Lullaby [H.S] eng

Prologue

Disclaimer & Content Warning

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations, and locations featured in this story are entirely fictional and are products of my imagination.Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, actual events, places, or organizations is purely coincidental. The towns, cities, and other locations mentioned in this story do not exist and were created solely for the purposes of this fictional world.This story contains mature themes, strong language, violence, psychological distress, and scenes of a sexual nature. It is intended for mature readers (18+). Reader discretion is advised.

May 30, 2017.

As I walked along the narrow alley, swallowed by the dense shade of old pine trees, my eyes kept catching on the dark silhouettes surrounding me. I found myself constantly glancing over my shoulder, though calling it fear wouldn't have been quite right. It was more of a habit - keeping the space around me under control. This place had never inspired much trust. During the day it looked harmless enough, but the moment the sun slipped below the horizon, the alley turned into a long, dark corridor where every rustle sounded far too loud, and every shadow seemed suspiciously alive.

Being an absolute skeptic, I couldn't even imagine that anything might happen to me. I was close to home, and I walked through this alley every single time I needed to leave town, so the only thing I could possibly be afraid of was tripping over some random rock.

Although, perhaps there was one reason for my uneasiness after all. This alley was a grim reminder of what had happened here about fifteen years ago. It was 2002. Stephen Bright, at the height of his madness, murdered his wife and buried her right here. 

Well... somewhere beneath one of these trees. Was it the drugs? Or the alcohol? No one knew.

Wait a second, one small detail:

He did it in front of his son.

A few weeks later, the locals erected a small memorial nearby in Elizabeth Bright's memory. A modest stone obelisk with her photograph, several white lilies, and a metal plaque engraved with the dates of her life. No one had replaced the flowers in years, because that family no longer existed.

Quite the story, isn't it?

They caught him almost immediately, since he never resisted arrest, and the sheriff locked him away for fifteen years. Only fifteen fucking years for murdering his own wife. Personally, I thought death would've been a far fairer sentence.

Then again, no one had to wait very long.

About six months later, give or take, Stephen died.Or someone killed him.

And the little boy, their son, started spiraling downhill.

According to my mom, I was far too young for that kind of shit (I was around two years old) when all of this happened, so I was never meant to witness any of it myself. The boy was sent to a psychiatric rehabilitation clinic, with promises that he would eventually recover, but that place was where he finally lost his mind for good. Then again, it's pretty hard not to go insane when the pills in your medicine cabinet look more like the favorite treats of prescription drug addicts.

When he turned eighteen, he officially renounced his father's surname and took his mother's maiden name instead.

I suppose he wanted to bury his past together with the name Bright.And, I have to admit,he succeeded.

By then he had grown up, changed beyond recognition, and if he had happened to pass one of his old acquaintances on the street, they probably wouldn't have recognized him. It was as though that little boy had died alongside his mother, and someone entirely different had taken his place.

Now I understand why he needed to do it.

Our town had never been known for high-profile crimes. Redditch was such a quiet place that Elizabeth Bright's murder remained the biggest topic of conversation for nearly a decade and a half. People talked about everything here: who got divorced, who bought a new pickup truck, who drank too much at the bar on Friday night. Every little thing became an event.

At least until May 2017.Newspapers were covered with headlines:"Missing teenagers still haven't returned home."

And the entire town buzzed with speculation - at gas stations and diners, on the playground, and in the supermarket. Practically every other resident knew about it and quietly wondered whether someone else would disappear next.

No one was certain whether the teenagers had been murdered, abducted, or even whether they were local kids at all. But something had cast a shadow of terror over our little Redditch. Maybe that was why I was hurrying home, constantly looking over my shoulder, even though I wasn't a coward. 

Why am I telling you all this?

Exactly one week earlier, a brief internal report had spread across the entire town. Somehow it had made its way to the sheriff's department first, then to the newsroom of the local newspaper, where, naturally, I made sure to turn the story into something a little more sensational than it really was, and by evening it had found its way into practically every home.

'Patient No. 0965421 escaped from the psychiatric hospital on May 24, 2017. Current whereabouts unknown.'

The document didn't include a name.

It didn't need to.

Everyone knew who was hiding behind that number.Stephen Bright's son.

The little boy who had watched his father murder his mother fifteen years earlier.The man the town had long believed was either dead, or lost forever behind the walls of that institution.And now he was coming home.Only no one knew what kind of man those fifteen years had turned him into.

Welcome home,

Patient No. 0965421.

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Hi!I'm a Russian-speaking author, and I'm publishing my story here on Wattpad in English. The original version was written in Russian, and I'm using AI to help me with the translation while also practicing my English.I apologize in advance for any mistakes you might come across - they're simply the result of the language barrier. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!