Sal keeps his head down, his voice but a murmur. He'd picked up the habit of speaking to himself whenever left alone to his thoughts, which hadn't at all helped in appearing sane. But hey, if that made the plea of insanity plausible, then he wouldn't receive the penalty, right? Not that living any longer felt worth much at this point.

Sal drowns in his guilt. The only thing he can think of these days are the faces of the people he'd known, their expressions frozen in his mind as he'd ended their lives: his dad Henry, his stepmom Lisa, Chug, Soda, those college kids CJ, Sierra, Robert, and Azaria, along with other residents like David and Mrs. Gibson.

It's not like he'd had a choice, though. Their souls would have been consumed by the red-eyed infestation otherwise; it was the only way. He thinks back to his teenage years: ghosts, the red-eyed demon, cultists, etc. Nothing about the past few years sounded sane or real. Even just the thought of bologna still left a bad taste in his mouth.

He doesn't blame Ashley for not believing him; he can't. After all, she'd been the only one of his friends who hadn't lived at Addison Apartments and so she hadn't seen the paranormal activity, she had no proof of what he'd told her. But damn, did it hurt.