⫸ MORE AMAZING FANART IM SCREAMINGGGG

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The rest of Wally's painting was done in silence. The only sounds came from his occasional humming and the strokes of his paint brush. The two of you would occasionally stare at each other, but you would either get flustered and look away, or he would break eye contact to look at his painting instead.

Your mind was filled with thoughts. You wanted to ask Wally why he had killed people, apparently many people, but you were afraid of the answer. Your reason for taking 24 lives was because you were being blackmailed, and the reason for the remaining 1 life was self defense. You were still ashamed of it all, but at least you had some form of justification. You wondered what Wally's justification was — or if there was any justification at all.

He seemed awfully cheerful. He was still smiling, as if he had not just confessed something horrible — as if he had not just found out that you murdered so many people.

The article probably pinned you as a psycho; it likely did not say that you were blackmailed and threatened into submission, because the only people who knew that you were behind the murders were the real assassins, so they probably were the ones that brought the evidence forward and, of course, they would pin everything on you, not themselves. Plus, it really was your hand that carried everything out.

Once Wally was done with his painting, he sighed. "Okay, (Y/N). It's finished."

He began to collect his brushes and clean them off. You watched him in silence, afraid to say anything. The whole vibe had been flipped upside down and inside out, and this room no longer felt happy and comfortable — it felt deadly. Home's eye sat in the living room's window, watching you two intently. Always watching. Did Home play a role in anything?

You noticed that Wally was looking at you. You looked back at him, nervous.

His smile faltered slightly, as if he was deep in thought. Perhaps he was reevaluating how he felt about you, or how you felt about him. You really were not sure what you thought of him at the moment — yes, you were afraid of him, but how afraid did you need to be? You still did not know if he saw saw you as a companion or as a threat that needed to be taken out.

And you did not know what to say to him, not even a little bit.

"Would you... like to see it?" Wally asked, referring to the painting.

You cleared your throat, but it did not make speaking any easier. "Sure," you replied.

Wally gingerly lifted the canvas from his easel and flipped it around to show you. There, in a collage of acrylic paint, sat an uncanny replica of your face. You looked more attractive than you did in real life, as if you had been slightly airbrushed. There was a tiny red heart on the side of the canvas.

"Wow," you said. "That's... really good."

Wally grinned. "Thank you! Practice makes perfect, as always." He set the painting back down, probably to let it dry. He put his hands on his hips and sighed.

A lapse of silence passed.

"I don't think any less of you," Wally said, "because of what you did. Just so you know. Honestly, I think better of you. It couldn't have been easy... unless it was easy." He looked at you curiously.

"It wasn't," you said dryly.

Wally paused, looking back at his painting. He seemed to think for a moment before he continued cleaning up his art supplies. "All that matters is that you were able to walk away from it all." His smile lowered. "Not everyone is able to walk away from their... mistakes."

Just then, somewhere in the back of the house, a door flung open, then slammed shut. It scared you, making you jump. You looked in the direction of the door, but could not see which door it was.

After a moment, you looked back at Wally. He appeared similarly frightened.

"What was that?" you asked.

"Ah, nothing. Why don't I go get us some snacks?"

Wally then turned around and hurried off to the kitchen, leaving his painting supplies half-tidied. You sat frowning for a moment, then looked at Home's beady eye in the window. Was Home the one that slammed that door? You shivered.

You then stood up and stretched out your limbs. Sitting so long in this anxiety inducing environment was taking its tole on your muscles — everything was tense in your body. "Wally?" you called after him.

"Yes, dear?"

Your stomach clenched. Since he was not nearby to glare into your soul, your confidence had restored slightly, but not enough to completely remove your anxiety. "Why did you... kill people?" you asked, stretching your neck.

"I don't know. Why did you kill people?" Something clattered in the kitchen.

Perhaps you should just tell Wally everything.

You sighed and combed your fingers over your head, looking around the room for a second. No, you could not really trust Wally, but he said that he planned on keeping your secret — and he had kept it so far. Now that you knew for a fact what he had done, he was certain to continue to keep it, or else you would not keep his secret in return. Plus, telling him about the blackmailers would shine a better light on you. Not that you cared about his opinion or anything.

"I was... forced to," you said finally.

Silence. Wally exited the kitchen with a plate of crackers and apple slices. He set the plate down on the living room coffee table, within your reach, then walked right up to you where you stood in front of the couch. You were taken slightly aback by his physical closeness. His hands were behind his back, and you noticed that a strand of hair had fallen out of his pompadour and was now floating above his forehead.

