Chapter 18

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A.N. Hiiii sorry i couldnt update sooner! i REALLY wanted to because you guys are insanely amazing but i just got so busy and had writers block for a while. I just wanted to say thank you sooo much for all of your reads/comments/votes i love you all so much and i want to marry you. and even if i dont reply to your comments I read all of them and they make my day! :D also if you want to say something other than leave a comment like ask me a question just message me instead :) and by the way, I want to give a shoutout to Celina and Beth who made an instagram for psychotic (which i also co-own) and we'll post edits and stuff @psychoticfanfic so go follow that account please :D and also @ellieoh made an AMAZING trailer for psychotic so go check it out! ?
and follow me on twitter @larryfeelssigh thanks ily



I woke up with a jolt, a sound like a door slamming waking me from my slumber. My eyes opened wide as I tilted my head towards the door, still half-asleep and barely conscious. I listened for further noise while trying to decipher whether the sound had been real or just a part of me dream. Nothing. It had been a dream, I decided, and rolled over, trying to fall back asleep.


I sat upright, staring at my bedroom door. I had definitely heard it this time. Somebody was in the house. I pulled my legs over to the side of my bed, stepping away from the warm duvet. I apprehensively stalked over to the door, pulling it open as quietly as I could manage. "Hello?" I called out.

No answer.

I stepped further into the darkness, just barely entering the kitchen before I heard the sound of gasping breaths, like what a fish would sound like out of water. I flipped on the light switch to my left, revealing the source of the mysterious sounds.

"Is someone there- oh God, Rose! Are you okay?!" As light illuminated the space of my kitchen, I gasped at the sight before me. Rose was lying in front of the door as if she were incapable of standing due to her body's evident exhaust. I rushed over, dropping to my knees beside her. "What happened?"

She just barely shook her head in response as if she didn't have the energy to do much more, her throat only having room for heavy, ragged breaths. The usual bun she wore atop her head had fallen in tangled curls around her soft features, and her uniform was stained with grime as well was her sweaty face. Her knee had been scraped and a drop of blood fell from the wound onto my carpet.

What the hell happened?

"Did someone hurt you?" I demanded, her trembling body and tear-stained cheeks providing clues that there was a perpetrator involved. The weary nod of her head gave me even further confirmation. I would've questioned her more, but I could tell she wasn't really fit for conversation at the moment.

"Alright," I said. "Let's get you to the couch." My arm hooked under her waist, dragging her up from her position strewn across the doormat. She provided some help, shuffling her feet along the floor as I dragged her into the living room. I dropped her body on the cushions and scurried to the sink to grab her a glass of water which she undoubtedly needed. Oh, and I should probably get a band-aid for her knee.

I walked towards her with the items in my hands, setting them on the coffee table beside the couch. Rose's breathing had only slightly steadied, but the shaking throughout her body had diminished. I handed the glass of water to her as she took it from my hands. She audibly gulped down the contents of the container within seconds, letting out a loud sigh once she was finished.

"Thanks," she said clearly although her voice had a ghostly hoarseness to it. I nodded and waited patiently while taking a seat on the carpeted ground beside her. She looked at me, an underlying shock held captive in her scared eyes. "You'll never believe what just happened."


I told Kelsey everything. I told her of James' guilt, and of my treacherous escape through the dark woods which involved puking and tripping on just about everything in my disoriented state. And I told her how fucking scary it was to be in the face of a murderer. It wasn't like in the movies or books, where you were confronted with death and were able to remain your composure in front of the police minutes later. It wasn't as if you were fine once you got away and your shaking had subsided. It wasn't like that at all.

First was the shock. We had been friends, and I thought he was sweet. I had laughed at his jokes, I had held his hand, I had even kissed him. But none of that was real. I might as well have dreamt it up. Because those hands had also been used for murder, and those lips had spoke menacing words in front of their victims. But it wasn't even the shock of him being the opposite of who I thought, really, but it had more so been the fear. It spiked when he had me pinned against the wall, and his grip had left bruises in my skin but I had been too distracted by the fear to notice. It had coursed through my veins and made my pulse pound in my ears. He had the ability to end my life right then and there. He could have raped me or skinned me, or both. He could do whatever he wanted to me and I would've been defenseless. Within seconds what was a supposed nice cup of hot chocolate with a good friend turned into a perilous confrontation with a serial killer. Shudders ran through my body and bile rose in my throat. But luckily I could still think clearly enough to break free. The moment I had escaped his home was welcomed with great relief, a glimmer of hope germinating in mind. And then I just ran.

