wasted no time in charging at them, book in hand. Fortunately for them, they managed to turn around in time. Unfortunately, that meant they got hit right between the eyes with the spine of a Wendelin Van Draanen novel. They fell immediately, a red stripe marking the center of their face and their body hitting the floor with a less-than-grand thud.

Hodek caught his breath and sank to his knees, checking this person's pockets and the inside of their shoes for any weapons. He found a Swiss Army knife and began to tuck it away for safekeeping, before realizing he could simply use it on them when the time came. For a good couple of minutes, he kept flicking it open and closing it slowly, like he was trying to sharpen it with its own friction. I was left to propping the body up against a wall, while Hodek sat in front of it in waiting. After what felt like ages, they finally came to.

"...I...huh...?" At the sight of me attempting to remember how to play Cat's Cradle with my twine and Hodek toying with their knife, the person's eyes snapped open and they threw a weak punch by instinct. Hodek was just barely able to dodge.

"So that's what we're doing, is it?" He said under his breath as his victim struggle to get to their feet. Jeff scoffed grabbed both of their wrists, trying to keep them on the ground. They pushed and kicked and yelled like nothing I'd seen over the last couple of years, and it took Hodek nearly clamping their jaw shut to get them quiet.

"Will...you...stop moving?" he growled, pausing to yank my arm forward and point at the victim's feet without even looking my way. I immediately crouched down and started binding their ankles, trying not to let the persistent kicks and struggling bother me. Hodek let out a small hum of approval once I had done the job decently.

"Thank you, partner."

For some reason, hearing that now sent a wave of shivers down my spine for all kinds of reasons. I shook myself and focused again at the task at hand, which now was to just watch.

"Now...what's your name?"

At this point, they had settled down but didn't break eye contact for one second. They managed to say through their fear, "Kyle." They were shaking almost violently as Hodek drew the knife across their cheek, as if planning where to make the first cuts.

"Kyle," he echoed. "That's a nice name. I'm sure you could've come up with something better to tell me, though."

I frowned, tilting my head to get a good look at this other guy's face. "You never said my name was nice when we first met," I said without a second thought. I was met with a chuckle.

"Please. That was very, very, very different. Besides, might as well make 'Kyle' feel good for something. Because pretty soon, he's going to be nothing." He paused in contemplation. "Unless...he's willing to give my way a try."

'My way?' What could that...

My eyes widened when I realized exactly what he was referring to.

Well. Whatever makes him happier.

The person, who probably wasn't named Kyle, tried to shift backwards but was caught between a murderer and the wall. "Y-your way? What do you mean? A-are you just going to torture me?"

"Oh, no," Hodek muttered, twirling the blade around lazily before his grin widened even further. "In fact, I'm sure it'll even put a smile on your face. Won't it, Max?"

"I don't think I should say, if I'm being honest."

"Fair enough."

He grabbed Kyle's face—well, mainly their jaw—and held it still while the other apparently decided that struggling wasn't going to work for them any longer. They actually seemed a bit curious about what Hodek was going to do. That is, until the knife approached their left cheek.

Jeff the Killer went to work, making the process as slow as humanly possible. He sliced and carved, blood pooling in the victim's mouth and dripping out onto the floor. Kyle squeezed their eyes shut and clenched their teeth so as not to make any noise, and their effort was commendable. But it was obvious they weren't far from screaming their lungs out. Jeff didn't bother hiding the fact that he was savoring every bit of this; I could see the glee in his eyes even from where I was crouching.

When he was finished with his masterpiece, Kyle glared and grabbed his hand, positioning the knife over their own heart with tears running down their face.

"Please," they whispered. "Just do it. I can't...I won't live like this." Whatever stutter they'd developed before was now gone, and to my surprise, Hodek didn't move.

"No. You won't." He sighed. "Max...you know why I only settled on killing bigots and assholes for a while?"

That got my attention. Well, anymore than it could have over the gore. "I'm guessing it doesn't have much to do with justice?"

"Oh, that's probably some part of it. But usually, I only got a couple of kills per town. One or two, maybe even three. So I had to make them count. Right now, though?" He cocked his head and looked back to the shaking figure before him.

"I'm just trying to get my fix."

And he drove the knife into Kyle's heart, no doubt breaking a couple of ribs in the process. The life in their eyes slowly petered out, like dripping water onto a flame.

"I hope it doesn't hurt your feelings. Truly."

There wasn't an ounce of sarcasm in his voice, but it didn't seem like he cared all that much, either. The chokes and gasped that had filled the room died out after about a minute, and for the millionth time we were left alone.

He slowly drew his knife out of the smiling person's body, as if expecting a high from it. That seemed to be what he got; his breath shallowed and the corners of his mouth began to turn up in a psychotic grin that matched his carved one. Even though this was far more controlled and quiet than his usual style, I couldn't help but feel disconcerted. Regardless of why he'd gotten into murder in the first place, he seemed to relish it now. I weaved my fingers together and averted my eyes from the scene before me.

"So...did that help?"

He turned his head just slightly to indicate he'd heard me. He didn't bother to ask what I was talking about. "Maybe. I think I'm starting to feel something," he muttered, his voice even more gravelly than normal. I narrowed my eyes.

"And what would that be?"

He chuckled once—never a good sound to hear from a knife-wielding burnout.

"It's joy."