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No. XXX. TOUCH STARVED
He desperately clung to the fabric of his shirt, painfully aware of just how empty his house was. Johnny let out a weak sound, falling onto one of his sides. The most contact he ever got was with one of his victims, and that level of separation was beyond disparate. He only ever got close to two different people, one of them dead, the other hated him.
Never would he see either of them again. He regretted this. Maybe he should look up Devi in the yellow pages again. She screamed at him the last time he had called her, though. There’s no way she’d want to hear from him. It’s a shame he killed Edgar. Maybe that got reset with the waste-lock reset? He could try and find out. He’d have to be desperate for that to work out, though. The likelihood of that? Slim to none.
A sharp creak behind him snapped him from his thoughts, his head whipping to face the source of the sound. He mimicked the sound, upon sight of the woman before him. He couldn’t get her name out of his throat, where it stuck, before his clawed hand reached out, shaking and unstable.
“Nny.” The cold, almost cruel coo of his name came from her perfectly painted lips.”I’ve been thinking of you.” She knelt to be eye level with his crouched form. “We’re not so different, you and I.” Never had he expected to see her, much less in his house. How did she even get here?
“Devi,” he clung to her shirt sleeve, which shockingly she didn’t remove from him, so real, and fake simultaneously, “why, how?” She shushed him, and his questions died on his dry tongue.
“Don’t worry. I’m here for you.”