Jeff 7 years later

Jeff stirred. It was near pitch black. He vaguely smelled a smoldering, musty smell. He felt like he hadn't smelled anything but blood for so long now. Something about that bloody smell brought him a high that was like nothing else. After all these years, maybe he had conditioned himself to go into hysterics when he smelled it.
Jeff was sleeping in a tattered, abandoned bed in an abandoned building in New York. Now that he could smell things other than blood, he felt overwhelmed. That constant high he had felt for so long had suddenly waned, and now all he wanted to do was vomit. He vaguely recalls the day before.
1 day earlier
Jeff gleefully stabbed his knife through the old man's gut in the alleyway. He laughed as he once again said "go to sleep!" How many times had he said it now? 
"I'm not going to sleep! I'm going to be dead!" the old man said in hysterics.He crumpled to the ground, wildly grabbing at his intestines as they began to protrude from the hole in his gut. He desperately used what energy he had left to crawl back from Jeff. But it wasn't long until he backed into a wall. Jeff grinned with glee. Should he let his victim bleed out? Or should he finish the job? But before Jeff could decide, he suddenly felt an incredible force against his body. A car ripped through the alleyway and ploughed right into Jeff. In just a brief moment, Jeff flew through the alley and slammed his head and back into the alley wall.
"I thought I was invincible" He thought to himself. But his body had gone limp and slumped down, hitting the ground with a ferocious crack.
Two hands furiously grabbed at him, pulling him around. It was a woman who looked to be in her 30's. She was in hysterics and screaming as her car lay spinning and smoking fire against the alley wall. The old man Jeff attacked groaned in pain as he continued to bleed.
The woman grabbed Jeff's slumped body by the shoulders and shook him madly, slamming his head against the wall. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" the woman screamed. "WHY DO THIS?! WHY DO THIS?!" She continued to bellow and shriek as she shook him furiously. Jeff's first instinct was to stab her too, but all he could do was lie there, his paralysed body still in shock. He had to do something to react. He tried to say what he had said so many times, but only managed an incoherent muffled 'goh too... sleehhh"
"WE DIE!" She shrieked. "WE DIE."
The woman finally stopped shaking him as she heard the old man groan again. Jeff watched, slumped against the wall, his head and body battered. The woman lay the man on is side as she furiously pulled out a bandage and began wrapping his gut up. By the time she was done, the man's groans had stopped and he had gone silent. 
Jeff had never stayed this long with his victims before. It was strange feeling. The woman began weeping as she desperately listened for a breath from the old man. Jeff watched her turn him on his back and begin CPR, desperately cupping and pushing her hands against his chest to simulate his heart.
Jeff watched the woman do this for what felt like hours. In between, she would fumble with her mobile on the 911 emergency hotline. She explained that the old man had no ID and was probably homeless. The emergency told her he wouldn't have the money or insurance, and said "he's just a bum. Let him go." Eventually, she was hung up on. After what felt like hours of her compressing his chest and giving him breaths, she slumped over his lifeless body, exhausted.
Defeated, she began to weep. After about 10 minutes, she stumbled to her feet, shaking, and looked directly at Jeff. Her hazel eyes stared straight at him. Jeff wanted to break the gaze and react, but all his battered and dazed body could do was slump against the wall, staring at her blood-shot eyes. Finally, she walked away. Jeff lay there next to the man's body for hours, trying to get his body to move again. He must've broken several bones this time. Strangely, the blood smell no longer was putting him into a high.
Present day:
Jeffrey turned over in the musty bed. He felt his face, his white pasty skin was completely hair-free. He had always thought it looked cool. Normally this was the time of night he'd go out and find his next victim. But at this point, the police had been watching him murder people for years now. And lately, they had been getting very good at predicting where he would strike next. The "Jeff Unit" task force was already investigating the murder and the crashed car from last night. He was still in searing agony from being hit by the car anyway. And his vision still was seeing stars from his head trauma. "Why are you doing this?" He found himself repeating. Why was he doing this? Immediately, he thought of his old bullies Randy, Keith and Troy. They wrecked his face. He hates them so much. 
"But they're dead now" he muttered. For once, he wasn't sure he felt like killing, even if he could. Not at the moment anyway.
He didn't want to be kind. But he also didn't want to go murder strangers right now. He was just done. He was tired of murdering people. He had never thought he'd live to see his 20th birthday yesterday. He'd long assumed he'd have been shot and killed by police by now.
"What now?" he said aloud into the dark room. "Go to sleep, I guess." He said. But Jeff didn't sleep. As a thousand murdered screams endlessly echoed through his head.