"Forced to?" he repeated, smiling serenely. Why was it that he always looked like he was in love with you?

"Yeah," you said quietly. You sat back down on the couch, and Wally followed suit, his leg merely inches away from yours. Before continuing, you took an apple slice from the plate and ate it slowly. "You remember how I said that someone found out about the first person I killed?"

Wally nodded.

"Well, that was true. But then, they blackmailed me with that information and essentially told me to kill someone else, or else they would go to the police with evidence of the first murder. They also threatened to... hurt me," you explained. "It was this assassin. Or a group of assassins, I don't know. Some people. So I did what they said. It went on for... a while."

"Wow," Wally whispered. He looked fascinated with you at the moment, but also slightly sympathetic. You tried to maintain his eye-contact. "So you killed people for them? Like a hitman?"

You shrugged a shoulder. "I guess so."

"I'm sorry that happened," Wally said. "The article didn't cover any of that."

"I figured," you said quietly.

He stared at you.

"Now you have to tell me why you did your stuff," you added.

"I... can't." His voice lowered even quieter. "Not here."

You blinked a few times before it clicked. Home.

"Oh." The syllable came out as barely a breath. Wally's face was very close to yours, so you were sure he heard it. It felt like you were going to melt into his eyes, but you did not know if that was a good thing. "When can you?"

A slight color had risen to Wally's cheeks, but his eyes did not waver from yours. Perhaps the eye-contact was making him nervous, or maybe it was just the fact that Home could overhear you two. He fiddled his thumbs together in his lap. "Never."

You shook your head. "Tonight," you argued.

"No. You wouldn't understand." He was whispering so quietly that you practically had to read his lips.

"I would."

Wally's lips pursed together in a tight smile. He seemed to consider this for a moment.

You thought about Julie. Wally was probably right; you probably would not understand why he did whatever he was doing. You were not really a killer, not at heart. But if he was, you did not know if you could sympathize with him.

Wally's eyelids fell lower, as if he were pouting slightly. "Stop staring at me," he said.

You blinked, realizing that you had been staring as your mind drifted. The tone with which he said this surprised you, and the sentence itself was completely off topic. Your face flushed and your stomach somersaulted. You looked away from Wally swiftly and put your face in your hands.

"I hate you," you mumbled through your palms.

"Ha ha. I hate you too, (Y/N)," Wally said. "No I don't. I was kidding."

You did not say anything for a moment. You still felt anxious, and of course, your curiosity was killing you. You looked back up at Wally, watching him for a moment. He looked around the room, then ate one of the apple slices off of the platter he put together with his eyes. Then he looked at you again, smiling.

You were going to find out why he killed people, whether Wally liked it or not. He was probably right that it was for your own good that you did not know, but if Julie survived finding out, then you were sure he would not kill you if you found out too.

Perhaps you just needed to ask him all of this when you were out of Home. Maybe Home was the real reason Wally did not want to tell you anything more. It was a bit of a logical stretch, since Home was just a house with an eye, after all.

Perhaps Home was trying to stop Wally from saying too much when that door slammed earlier. You remembered Wally's office door randomly opening for you during his painting lessons — was that also because of Home?

So, did Home want you to know who Wally was, or not? Maybe Home wanted you to be scared off when you saw Wally's painting. You considered this, but it was all sort of confusing, so trying to think too hard about it made your head hurt.

"I think I should go," you said eventually, standing up. You took a cracker from Wally's little plate and ate it, then walked towards the door.

"Are you sure?" Wally asked. "I was having fun!"

"I am sure," you said, putting your shoes on.

When you looked back up at Wally, he was smiling sweetly. His eyes were half-lidded, melting all over you like dark little puddles. "Thank you. For talking to me. I already feel so much closer to you," he said gently. "I'll see you again later."

You stared at him, unsure of what to say, how to act, and what to feel. You needed some time to digest everything, that was for sure. "Goodbye," you said quickly. You did not give him the chance to say goodbye back, you simply burst outside and closed the front door behind you.

Outside, you took a deep breath.

Wally was a murderer. And he knew everything about you. You desperately needed to talk to somebody about this, but you had no phone to call your family or any old friends, of course. The only people you could turn to were the people in this town.

And the only person who you knew would talk to you about this was Julie.

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