You know me, I don't know you.

Scalpel, as he calls himself, is staked in the center of the room. When I say stake, I mean the desk leg. I don't remember ripping apart the furniture, but it was suddenly in my hand and I did my damndest to stab him with it. He looks dead-dead, but I know he’ll pop up if I yank the stake out.

I can't bring myself to kill the bastard. I mean I literally can't. I just feel this nasty sort of compassion and as close as it gets to love for a thing like me when I look at him. Which is why I'm staring at this screen instead. When I look at him I just want to help. I swear it almost killed me to shove the stake in his heart. I got lucky too; I know it fucking moves around in there.

Even if I could kill him, I'm not sure if I would. He's pathetic. There is something wrong with him, something sick. I think he does care in his own stupid, fucked up way, but he's broken. The whole time I was trying to stake him, he was begging me to stop, to talk to him, to sit and relax and take time to think. He kept saying he loves me and he was sorry and he wouldn't hurt me again. It's funny how reasonable he can sound. Like I was the psycho murderer/kidnapper, not him.

I don't know what actually got me up again. I remember a warehouse, and being pulled apart, then swinging at him here.

I think I killed one of the ghouls when I woke up; there's a pretty big mess on the floor, but the others dragged him away and locked the door behind them. I guess they figured he'd handle me. They pretty much worship the ground he walks on. The door’s reinforced, but even if I break it down there's more of them than me, and some have been ghouled for a long time. I know Scalpel can brush off getting shot, but I don't like my chances.

They'll probably wait until morning and “fix” things when I bed down for the day. I don't know what they'll do to me, other than not kill me because it would piss Scalpel off. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what he's going to do to me when he wakes up.

I'm so hungry. I only got a taste of the ghoul. There's blood on the floor but it tastes horrible now that it's sat awhile. I'll probably drink the rest anyway. Didn't picture myself ever licking the floor, but I don't have any pride left to lose. But I can smell them outside, hear their heartbeats, and it's driving me up the fucking wall. I want them. I need them.

I miss my wife and daughters.

I want to go home.