The next day:
Despite how groggy he felt, Jeff rose when the dawn sun began to shine through the slits in the abandoned apartment. The police would probably track down his location soon. And the idea of brutally murdering any more police today filled him with nausea. Maybe he could cross the border. Is he wanted in Canada too? Jeff stopped by a local shop and walked inside.
The store owner's face went pale and he backed against the wall, his eyes wide with horror. "Please!! I don't want to sleep! I-"
"I want a pamphlet" Jeff said.
"I have children!" the man stuttered. "Please! They need my support!"
"Pamphlet on Canada.." Jeff repeated, too tired to have any patience for this.
The man shivered, backed against the wall, speechless.
Jeff saw the pamphlets on a nearby desk. "Never mind. I got it" he said.
Jeff walked out with a pamphlet, leaving the shopkeeper breathing a sigh of relief as he left..
Next week in Canada:
You want to look like -that?-" the doctor pointed at the old picture Jeff had gave him. It was a picture of him on his 13th birthday. "Sir, this is a boy."
"I know!" Jeff snapped. "What would he look like at 20? Make me that!"
The doctor studied the photo, then looked up at Jeff. He seemed to be realizing just how long Jeff had a burnt white face. ".. Sir, I've only seen 1st degree burns as bad as yours two other times in my 30 year plastic surgery history" the doctor said. Despite Jeff's anger and frustration, the doctor remained calm. "My team and I will do the best we can."
Many hours later:
"Okay, you can open your eyes"
Light streamed into my vision as the bandages were peeled from my eyes.
The doctor seemed calm. As though he'd seen this sort of thing lots. His record says he's been doing plastic surgery to burn victms for over 30 years so I guess this is normal for him. I thought I would always look terrifying to everyone. I traced my fingers along where my bloody scarred lip and cheek used to be. When I had decided to further mutilate myself when I was 13, I had never expected to ever look human again. But fresh grafted peels of skin replaced my old cheek now. I still didn't look quite right, but I certainly looked more human than before.
He smiled as he handed me a mirror. He seemed relatively pleased with the results.
My skin was no longer bleachy white but I instead my skin looked more flesh-colored. Just more pale than most people. There was a bit of a plastic look to it but at least I no longer looked like a kabuki dancer. They even had tried to re-do my eyelashes. I felt a mixture of anger, relief, and calm. I didn't know how to feel, but I couldn't stop looking at myself in the mirror. I felt real.I spent a few moments transfixed to the alien looking back at me in the mirror. I had eyebrows, a nose, and my mouth looked plasticky, but I actually had lips again. With pale skin covering my old acts of self-mutilation.The voice at the back of my head suddenly spoke up like a roaring yell. "No police will recognise you now! Now you can sneak up and kill anyone you want again! No one knows who you are!"
I dropped the mirror as I clutched my head. The voices roared in my head. I took a deep breath and waited. I did not act upon this intense urge. Even thinking about the smell of blood made me feel like vomiting.
"Sir, are you alright?" the doctor asked, checking my pulse.
The yells in my head slowly turned to loud voices, then those voices slowly turned to whispers. Whispers I didn't have to pay as much attention to. I could think a little more clearly.
Eventually, I took my head out of my hands and shakedly looked toward the doctor. ".... Thank you."
The doctor extended a hand to me. I slowly and hesitantly brought a hand up to meet his hand. This was the first hand I had shaken in 7 years. It felt kind of nice.
1 year later
The soup was coming to boil. The kitchen smelled meaty and like spilled gravy.. It was a relentlessly cold night in Canada and I had been on my shift for hours. I saw that Bill was snoring at the counter. I noticed a few beggars were gingerly entering the door, seemingly uncertain of our kitchen. Bill hadn't slept much last night.
I didn't like to talk much. Nothing I'd said for the past 7 years had felt like it'd done anything but lead to people being hurt. But I would talk when I absolutely needed to. I left the soup to simmer and walked over the counter. I rubbed Bill's shoulder and said "wake up!"
He stirred and realised where he was. With a jolt, Bill frantically stood back up, nodded me a quick thanks and greeted the visitors.
I went back to the kitchen to finish cooking the soup. Even if I didn't talk to people, I could still cook meals and bring them out. And doing that seemed to make people less miserable. Some drifters and beggars even said thanks. I sometimes even got a grateful grin from people, even if it meant they had to show their often broken teeth. I guess it meant a lot to some of them. I'm not going to pretend any of this made me "happy." But it did help bring me a calm I hadn't felt in a very long time.
I can never undo everything I've done in the past. And I can never be redeemed for who I was. But in my new life, I'm going to try while I can to make people a little less miserable. I don't claim what I'm doing is morally "good" or "bad." I'm doing this now because it lets me feel a little calmer. And now, finally, that's enough for me.
OR WAS IT?!
Yes. Yes it was. Have a nice day.
The End
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