The man they called insane

And he would make them pay

The sedative sat heavy on Damien But he had learned to move through it.

By 11:40 PM, he had worked his right hand free. The skin was raw, but the cuff slipped off. His left wrist was already loose. He kept both arms in place and watched the security camera. Every ninety seconds, the red light flickered for about two seconds. A glitch.

At 11:47, the flicker came. He rolled off the bed and crossed to the door in four silent steps.

The hallway was empty. The night shift was a skeleton crew. They were still dealing with his earlier escape attempt two floors up. He headed for the east stairwell. The one that went down to the basement.

Laundry Room B was behind a heavy steel door. He pushed through.

The room smelled of detergent and rust. Big washing machines lined the walls. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying a little.

Someone was standing behind a folding table.

"Mr. Wicker." The voice was quiet. Calm. "You came."

The man stepped into the light. Damien's heart stopped. it was Marcus. His head of household security.

"Marcus?" Damien's voice came out rough. "What are you doing here?"

Marcus let out a long breath. His hands were shaking slightly. "I need to tell you something. And you need to listen. We do not have much time."

"Tell me what?"

"Your parents." Marcus paused. "They saved my life once. A long time ago. Before you were born. I was a different person then. A dangerous person. They took me in. They gave me a second chance. I owed them everything."

Damien stared at him. "My parents?"

"Yes. When Serena and Adrian started planning against you, your parents asked me to watch over you. They knew something was wrong with her. They tried to warn you, but you would not listen."

Damien felt the words like a punch to the gut. "They tried to warn me."

"Many times. You cut them off. You stopped taking their calls. You told them they were dead to you." Marcus shook his head. "But they never stopped loving you. And they never stopped being afraid for you."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I could not stop what happened to them. But I can try to stop what happens to you."

A sound came from upstairs. Footsteps. Many of them. Shouting.

Marcus's head turned toward the door. "They noticed you are missing. We do not have much time."

"Who noticed?"

"Serena has people here. Staff. Orderlies. Even some of the doctors. They check on you every hour. When they see your bed is empty, they will come looking."

Damien's blood went cold. "Then help me get out of here."

"There is a service exit at the end of this hallway. Past the boiler room. It opens to an alley behind the building."

"What about you?"

Marcus was already moving toward the door. "I will distract them. I will tell them I saw you run toward the west wing. That should buy you a few minutes."

"Marcus—"

"Go. Now. Do not look back."

Marcus walked out. Damien heard him yell down the hallway. "He went that way! Toward the west stairwell! I saw him!"

Footsteps pounded away.

Damien ran.

The service exit was at the end of a long, dark hallway. He pushed the door open.

Cold air hit his face. it was raining heavily

He crawled through a hole in a chain-link fence. His hospital gown snagged and tore. He did not care.

He was on a side street. Empty. Dark. The rain soaked through his gown in seconds. His bare feet slapped against the wet pavement.

He had no shoes. No phone. No money. No ID.

There was only one place left to go.

His parents' house.

He had not been there in five years. Not since the wedding. They had begged him not to marry Serena. He had yelled at them. Told them they were dead to him.

Now he was walking back. Barefoot in the rain. Wearing a hospital gown. Hoping they would still take him in.

He walked for hours. The rain did not stop. Neither did he. His feet bled. His shoulder screamed. The cold dug into his bones. But he kept moving.

The house looked the same. White walls. Dark roof. Big oak tree in the front yard. The porch light was off.

He climbed the front steps. Rang the bell.

No answer.

He rang again. Nothing.

He tried the door. It was unlocked.

A cold feeling crawled up his spine.

"Mom?" His voice cracked. "Dad?" The old family clock was still ticking somewhere in the house.

No answer.

He walked inside. The house was dark. Too quiet. A half-finished cup of tea sat on the coffee table. The air smelled wrong. Like iron.

He followed the smell to the living room.

And then his legs gave out.

They were on the floor. His mother and father. Lying in a pool of blood.

His father's hand was stretched out toward the door. His mother was curled on her side. Her eyes were open.

Damien crawled to them. His hands shook as he touched his father's face. Cold.

His mother made a sound. A small breath.

"Mom?" He grabbed her hand. It was sticky with blood. "Mom, I am here. I am here. Please."

Her eyes moved. Slowly. Finding his face. "Damien," she whispered.

Tears poured down his face. He could not stop them.

"I am sorry," he said. "I am so sorry. I should have listened. You tried to warn me about her. You tried to tell me. And I did not listen. I called you cruel. I said you were dead to me. I was wrong. You were right. You were always right. I am sorry."

Her fingers squeezed his. Weak.

"Run," she said.

"What?"

"They will come for you too. Hide. Please. Hide."

"Who? Mom, who did this? Was it Serena? Tell me who."

But her eyes were already going dark. Her hand went limp in his.

"Mom? Mom! No. Please. Please do not leave me. I just got here. I came back. Please do not leave me."

She did not answer.

He held her hand and screamed.

It was not a loud scream. It was a broken sound. The sound of a man watching his mother die in his arms. The sound of a son who had stayed away too long.

He pressed his forehead to hers and cried.

He thought about all the phone calls he had ignored. All the times she had reached out and he had pulled away. All the years he had wasted being angry at her for being right.

She had only wanted to protect him. And he had thrown her away like garbage. Now she was dying in his arms.

"I am sorry," he whispered again. "I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry."

But she could not hear him anymore.

He did not know how long he stayed there. Minutes. Hours. Time did not mean anything.

Somewhere deeper in the house, Damien heard a faint metallic clicking sound. Then a thought came to him.

What if the people who did this had not gone far? What if they were still close?

He kissed her forehead one last time. He touched his father's hand.

Then he stood up.

His legs shook. His whole body shook. But he forced himself to move. He ran to the door.

as soon as he stepped outside into the rain, A deafening blast ripped through the house behind him.

The blast threw him forward. He hit the ground hard. His face scraped against the wet concrete. His ears rang. Glass and wood and pieces of the house rained down around him.

He lay there for a moment, unable to move. The heat washed over his back. The fire roared behind him.

When he finally pushed himself up, he looked back. Nothing was left. The house was gone. His parents were gone. Everything from his childhood was gone.

He fell to his knees in the rain. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no."

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to crawl into the fire and let it take him too.

But something stopped him.

Pain. In his hand.

He looked down. He had landed on something sharp. A small piece of metal was stuck in his palm.

He pulled it out. It was an earring. Dark stones. Silver vines. Expensive. He held it up to the light of the fire.

His mother would never wear something like this. Never in a million years. She liked small gold hoops. Plain ones. Simple ones.

This earring belonged to someone else. Someone who had been in that house tonight. Someone who had hurt his parents.

Damien closed his fist around the earring. The metal bit into his skin. He did not know who it belonged to. But he would find out.

He would find the woman who wore it. He would find the men who helped her. He would find everyone who had a hand in this.

And he would make them pay.