Euphoria

Chapter Twenty-Four: Rolling Hills of Greene

Henrik stood in the threshold of Dark's mansion, peering inside. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he shut the door behind him, immediately assaulted by a hair-burning scent of scorched flesh and stale water mixed with scented Citrus candles. It was almost as bad as the hospital smelled when one of his patients had CKD. Not that a few breath mints didn't do the trick.

He took out his camera light, carefully walking farther into the gloomy home, praying that none of the floorboards were extremely creaky, even though his Pontiac wasn't the quietest of cars when it pulled into the overgrown driveway. The aroma got worse as he neared the kitchen; it was almost enough to make his lungs seize. He placed his shirt collar above his nose with his free hand, his eyebrows knitted together. "Mein Gott... Vhat is zhat on zhe floor? Heilige scheisse!"

Henrik stumbled backward at the watery, thick blood on the floor, his eyes widening as he lost his footing. The blood latched onto him, soaking into his once clean white lab coat and rapidly spreading. He laid there for a moment; the wound in his shoulder red-hot with a dull soreness as he held it, his hands covered in his, and someone else's blood.

The soft but urgent voice of a woman had his attention now, and he stood on shaky legs, walking into the living room, his phone forgotten on the floor.

The television cast a soft glow, dimly lighting his surrounding, allowing him to be able to see without squinting. He knew this woman, Deborah Bishop, from channel 8 Neon News.

She held her microphone tightly, a frightened look in her eyes despite how calm she appeared. "A therapist, Dr. Greene, was found earlier last night by one of his associates. The witness claimed the deceased was supposed to be with this man," A picture popped up on the screen beside her. "Chase Brody."

Henrik's eyes were glued onto the screen, his mouth open, fingers clutching firmly onto the back of the couch.

"Former resident at Rolling Hills Institution assumably escaped after the murder took place as they are unable to find him." Deborah shifted, seemingly uncomfortable with standing out in the open, hair wet with rain and particles of snow. "A syringe filled with Propofol, a sedative used for violent patients within RHI, was found lodged inside the therapist's left eye with the prints of Mr. Brody. The suspect is still at large, and if you happen to see this presumably armed and dangerous man, call authorities immediately."

The television clicked off, leaving the doctor to suffer in silence, despite his mind racing with thoughts. His brother was a murderer, and the demon had gone here to save him. What if the blood belonged to Anti? What if his brother had been playing them this entire time?

Henrik slowly stood, going back to the kitchen and grabbing his phone to start to searching again, his lips pressed into a thin line.

-

Jameson had his brother by the hand, dragging him along with him. Jackie had stopped quite a few times to talk him out of the plan he'd already mapped out in his head, and it had eventually gotten annoying hearing his voice give away their position so many times.

"Can you let me go?" The hero hissed, his eyes narrowed to slits despite how dark it was in the back of the police station. "I'm not a child, JJ. I think I know to stay near you. It's not like they could he--"

"But they could. Don't be stupid. You're smarter than that. I don't know what their shifts are, and I certainly don't know how many we'll have to face if we do get caught." Jameson said, raising an eyebrow from under his bowler cap. "Now, stay silent before I have to find you a baby carrier and humiliate you further than your red spandex ever could."

Jackie's face flushed. "Shut up. We don't talk about my red spandex days; you know that. I can't believe I used to walk around in that disaster..."

"Now you sound like Marvin."

"Shut up!"

"You boys looking for something?"

Both brothers froze at the new voice, but Jameson was the first one to snap out of it, going straight for the revolver strapped to his waist.

One of the officers stood behind him, pulling back the fore-end of his pump-action shotgun, an empty shell popping out of the ejection port. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, boy."

The dapper man scowled at the word, hating to be called that when he knew he was just as much of a man as the copper aiming his sight down from behind him, the barrel pressed against Jameson's head. He slowly removed his hand from the revolver's holster, a low growl escaping him, trying to stay menacing despite the nasty cough at the end.

Jackie stared at the both of them, his hands subconsciously rising in the air as well, his jaw set. "Sir, you don't understand what you're doing. We have to get the black duffel you have in--"

Jameson curled his hand into a fist, punching his brother in the face and effectively knocking him backward. "Sorry, officer. My friend here is delusional and possibly on drugs. I was too afraid to ask him. We'll probably stage an intervention when all this is over." He shrugged, sending the hero and apologizing look despite him not being able to see it as he held his broken nose, blood spilling through his fingers.

"What the fuck, JJ?!"

The man stared at the both of them for a while before shaking his head, nudging Jameson with his firearm. "Stand up, pretty boy. You're coming with me. The boys will be ecstatic to have something to throw darts at. Sadly, our dart board hasn't come in the mail yet. You'll have to do."