Three Ways to Run from an Esper

Part 11

     The following chapter contains smut and is for mature audiences only. Please be aware.

      The first thing Dokja noticed after walking through the portal was the amount of destruction.
      In the file he read on Joonghyuk's computer, it had described this dungeon as "The Demon Castle" but now the landscape was just large piles of rubble among the blood and corpses of dead monsters.
       Dokja smiled nervously, 'At least I don't have to worry about fighting the dungeon monsters. It looks like Joonghyuk already took care of them.'
       He walked through the destroyed landscape with caution, still wondering what had caused Joonghyuk to rampage.
None of the monster corpses looked like they'd be strong enough to force a fully guided Joonghyuk to go off the rails.
      It wasn't until he stepped through what looked to be a collapsed doorway that he sensed it. As he walked into the ruined castle, he felt some kind of force trying to influence his mind.
     He always had his mental shields up, so any kind of Psychic power was weak against his mind, but this power was so strong he had to concentrate in order to not allow it to invade his psyche.
    'This mental power must be what did it. Joonghyuk may be strong physically, but mentally he has hardly any protection.' Dokja analyzed as he kept feeling the presence try to force its way into his mind.
      'I better find him quickly, I don't know how much longer I can keep my mental barriers up against this.' He thought nervously as the presence continued to prod at his mind.
      As he kept walking, his mind started racing with thoughts, and they slowly started to grow darker.
     'What if I'm too late? What if he's already burned out and dead?'
     'What if he kills me when I find him?'
     'What does it even matter? I thought I wanted to be free of him... no, not like this. I was just starting to tolerate that bastard. He's not allowed to go and die on me after pushing me around so much. I haven't even gotten to punch him in the face yet. I won't be satisfied until I get one good hit in.'
      He tried not to let his thoughts spiral into the worse outcomes, but he realized it was getting harder to think of positive things. The psychic power was beginning to take over.
      He shook his head, 'Stay focused. Let's check in the few rooms that are still standing.'
      He walked up to the door of one of the rooms that miraculously survived the devastation.
     He opened the door and peeked inside.
     It wasn't Joonghyuk that he found. It wasn't even a crumbled castle room.
     Dokja stood in shock and fear at what he saw before him.
     It was his childhood home. It looked exactly like how he remembered it.
     In the kitchen stood his mother, much younger looking than when he last saw her.
     She was cutting vegetables as she made dinner.
     Suddenly he heard a cry from the living room. It sounded like a small child's cry. Why did this seem so familiar?
      Dokja's mother immediately set down the knife and ran into the living room.
      Dokja followed her, and saw who had cried out.
      It was a ten year old Dokja. His father was holding onto his arm with a bruising grip. The little Dokja cried as he yanked him around.
     "It hurts! Let me go!" The young boy cried as he struggled.
      "Get away from him!" Dokja's mother yelled out.
      His mother ran back to the kitchen and grabbed the knife.
      She ran back into the living room wielding it with obvious intent to use it, but when she came back, the father was the one now screaming.
     The ten year old Dokja cried out one last time before his father's eyes suddenly seemed to light up, glowing a magma color before turning dark.
      The man fell to the floor. His eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.
      His mother ran to her son and hugged him.
      She comforted him as he cried, and when his tears started to dry, she looked down at him and spoke to him in an urgent but gentle voice.
      "Dokja, I need you to go upstairs to your room. Your father and I are just going to have a little talk."
      Dokja nodded and ran up the stairs.
      The older Dokja watched as his mother picked up the knife, but he didn't understand.
      His father was clearly already dead. It was Dokja himself who had killed him.
      His mother walked over to the corpse, and plunged the knife into the dead man's stomach.
      She then stood up and immediately called someone.
      At first Dokja thought she was calling the police, but when someone answered she started with, "It's me, I'm cashing in that favor. I'm about to be arrested. I need you to wipe any history on my son, and make sure he goes to a good foster family."
       His mom seemed to hash out the details with the other person before hanging up and dialing a new number. This time it was three digits.
      "Hello, I'd like to report a murder." His mother said coolly with a steely calmness.
       She gave the officer on the line the address to their house. Then she went over to the dead body and made sure to spread some of the blood onto her hands.
     She then sat down at the table and patiently waited.
     There was a harsh knock at the door and she calmly got up and opened it.
     She didn't resist as the officer walked in and saw the bloody corpse lying on the carpet. She didn't resist as he saw the bloody knife lying beside it and the blood soaking her hands.
      Her face remained completely neutral as the officer asked her what happened. And she lied like a professional con artist as she told him it was a domestic dispute that turned violent.
      She let the officer cuff her.
      "Is there anyone else in the house?" The officer asked.
      "My son, but I already called a friend to come pick him up." She answered.
      As she was lead outside to be driven to jail, another woman that Dokja remembered as a friend of his mother's came into the house.
      The woman walked upstairs.
     Dokja remembered the next part. This was when he had been told he was going into foster care. When he was told to hide his guiding powers from them and everyone else. When he would eventually learn the well made lie, that his mother had stabbed and murdered his father.
      A lie so well done, that even he, the true perpetrator, would believe it as a ten year old.
      Suddenly the house began growing dark, cracks growing up the walls as the illusion broke.
      Suddenly Dokja found himself standing in a crumbling castle once again.
      The weight of his suppressed childhood memories crashing down on him in waves.
      He knew why the psychic presence had shown him this. It was trying to weaken his psyche. He gritted his teeth and forced the painful memories back. He knew if he didn't get a hold of himself, he would be forced to relive all the most painful memories from his life.
      He didn't have time for that. He used what his mother had taught him in their long prison visits and forced his mental barriers back up, strengthening them with his own willpower.
      The psychic force was pushed out of his mind. He stood up and walked out of the room. Closing the door behind him.
      Some memories are best left in the past. It wasn't a very good story anyway.