My first instinct had been to run to Harry. Run to him and burry my head in his chest while his strong arms held me, a large hand running along my back as his deep voice told me it would be okay. He would keep me safe from James like he had from Norman a few weeks ago. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't rush in while I didn't have a shift and acquire a key without good reason, and I couldn't run into Harry's cell and tell him everything. Because I didn't know how much Ms. Hellman was involved in James' activities. Kelsey already said that she was suspicious of Harry and I, and even if she didn't know about James' murders, it wouldn't be a good idea.

So instead I had run straight here, a place James didn't know the whereabouts of. He hardly knew Kelsey and wouldn't pursue his murderous search here. I still was frazzled and jumpy by the end of my story, though, the horror of earlier events not subsiding. I was still exhausted, too. I had sprinted for hours on end, not daring to stop or look back. The only thing that powered me was adrenaline and with that draining I could barely keep my eyes open.

But I stayed conscious long enough to tell Kelsey my tale. I had yet to fully grasp the fact that James had been the killer all along. The thought was slowly starting to sink in although it was laced with appall and terror. But sadly this newfound truth could not close the chapter of James in my story, and I couldn't just turn the page. Because he still worked at Wickendakale. And so did I.

"We have to tell the police!" Kelsey exclaimed. "We can't let that sick bastard get away with this!"

She had a good point, but I had already entertained this idea time and time again. "Kelsey, the guards are appointed by the chief of police. He basically is a police officer. Plus, we don't even have any evidence."

"So what are we supposed to do?! Just let him get away with it?" She yelled, her voice raising in pitch.

"No, that's not what I said. Look, I want him arrested more than you do, but I want to do it right. If we go to the police now with no evidence then they won't believe us, and then if we do find evidence later and try to go to them again they won't even listen. But if we wait until we can get some solid proof then he'll be convicted for sure. We can't give them any reason not to believe us. I don't want to mess this up and let him get away with it," I explained.

Kelsey sighed with a huff but then nodded her head, knowing I was right. "Shit," she said. "So Harry really is innocent."

Along with the mention of Harry returned my pounding heartbeat as I nodded. He had been right. While James was pretending to be innocent but was actually a malicious villain, Harry was the opposite. His past struggles did bear a few scars upon his soul, that was for sure, but he was good. Harry, under his dark persona, was a good person. I knew I had to tell him about James and what he had done, but I was reluctant to do so. Because I knew once I had told him, his innocence would be ruined. He would become a killer, too.

If I told him the truth, there was no doubt in my mind that he would beat James to death.


The heavy cell door was dragged open, revealing Brian who wore an expression of distaste. "Time for lunch," he said. I usually dreaded seeing him arrive at my room, which he did to escort me to one of the numerous therapy sessions or humanity-inducing activities planned out for the patients. But that irritation was disintegrating with each passing day, as the majority of it was spent in my cell. In my cell with only myself and I, only the distant screams and my screaming thoughts audible. The same room, the same bland walls, the same filth and stink. There was no variation except for in my mind, where my thoughts began to grow more scattered and crazed. I swear I was losing my mind in this place, and if I wasn't already insane, I was sure to morph into such the longer I stayed imprisoned in this awful building.

And even further so faded the reluctance that formed when Brian arrived, the thought of seeing Rose easing my apprehension. It seemed with each day I ever so slowly edged closer to my breaking point, the more clear thoughts of her became. She served the purpose of a therapist by not being a therapist. She talked to me without analyzing my mental state as I spoke.

And this was weak of me to admit as I thought of myself as I rather strong individual, but I honestly needed her. She was a regular human being and she treated me like one, too. I felt like she actually listened to what I was saying without excusing my words as meaningless. It didn't even need to be Rose, it could be anyone to just have a civilized conversation with. Without someone like that I would be forced to only talk to myself like almost everyone else here, which definitely wouldn't help me appear as sane. But even though this listener could be anyone as I earlier stated, I'm glad that it was her. I'm extraordinarily lucky that this anonymous listener was Rose. I really liked her. She could hold her own and was always so curious, and she was kind of quirky, too. She was also caring and understanding, so accepting when I had told her about my dad and Wickendale and Emily. After that conversation, my affection for her had spiked.

"Harry," Brian barked, and I stood from the bed and walked into the hallway. The corridors were somewhat full today, guards and patients scattered throughout the halls. I walked in silence to the lunchroom, not feeling in the mood to crack a joke at Brian's expense like I usually would. We finally made it to the cafeteria and there she was, picking at her nails while she waited for me.

Brian stopped at the door as usual, as if he were my father dropping me off at the park, watching carefully as I went to play. I pulled up a chair beside Rose as she looked up with a smile, but it wasn't her usual smile, it seemed slightly . . . off. But not off enough for me to question it, so I didn't.

