It was looking at him. Matthew could swear he could see an evil glint in the two points of concentrated darkness that passed for the things eyes, like it could go for him the second it got the chance. He took a deep breath, his thumb shaking slightly above the button on the flashlight, hesitating. Halting. He tensed his legs, ready to run at any moment. He pressed down, and the thing disappeared as the light winked out. Just a second later the light was flicked back on, but the thing hadn't moved. It's bald egg like head still poked over the line that had been carved in the wall with black ink, it's bulbous nose still hanging down over the edge in plain defiance again how any human fave should work. It's fingers still gripped the top of the black, as though ready to fling itself across the length of what he assumed was some kind of old chocolate cafe based on the distant whiffs of fudge that lingered in the air. He summoned his courage and flickered his flashlight again. No movement. There he was, still plastered on the far wall right above the abandoned counter. Kilroy was still here. [hr] It hadn't taken long for Matthew to go kind of stir crazy cooped up in here. After the relaxed euphoria of a shower and having something proper in his stomach had worn off he realized he hadn't brought much of anything to occupy his mind in his new life of refuge/fugitive. This normally wouldn't be a problem, his usual response when he had nothing to occupy his time was to reminisce. Think of friends, relive exciting moments, replay movies he'd seen, he'd just let the memories float up and enjoy them. Unfortunately, the only memories he was getting right now involved blood on snow. So to suppress that he needed to do something. He thought about volunteering his services to the people in charge, but after that girl from earlier had popped off in the middle of the first night and destroyed her sleeping bag, he thought better of that. It had to be hard enough corralling and managing the lot of them without having to waste time doing some on the job training for a guy whose only real skill was going fast. His next thought was bury himself in the arcade and lose himself to videogames, but that presented its own problems in a group of six to eight children that had staked their claim on that room to the exclusion of all challengers. He'd been trying to barter for entry using the 76 cents he had to his name, but those negotiations had broken down when a little boy who in retrospect was playing [b]Galaga[/b] with way more intensity than it warranted had quietly threatened to put Matthew's blood "somewhere else" unless he stopped talking and went away. Not the tiniest itty-bittyest bit intimidated, and recognizing these kids probably had bigger issues they needed to repress than him, Matthew went on his way sans three quarters. He'd spotted his calling by accident, really. His eyes were drawn to a support pillar as he passed by on a aimless walk around the mall, to someones crude depiction of a little bird. It was pretty cute, like a child's drawing. A circle for the body, two little dots for eyes, a triangle for a beak. Stick legs leading to three tiny toes. No wings. It looked kind of like a Kiwi bird. He pulled out his keys and scratched off the legs. [hr] He wasn't paranoid. He felt like he had to emphasize that to himself as he reared back and threw a plastic clothes hanger at Kilroy. It hit him square in the eye and clattered to the floor. He didn't [i]really[/i] think he'd get any reaction as another hanger spun off Kilroy's bald head. This was mostly just something to do, to take his mind of the situation. Besides, what did it really hurt to be sure> He advanced on the unmoving Kilroy, keeping the beam of the small crappy flashlight on his key-ring trained directly on it. In his other hand he gripped a key, teeth worn down from use. He jumped the counter and went to work breaking up Kilroys shape. Matthew separated the drawings head into just four curved lines and stepped back to observe. If he hadn't tried to kill Matthew for that he probably wasn't gonna. Maybe Goodrest wasn't actually any safer for what he was doing, but one day he'd be able to reminisce on this and laugh at how stupid he was being. Maybe tomorrow.