I'm not stupid. I've said it since the beginning that I'm not stupid. I've been blind at times. I've made mistakes. I've made a lot of mistakes. But I'm not stupid.
I was ready for him this time. Why else do you think I posted that I was back home on Saturday? I knew Brett was reading. I knew he would see that and break in. This time, I was ready for him. My face is battered and bruised. I've got a cut on my neck. I can barely move due to the pain in my back. I'm still running on pure adrenaline. It was worth it though. It was worth it to make that insane bastard bleed.
He broke in. I don't know how he's able to keep doing it. This time around, I didn't mind. I've moved, though. I wonder if Brett is still dropping into my old place, expecting me to be there. Again, I'm not stupid. Blind, but not stupid.
Brett broke in around four on Sunday morning. I heard it. I was ready for it. I'd been sleeping during the day so I could be ready for that night. If nothing else, Brett is a creature of habit like the rest of us. He assumed it'd be best to break in when it was dark out, when I'd be either asleep or tired. I was neither. Victory is in the preparation. It sounds fucked up to admit this, but I learned that from comic books. I learned that from Batman. You can learn from anything. Looks like I get my knowledge from a wide range of mistakes and books about fully grown men dressed up as rodents beating up the mentally damaged.
I didn't have a costume last night. If I did, I really would have been like my childhood hero.
I'm standing at the doorway to my room, baseball bat in hand, waiting for him. I startle him. That's all I need. I swing. Steel connects with his crotch. I'm fighting dirty. I have to. I'm not stupid. I'm not big. I'm not muscular. I have to fight smart. I have to bring him down to my level, or he'll kill me.
He doubles over from the unexpected pain. I grab his face with my free hand. I find metal. I pull. Warmth flows over my hand. I look down and blood is dripping from Brett's nose. His screams of pain fill the hallway. I can't enjoy it. I can't enjoy the pleasure of making him bleed like he made Mary bleed, like he wanted to make Judith. I don't have much time. I've lost my surprise. I have to keep him down.
I see the knife in his hand. I smash his wrist with my bat. He drops the knife and I kick it back, away from us. Brett is finally reacting. He rushes forward, pushing me backwards. I don't have room to swing. I don't have much chance to do anything. My back hits the closet door. I don't know how I didn't buckle.
He punches me in the gut. I do buckle.
Brett's on top of me, muttering insanity. Crimson is running from his face like a fountain, but he doesn't seem to notice. He punches me in the face once. Twice. Three times. I'm barely conscious. He reaches away from me. He comes back, and there's a glint of metal. I'm conscious then. I wasn't ready to die.
Brett presses the knife against my neck. He starts talking about how he doesn't care if I'm not Damien yet. He's going to kill me for what I did to him. He goes on and on... until he mentions Judith. And then he's in my face. He's shouting at me about where she is. I tell her I don't know, and I feel the knife press deeper. I know I have to do something or I'm just another dead man. And if I'm dead, there's no one who can save Judith.
I turn and bite his wrist. He screams, drops the knife. I push up and headbutt him in the face, headbutt him in his torn nose. Finally he's off of me. I pick up the knife. I pick up my bat. I slash at Brett with the blade. I miss. He's already up and running. I let him go. I needed to take care of the gash on my neck. I bandaged myself up, grabbed my backpack full of things, and was gone within the hour.
Brett, I know you're reading this. You know now just what I'm willing to do now, and you know that I wasn't joking before when I said that I will kill you if you come near me or Judith. I'm not stupid. I'm done being stupid.