The wind, cold and furious, howling through the broken window was what roused her from her sleep. It was cold. So cold. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, frowning as her fingers brushed against a thick leather band; the blanket fell from her shoulders as her fingers scrabbled at the collar, a desperate cry escaping her lips as they strayed upon the padlock at the nape of her neck.
What had happened while she was sleeping?
The door was locked. Locked up tight. No way out.
The glass was broken, jagged fragments lay around its frame like teeth, waiting to ensnare her; but there were no bars. No bars meant she could escape. She could run. He said there was no outside. But she could see it. Right there. Outside her window.
Wrapping the blanket around her hand she used it to knock the glass out of the frame until there was no barrier between her and the outside world. Leaning out the window she looked down, it was far, almost too far, but she could make it. She had too.
She hoisted herself up and just as she was about to slip out, free falling to the ground, pain lanced through her body, sending her falling back onto the mattress, her body spasming as the pain continued into agony.
After what seemed like an eternity, the pain stopped. The pain stopped and she could breathe again.
Her fingers sought out the blanket, some desperate reassurance that she wasn't dead. That the pain she'd endured wasn't enough to kill her.
Rolling to her side she saw Dylan, sitting in the doorway, resting on his haunches like a dog, frowning at her. Slowly, on his hands and knees, he crawled to her bedside, bending low to nudge her shoulder with his head urging her to get up.
She found herself transfixed by the tangled mass of hair in his Mohawk, her fingers tangling in it as he sat by her side, "Who let you out?" she murmured.
His teeth found the hem of her shirt, tugging her hard enough to pull her off the bed, "Hey now..."she cooed, climbing to her feet, her fingers looping through the D ring on the back of his collar, "That's enough of that now."
Dylan looked up at her, a strange grin on his face as he lead her out into the corridor, the peeling paint and debris strewn across the floor seemed less terrifying when she wasn't in the Fog Man's presence, right now, it just made her sad, sad that such an old building could be left in such a state of disrepair. That people could be forced to live in it.
She bent down as they paused outside Dylan's door, the man on his knees whimpering as he pawed at the frame, "You wanna go back?"
He nodded his head, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
"Alright then," she said, pulling the door open, Dylan's enthusiasm was infectious, "here we are."
She watched him practically run in, sniffing at the mattress in the centre of the room before crawling cautiously back to the wheelchair, nudging it with his nose. When it didn't move, Lucy watched him climb up into the chair, looking down at the buckles and then back up at her expectantly.
"You want me to strap you in?" she asked in disbelief.
He nodded and she walked in apprehensively, her mind flashing back to the previous night, his face twisted into a furious snarl, he wanted to go back in the chair? She didn't want to strap him back in. She didn't want to be scared. Not again.
He whimpered as she hesitated, looking up at her imploringly.
"Luce, you can't stay mad forever."
"I want to." She pouted.
"I know." Dylan smiled sadly, "But we have to find her."
Lucy shook her head, what just happened? She was back in that flat, with Dylan. With Dylan. And someone was missing?
She sighed as Dylan's whimpers grew more insistent; maybe she really was mad.
Just as she began to buckle the inmate back into his chair, a shadow fell across the room, "What do you think you're doing Lucy?"
YOU ARE READING
Lucy wakes up in the rundown Blackthorne Asylum, a patient among the lunatics, unaware as to how she got there or her life before she opened her eyes. The only things she knows for sure are her name and that she needs to escape.