"What's your last name?" I asked before she said anything, sitting down and scooting my chair in.

"My last name?" she repeated like it was an odd question. I nodded.

"Winters," she said.

"Rose Winters," I spoke to myself, nodding at the name in acceptance. It suits her.

Her smile seemed to grow more genuine as I said it. "Hey Harry?" she asked.


"Can I ask you something?"


Her eyes scanned my face before she spoke, her voice getting a little quieter. "Why didn't you just say that you were innocent from the beginning?"

She didn't ask it in a hostile way, but instead seemed genuinely curious. I had to think for a moment, collecting my scattered thoughts before I answered. "Well, I've seen what the people here are like when I was twelve. I learned that saying you're innocent only makes you seem even more crazy. If you cried, yelled that you were innocent, screamed that you wanted to get out, you were only restricted further. The other kids considered you weak, they considered you a target. The only one's who didn't get beat up or harassed by the other child-psychopaths were the bad-asses. The guys that embraced their insanity, used it to their advantage and scared the shit out of everyone else. They didn't ever say they were innocent so nobody assumed they were; they played their part and played it well, and everyone feared them. They were untouchable. So that's what I'm doing so that I don't get hurt by people like Norman; I'm playing a part."

She listened in fascination as I spoke and I loved that, I loved how she was so interested in everything I had to say. But her face fell slightly at the end.

"No, I didn't mean that I was being fake," I said quickly, trying to reassure her. "It's been real, all the things I've said since we met." The term "playing a part" wasn't me best work choice, now she thought my whole personality was for show.

She nodded but didn't fully meet my gaze. "Rose, look at me," I pleaded, and she did. "Don't think for a second that I haven't been myself around you, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying that I try to be a little more intimidating than usual around other patients, that's all." I hated the desperate tone in my voice, and maybe it was just my slightly growing insanity, but I needed her to fully trust me. She was the only one I could confide in and the only one who knew the truth, I couldn't risk even a slight waver in the bond we had.

She looked at me for a moment, and I couldn't read her expression. I waited patiently, dreading her response more and more with each interminable second. "So you really are a provocative, sarcastic asshole then?" She finally answered. I looked at her for a second as a grin broke out on her face, and then I tilted my head back laughing. I laughed so loud that it gained a few stares which we seemed to get often, but I didn't really give a fuck. Then Rose laughed, too, the both of us chuckling together, and it was a glorious sound.

"Just kidding," she giggled. The laughing slowly wained and the room grew quieter. Our grins faded and her expression took on a serious one, looking me straight in the eyes.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Harry. I promise you."

I nodded at her almost whispered words, knowing that I wanted nothing more than to leave this place. For good. And part of me hoped, with a small desire, that she would come with me. It was only a small thought, I would go with or without her, but it would be a hell of a lot better if it were with her. I reached for her hand under the table, as discreetly as I could manage. With her next to me I looked down to fit my hand into hers, but as I searched for it my eyes found something else. Bruises. Bruises on her wrist. All of my movements halted as I perused the horrid marks. "What the fuck are these?"


Shit. This was the moment I had been dreading since I had arrived at Kelsey's. But I knew it was inevitable, I would have to tell him sooner or later. I was just hoping it would be later. I don't know just how strongly he will react, I don't know what he will do. If it were anywhere else, I would tell Harry to go for it as I cheered him on, watching James get what he deserved. But this wasn't just anywhere, it was Wickendale. And here, if Harry throws so much as a single punch, he'll get whipped or even have to go under electro-shock therapy. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let him take yet another punishment because of James. Good thing I haven't seen the sick bastard today, he must not be at work.

"Rose, who did this?" Harry demanded. He was already angry; this wasn't a good start.

"Okay, Harry, listen to me. Don't freak out. If you do, they're gonna make me sedate you and then they're gonna punish you. Whatever you just . . . just please stay calm."

He nodded, but I could tell he wasn't really listening. "These are from . . . well, he- he pinned me against the wall and grabbed my wrists, but I got away-"

"Who?" Harry demanded, his voice dark as it rumbled through his chest.

I flinched before I said the words, cowering into myself as I prepared for what was about to come. "It . . . it was James. He tried to kill me; he's the killer."

Harry's hands immediately gripped the table, holding on so tight his knuckles grew white. His breathing became deep and heavy through his nose. His jaw was clenched so tight I worried it might cause him physical pain, and the veins in his neck grew prominent under his skin. He was fuming, almost shaking with anger.

And I knew he would explode any second.

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