⫸ Hey bitches, sorry for leaving off on a cliffhanger lmao here's a hefty chapter to make up for it

⫸——⫷

That night, you barely slept a wink.

The next morning, at 2 P.M, you set out for Howdy's Place for some groceries. You hoped to do some other shopping, maybe get some new clothes or a phone, if you could.

The note that you received last night haunted you on your walk. It had been on your mind all night, making your stomach toss and turn every hour. Although your walk into town was peaceful, your mind was too full of paranoia to enjoy it.

You assumed that Wally had left the note, but if he had seen some news that pertained to you, that meant that something about you was revealed. And that was absolutely not good. You wanted, so badly, to disappear before any consequences could reach you, but you also wanted to know exactly what the alleged news contained about you.

Upon approaching Howdy's place, you felt a shiver speckle your skin. It was odd; you had not felt that chill in several days. You glanced both ways down the road. There were a couple of people walking and loitering about, but nobody you recognized.

You entered Howdy's Place. Howdy was at the back counter with his back turned to you, fiddling with something in his hands. You decided to talk to him later, when you were ready to check out, and turned to your left to start shopping.

"We have got to stop meeting like this."

You shrieked. It was a shrill sound that you never heard exude from your throat before. "Jesus Christ," you exclaimed at the figure before you. Of course, it was Wally. Who the hell else would it be? He was smiling calmly, his hands in his pockets.

"How are you this fine morning?" he asked with a smirk.

The note flashed before your eyes. Your throat dried instantly, and goosebumps ran down your arms. "I'm... fine," you muttered.

"Getting some groceries?" he asked.

"Yeah."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his head tilted just a notch to the left, but his eyes never left yours. "Okay! I'll meet you outside when you're done."

"I... okay."

Wally walked past you and opened the door, but then he turned around and said, "Thanks for the apple, Howdy!" An apple had materialized in his hand; it must have been in his pocket.

Howdy looked up from his work, then frowned, displaying picturesque shock. "Hey, you need to pay for that!"

"Can't hear you! See you later, pal!" Wally walked outside, letting the door close behind him with a chime.

Howdy huffed a sigh, but did not make a move to follow Wally out. Instead, he rolled his eyes and smiled at you. You waved at him before he returned to his work.

Had Wally told anyone? Had anyone else seen the news? Did they all know that you were a murderer? What was the news? You so desperately wanted to read the article — if only you had access to the internet. If it was Wally that left you the note, which subsequently meant that he was the one with news/internet access, then perhaps he would show you the article if you asked him.

Later, you hoisted your gathered groceries onto the counter. "How's everything with you, Howdy?" you asked Howdy. Although you felt incredibly skittish, you tried your best to act and appear normal.

"Oh, everything's swell, except for that apple-stealing rascal." Howdy chuckled, as if he somehow appreciated Wally's antics. He did not seem afraid of you, like he did not know the 'news'. That was a start. "It's the same thing every day in this town, I swear. How's everything with you, Charlie? You liking it here?"

"Um... yeah," you said, watching Howdy scan your groceries. "I'm still adjusting, but I like it here. Plus, I already found a job."

"Hey, that's awesome!" Howdy said. "Where are you working?"

"At the post office. With Eddie."

Howdy fell into a momentary silence, nodding his head. "Well, that will be $57."

You paid cash, then exchanged friendly goodbyes with Howdy before leaving. Wally was standing outside, holding his apple, which was half-eaten. Your stomach churned.

"Hello again, (Y/N)," he said. "You heading home now?

"No. I was planning on going into town to look for some other things to buy."

You started to walk down the road, but Wally continued on with you. "Mind if I tag along?" he asked. His voice was chipper, and he looked great. Great as in happy. And, perhaps, great as in handsome, but that was a distracting observation that you chose not to attend to. "Then you can come straight over for your portrait."

Of course he wanted to come with you. He was always trying as hard as possible to be the absolute bane of your existence. "I'd prefer neither of those things."

"I'll take that as an enthusiastic 'yes'!" Wally chirped. "We're due for a good conversation anyways, so the alone time will be helpful."

God damn it all. You felt like you were going to vomit. You tried to respond to him, but could not bring yourself to say anything else. Instead, you just kept walking.

You looked around at the buildings nearby as Wally silently ate his apple. Past the train station, the road opened up to the neighborhood containing Javier's Grille and the bar from a couple nights ago. It also had a couple shops and homes. You scanned each of them, looking for clothes and bookstores. You passed a bookstore, but decided not to go in. On another note, there seemed to be zero stores that might sell technology of any kind. But you needed a phone, now more than ever.

The two of you eventually walked into basic-looking clothing shop, idly chatting as you went. It was tough to speak, especially to Wally, but you tried your best. You soaked up the peaceful, non-anxiety-inducing small talk about clothing preferences, money, food, and the town, because later, you were most certainly in for another nerve-wracking interrogation.

After buying some clothes, you decided that you were done shopping. Wally walked you back to the motel so you could drop your clothes and groceries off, then he led you back to his house.

All the while, you mentally prepared yourself to come face-to-face with your past.

