Will awoke with a start, thinking he had heard a footstep. It was still daylight outside. Holding his breath, his entire being was encompassed with fear, the first time since he had first killed a man. This was it, he thought, as he heard another footstep, and the sound of someone entering the mausoleum. Surely, anyone coming inside would realize the lack of dust, the way the door slid open so easily, and worst of all, Will's bag still lying at the foot of the coffin.
He heard a noise, like someone placing their hand upon stone. Then, he realized, it was a hand placed upon his coffin. If he so much as breathed, the person outside surely would be able to hear him. Cold sweat trickled down his brow, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when the person outside moved once more, leaving the mausoleum. For the next several hours, he lay there, making sure that whoever was outside was gone for good.
When Will finally moved again, he silently got out of the coffin, more paranoid than ever, and quickly threw his bag into the coffin, in case anyone came back. How could they not notice the bag? It was near-impossible. But even worse, who would come into the exact mausoleum and touch the exact coffin, when there was a perfectly good coffin right next to his. Shaking away the thoughts, he left for the park again, finding a new note in the drop-box.
After reading it, he distastefully threw the paper to the ground, then scrambled to pick it up, and scribbled a reply immediately. It read, Don't you dare...
Sighing, he placed the paper back into the box, and nonchalantly left, to wander about aimlessly through the town until four came.
