Driving an obnoxious ten miles over the speed limit, Albert veered left at a four-way, slowing down as he hit the last neighbourhood he wanted to be in. He kept his eyes ahead, watching out for children, dogs, and keeping his eyes away from the Murder House as he neared it.
James had taken Albert home only a day after getting out of the hospital, and a day later, Albert stopped taking his painkillers. It was a bearable pain, and he probably would have ended up starving if he didn’t. Lucky for him, he had also gotten the rest of the week off of work (how they managed to swing that he wasn’t sure, he hoped to hell they didn’t cancel any tours).
Pulling up to James’ house, Albert got out of the car and took with him a small tin.
He neared the door, drawing in a breath before pausing and knocking on his door. He waited for awhile, tapping his foot. He should have phoned to check in with James earlier and let him know he was doing okay, but he had still been sleeping off the rest of his medication.