⫸——⫷

A while later, you were seated on the couch in Wally's living room, the very same couch you had slept in two nights ago. Wally was bustling around, setting up his easel, a fresh canvas, and a load of supplies. He still wanted to paint your portrait like he said he was going to do, even though there were more important matters to attend. Once he was finally settled in, he instructed you to make a neutral pose and facial expression, so you did.

"Can I talk while you paint?"

"Of course, (Y/N)." He picked up a paint brush, yet he kept his eyes trained on you, as if he was studying your features.

"Ugh. Stop calling me that. I really don't like it."

"I will never stop."

The conversation lulled again. You watched Wally. He looked intensely focused, his eyes either scanning his painting or boring into your face. Anxiety began to creep into your veins. When was he going to reveal that he knew who you were?

And you still needed to find out who he was. You still wanted to know what Julie's warning was all about.

The last time you saw Wally was yesterday morning, when you were all hungover. He had acted smug about you knowing his secrets. He kept toying with you, which meant that you needed to be bolder if you were going to discover anything, but right now was a terrible time to be bold.

"You know," Wally said, "everybody makes mistakes."

You frowned at him.

"Everyone makes little mistakes, all the time," he continued. "But some of us make really big mistakes that go on and on and on until they ruin our lives, like a lie that's been drawn out for too long. Eventually, it becomes dangerous to uphold that mistake, and everything comes crashing down."

You stared at him. He continued to mix some paints together. He even made a couple strokes on his canvas before looking at you again. He was smiling.

"You made a mistake like that," he said.

"How did you find out?" you blurted. His way of beating around the bush was making your heart melt into a stone that weighed your entire body down. Metal filled your veins.

"You know how I found out," he said with a dry chuckle. "Somebody wasn't happy with what you did. They weren't happy that you ran away. I came across the article mostly on accident. Well... no... not on accident. I've been waiting for an article like this for a while now."

"Show me," you said. "Show me what you saw."

Wally exhaled a half-sigh. "Maybe later. I'd like to keep painting for now, dearest (Y/N)."

What was he going to do? Was he going to kill you, or just keep verbally messing with you? This whole mess was horrible. Why did Wally have to be in this town? Why did he have to be so curious?

"Does anybody else... know?" you asked quietly.

"Oh, no. At least, I don't think so. Nobody else has been attentive as I."

You were attentive too, mainly to him. You remembered the painting Wally had done of your old appartment, how he knew your real name after about a day of knowing you, and how he seemed to always have known that you were keeping a big secret. He was a terrible little detective. "That makes sense," you said. "I saw the painting you did of my old apartment. I guess you were bound to discover the rest at some point."

This made Wally pause, and his eyes bore into yours. Then he looked at his painting once again, making a few strokes. "You are incredibly unlucky, (Y/N), yet you're so lucky at the same time." He mixed two colors around. It formed the color of your eyes. "I went through all this trouble to find out who you were... but I'm not going to do anything about it."

You paused, scanning his face. "You... aren't going to tell anyone?"

"No, no. I keep my secrets, I can promise you that."

But... why would Wally keep all of this to himself? You did not know if the news had completely outed your identity or your face, but if it had, then all Wally had to do was make a phone call to the police station of your home town and say that he had you. Then, your life would be over. It would be so easy for him to do, and he would be successfully removing a murderer from his town. Why wouldn't he do that?

Because he was a murderer too. The thought came out of nowhere, like a lightbulb bursting in your mind.

There was his curiosity (nearly obsession) about you and your secrets, his comment about alcohol washing away everything two nights ago, his joy when you confessed the first murder at dinner with him, and, of course, Julie's warning. It would all make so much sense.

You had previously considered that he was a murderer, but this time, it felt like you were making a decision. This was your conclusion.

"Have you killed anyone, Wally?"

The question struck him as if he had been slapped. His eyes darted from the canvas to your face, and your whole body was enveloped in a stabbing chill. He froze, his smile unwavering, his hand and paintbrush stuck in an idle position.

"What are you talking about?" His question came out as a demand, laced with something deep — something fearful and angry. His countenance nearly made you die on the spot, like all of his words had throughout today.

"I have evidence," you said quickly, as if you had to explain everything before he slit your throat open. "You aren't turning me in, which means you're fine with being around a murderer — because you're one too."

"That seems like a hasty conclusion, (Y/N)," Wally cooed. "Don't make accusations that you can't support."

"But I can support it. I'm almost certain." You paused. He was staring at you now, and you stared back. "If you haven't killed anyone, just say it. Say you aren't a murderer."

A long moment of silence stretched between you too. Tension filled the air between your stares, and you watched as his cheeks grew pink, as if he was a bit flustered. Anxiety seemed to physically manifest around you; it clawed at your throat, at your heart. But you ignored it as best as you could.

"I haven't killed someone," Wally said through his smile. His eyes were soft, as if he was about to tell you that he loved you. "I've killed many."

You blinked.

"There? You happy now?" Wally's loving expression faded, and he returned to his painting.

No. No, you were not happy at all.

⫸——⫷