Fatalities (Yandere Jeff the Killer x Reader)

Sunlight illuminated the seemingly deserted living room, dust particles floating in the air. Light breathing resounded as an occupant emerged, after all. Wrapping her arms around herself, (Y/n) sat up from the ground, an intense migraine taking over her senses. Why is it so cold in here... Looking over to her front door, she realized it had been left wide open all night. Getting up to close it, she reminisced on yesterday's horrendous events. I must've left it open accidentally. Entering her bathroom, the girl looked at herself in the mirror before her eyes began watering at the sight before her.

Selfish, unforgiveable, disgusting. I am a lost cause. How dare I feel bad for myself. Makeup was caked and smeared everywhere, instead being replaced by traces of blood and dirt, along with dried tears remaining visible. Red puffy eyes were the most dominant trait, along with the bandages on her cheeks and forehead. Looking down at her outfit, she saw that her shirt and pants were caked with blood and dirt as well, while also observing several rips throughout. It was fairly obvious (Y/n) had been in a physical altercation. Lifting up her shirt, she observed bruises and cuts all along her body. Sighing in annoyance, the woman shook her head roughly before slapping herself several times on both cheeks. I refuse to feel sorry for myself any longer, I fucking caused this catastrophe.

*11:13 AM*

After showering and dressing in a hoodie and some leggings, the girl collapsed onto her living room couch, not sure of what to do with her time off from work. She couldn't help but continue thinking about the case. Eyeing the case files on a chair in front of her, (Y/n) began to bite her fingernails, fighting herself to not pick up the files. Her leg began to bounce up and down incessantly, a sure sign of anxiety overcoming her. The only thing she could seem to think about in that moment was the voice of the perpetrator taunting her; her own voice joining alongside him, berating her for what she had failed to do. Jolting up from the couch, the woman breathed heavily as she bolted towards the door, obtaining her car keys and putting on her shoes quickly before getting in the car and driving away. I need to go somewhere, anywhere. I can't fucking stay here.

*1:11 PM*

Turning off her car, (Y/n) calmly exited the vehicle and walked up to the building in front of her; a giant hotel looming over her, claiming to be the great escape she needed. Anything would be better than sitting in that damn house. Approaching the front desk, the concierge smiled warmly as she welcomed the girl to the counter, clearly choosing to hide her probable disgust at (Y/n)'s bandaged face. "Hi, how can I help you?"

(Y/n) eyed the woman boreally before responding, "I'd like a room please. I don't care what kind."

Nodding, the woman began typing on her desktop. "Perfect, let me see here... alright, first and last name, please."

With no hesitation, (Y/n) immediately responded, "Alexa Bloomfield." The concierge continued typing, taking down the rest of the details provided.

"Perfect, I just need to see an I.D. and obtain a form of payment." (Y/n) pulled out her wallet and presented the I.D., along with cash for the room. The concierge eyed the woman suspiciously. That's odd, normally people don't carry that amount of cash on them. Looking down at the I.D., the woman was surprised to find that the name and photo matched the woman in front of her. With a false smile, the concierge nodded and gave the card back to the woman in front of her. "You're all set, Ms. Bloomfield." As (Y/n) walked away with a blank face, she entered the elevator before ascending to her room. Of course, the woman has always carried around a false I.D. due to her relatively known status as an investigator. Since she oftentimes travelled around the country, she didn't want potential witnesses or unsubs to become aware of her presence before she had a chance to announce it. Leaving less of a paper trail was part of this, prompting (Y/n) to always carry around cash rather than using a credit or debit card.

*11 days later*

The woman continued this routine; driving to various hotels in different cities within her state, presenting a false I.D. and continuing to pay with cash, while also buying clothes and toiletries, as she had left her home with quite literally nothing but herself and her car. As the woman laid in bed eating chips and flipping through TV channels, she pondered her intentions and motivations with this time off. What am I really doing here? This is accomplishing absolutely nothing. It was true that she had managed to stop pitying herself very early on, but (Y/n) was at a loss for what to do now. Yes, the serial killer had taken her pride and sense of justice, but that wasn't what was currently debilitating the investigator. What she truly struggled with now was the prospect of pursuing him at all. He had managed to infiltrate her life in an unimaginable way, murdering her ex-boyfriend and getting into her head. Did she really have the mental capacity to do her job? She had never questioned this before, but this unsub was a whole different ballpark than the dozens of others she has apprehended.

Continuing to flip through the channels, the girl stopped with widened eyes before turning up the volume. A reporter was speaking about the case. "-it is unknown at this time if any further details have emerged about the killer. Oddly enough, the serial killer had a hiatus approximately a week and a half ago, but new details are emerging that today, he has decided to resume his heinous crimes. We reached out to the police department for any statement, but they have declined, citing a temporary change in personnel making things rather difficult. The killer remains at large, please stay in your-" slamming the hotel door shut, the woman anxiously continued to press the down button on the elevator. Come on, come on, come on- Finally, the girl was able to enter the elevator, immediately descending and exiting the hotel.

*5:39 PM*

Barging into her home, the barely setting sun shone on the woman's alert face as she ran towards her bedroom. Reaching underneath her desk, the woman snatched the key taped underneath before walking to her closet. With shaky breaths, the woman pulled out her small, wooden box out of the corner of the closet. Slowly putting the key into the lock and turning it, (Y/n)'s eyes teared up as she opened the box for the first time since she became an investigator. A photo and an envelope. Looking at the photo with endearment, the woman began to sob as she stared at a picture of herself and her brother. Briefly setting the photo down, (Y/n) turned towards the envelope as she began to open the letter that was inside of it.

Dear (Y/n),

I'm afraid. I don't know what's really going on with me lately. Strange things have been happening and I think I'm being watched. The other day, I woke up and realized I had cut myself all up my arm. I mean, you know me, and you know I'd never do that. But the strangest thing was that I couldn't even remember it. I feel like I don't have control of myself anymore. I also find my thoughts are filled with voices and whispers and they've been getting worse. I'm a scientist, I don't believe in the supernatural... but something weird has been going on and I'm not sure it's even possible. I found this strange mark on my inner wrist... I don't even know how that's gotten there, either. I'll draw it on the back of this letter. If you ever do end up reading this, that means I'm dead or have disappeared. I hid this somewhere that will only ever be searched if I am gone. I'll always love you. Please, never stop fighting for me and for others that need help.

Love,
Your Big Brother.

As water droplets landed on the letter, the crying girl flipped the letter over to find a circle with a big X over it. Wiping her tears away and locking the box again, (Y/n) replaced the key back where it was, taped underneath her desk.

*5:52 PM*

Exiting Verizon after purchasing a new phone, the woman began to call the only man she knew she needed to.

"Hello?"

"Art, it's me. I'm coming back."

Hanging up immediately and driving to the station, the woman gripped the steering wheel, feeling vigor she had never felt before. I WILL get justice for you and others, brother. I promise.

Author's Note: This chapter's purpose was to highlight what (Y/n) is thinking and going through mentally through her failure. It's also a precursor for finding out more about her past and motivations.