Chapter Fourteen
Whittingham Mental Hospital
England, 1956
Niall Horan
Three weeks had passed and Isabella hasn't returned to the hospital. I haven't seen her brown hair nor matching honey brown eyes walking around the walls of this place, but then again I have been locked up in my room since she left because I have been accused of murder, again. I did not kill Harry, or anybody else that they think I did. That serial killer that I am falsely accused of is still out there, untouched and roaming around England freely.
I run my hands through my now dark brown hair and groan in frustration. My once dyed blond hair has faded away from my last dye job leaving it my natural dark colour. The isolation of the room is making me mad, I swear because the same thoughts run through my mind twenty four seven and the presence of no other human being is ripping me apart bit by bit.
The springs of this bed bleed through that mattress making this as comfortable as laying on the cemented ground. The cemented walls of this place has kept me imprisoned and immobile from the outside world and I don't know how much longer I can handle the isolation.
I need to let go.
There is no life for me anymore.
A tear rushes down my face and I completely break. Every negative thought engages my system at once feeling no hope or reassurance. I sob and scream because there is nothing else I could do, but sit here and go madder and madder by the second. I cry for a little bit longer before I shred the sheets off of my bed and tie it into a fabricated noose.
I tie the edge around the bed frame and I wrap the noose around my neck fully prepared to let go, nothing else holding me back. I take one final breath in and I rest my entire weight against the fabric letting it consume the life I captivated.
I struggled for air and I heard the cell door burst open, but before whoever was at the door could do anything, I went unconscious seeing the colour red.
---
Flashback
It was May 17th, 1953. Three years before I was committed to the hospital. My mum and I were peacefully cooking in the kitchen as we waited for Anna to come home from our uncle's flat.
We were happy.
My mum danced in the kitchen without a worry in the world as she held a wooden spoon high in the air and her dress flowed out as she spun. Her smile brightened up the room and I laughed at her happy attitude.
The radio blared 50's classic pop music and she outstretched her arm asking me to dance with her but I bluntly refuse. "Come on Niall," she urged her Irish accent bouncing off the walls.
She doesn't stop dancing nor spinning and she dances over to me at the kitchen table. My mum takes my hands and forces me up from the chair. She moves my hands all around substantially making me dance. I laugh at her attempts and she takes her hands off of me wanting me to dance on my own in which I finally comply.
Five minutes later the door opens and I turn to Anna who's in the doorway. She sees us dancing but I stop once I see the thick tears flowing down her face. "Anna!" I yell and run over to engulfing her in my arms.
Her frail body completely breaks down in my arms her sobs fill the room replacing the uplifting feeling we had before. "Anna, what had happened?" My mum's panicked voice says hugging Anna as well.
"I-I can't," she says in between cries. I pull her closer and her fists grip my shirt harder each time her cries increase.
"Honey tell us what happened," my mum pleads her voice about to break.
"I can't mummy. He made me promise," she explains and I squeeze her harder.
"Who did sweetie?"
"Uncle Moore."
---
After prying and pulling that day I found out that my blood related uncle had sexually abused my little sister.
She had become depressed and insomniac. She was to traumatized to close her eyes and sleep at a regular schedule. Anna only slept once a week, twice if she was lucky.
My mum and I tried everything to help Anna but nothing we worked. We couldn't afford an expensive therapist and we wouldn't lock her up in an asylum.
We locked my "uncle" up in jail for life for the harassment of a minor. He raped, beaten, and forced Anna into sexually pleasing him. He was the reason Anna was gone, both physically and mentally. Her stability was traumatized and she was nothing but dead inside. Her once bright blue eyes were lifeless matching her cold body.
Anna committed suicide three months later after her attack.
---
Isabella Pierce
"Niall!" I scream seeing his lifeless body lay on the floor, nothing but the deathly noose holding his weight up. I run over to his body and rip the noose off of his neck and catch his weight as he collapses on top of me. "Wake up, Niall. Please," I beg and I scream for help.
I place my fingers on his pulse and I cry because there is a light rhythm of his pulse beating against my fingers.
He was alive.