Chapter 3: January 1st, 1982

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January 1st, 1982

It had been nearly a year since I was thrown into that hospital. The man who caused all my pain was let out far before I was. But alas, I was deemed stable enough to go back to school and live a normal life.

That was false.

Sure, I had calmed down and could talk to people. The nightmares slowed down, and my insomnia disappeared. But I still wasn't in the right state of mind. I was having thoughts. Thoughts I was not meant to have.

The release process was methodical, a series of final assessments and paperwork that felt more like an administrative chore than a declaration of my newfound stability. Dr. Reynolds conducted the final interview, her eyes scanning me for any sign of the instability that had kept me confined for so long.

"How are you feeling, Alex?" she asked, her voice the same calm, measured tone I had grown accustomed to over the past year.

"Fine," I replied, my voice devoid of any real emotion. I had learned to hide my true feelings, to give them what they wanted to hear.

She nodded, jotting down notes on her clipboard. "You've made significant progress. Your responses are more consistent, and you seem to have a better grasp on reality. The nightmares?"

"Less frequent," I said, which was true enough. They still haunted me, but not as relentlessly as before.

"And the thoughts?" she asked, her eyes piercing into mine.

I hesitated, then forced a smile. "Under control."

Another nod, more notes. She seemed satisfied. "Well, Alex, it looks like you're ready to be released. You will be placed in an orphanage in Seattle. They'll take good care of you, and you'll be able to go back to school, start rebuilding your life."

Rebuilding my life. The words sounded hollow, almost laughable. There was no rebuilding from this.

The day of my release, I packed my meager belongings into a duffel bag. The nurses, who had become familiar faces over the past year, offered polite smiles and well-wishes, but there was a distance in their eyes, a relief that I was someone else's responsibility now.

'Fuck them...' I had thought.

A staff member escorted me to the front of the hospital. The building loomed behind me, a stark reminder of my captivity. The orphanage's social worker, Ms. Daniels, was waiting for me by a car. She was a petite woman with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor, but her presence did little to ease the turmoil inside me.

"Hello, Alex," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Ms. Daniels. I'll be taking you to your new home."

I shook her hand, feeling the cold metal of my duffel bag's zipper pressing into my palm. "Hi."

The drive to the orphanage was silent. Ms. Daniels tried to make small talk, asking me about my interests, my favorite subjects in school, but I responded with monosyllabic answers, my mind elsewhere. All I could think about was the man who had destroyed my life, walking free while I was still imprisoned by my memories.

We arrived at the orphanage, a large, imposing building that seemed both welcoming and foreboding. Children played in the yard, their laughter a stark contrast to the heaviness in my heart. Ms. Daniels led me inside, introducing me to the staff and showing me to my room.

The room was small but clean, with a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. A window overlooked the yard, where the other kids continued their games. I placed my bag on the bed, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me.

"You'll have time to settle in," Ms. Daniels said, her voice gentle. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," I murmured, not meeting her eyes. She gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving me alone in the room.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. The silence was deafening. I could hear the faint sounds of laughter and footsteps outside, but they felt distant, like they belonged to another world.

I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the children below. They seemed so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that could shatter their lives in an instant. I envied their innocence, their blissful ignorance.

I had somehow forgotten that all of them were in no better of situations than I was. They had also lost their family, or been abandoned by them. I was selfish, and saw myself as the only one truly suffering in the world.

It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

Turning away from the window, I walked to the door and locked it. I needed to be alone. I needed to process everything, to try and make sense of the chaos that had become my life. I lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to hold onto the fragile sense of control I had built over the past year. The walls of the room seemed to close in on me, the silence pressing down like a physical weight. The familiar tightness gripped my chest, a precursor to the wave of emotions I had fought so hard to suppress.

I thought I had gotten my emotions in check. The therapy sessions, the medication, the endless hours of introspection—I had convinced myself that I was stable enough to face the world again. But as I lay there, the memories flooded back with a vengeance, each one a knife twisting deeper into my heart.

The image of my parents' terrified faces, Stacey's last smile, the blood, the screams—it all played out in vivid detail, as if I were reliving that night over and over again. I felt the hot sting of tears welling up, and I fought to keep them at bay, but it was a losing battle.

"Why?" I whispered to the empty room, my voice breaking. "Why did this happen to us?"

The tears came then, a torrent that I couldn't control. I buried my face in the pillow, the fabric muffling my sobs. The weight of my grief, my anger, my guilt—it was too much to bear. I cried for my family, for the life that had been stolen from me, for the future that seemed so bleak and uncertain.

I had tried so hard to be strong, to convince everyone that I was okay, but the facade crumbled under the pressure of my emotions. The walls I had built to protect myself shattered, and I was left raw and vulnerable, consumed by the pain I had tried so desperately to ignore.

I don't know how long I lay there, crying into the pillow. Time seemed to lose all meaning, the minutes stretching into an eternity of anguish. When the tears finally subsided, I felt hollowed out, like a shell of my former self.

I sat up, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. The room was dimly lit, the evening light casting long shadows on the walls. I felt a strange sense of detachment, as if I were watching myself from a distance, observing the broken boy who had once been Alex Mercer.

As the evening light faded, casting long shadows across the room, a gentle knock on the door interrupted my thoughts again. I sat up, feeling the dull ache of my earlier breakdown still heavy in my chest.

"Alex," Ms. Daniels' voice called from the other side, "it's time for dinner."

I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself before opening the door. Ms. Daniels stood there with a soft smile, her eyes filled with understanding. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."

I nodded silently, following her down the hallway and towards the dining area. The orphanage was large, a sprawling old mansion converted into a home for children like me. The halls were filled with the echoes of laughter and conversation, but they felt distant, like background noise in a foreign land.

The dining room was bustling with activity. Kids of all ages gathered around the tables, chatting and laughing as they filled their plates with food from the buffet spread along one wall. I grabbed a tray and moved through the line mechanically, scooping up a bit of everything without really seeing it.

Once I had my food, I looked around for a quiet place to sit. The room was filled with clusters of kids, and I felt a pang of anxiety at the thought of trying to join them. I needed space, somewhere I could eat in peace without the noise and chaos.

I spotted a corner near the large windows, where a couple of empty chairs sat around a small table. It was the farthest spot from the main group, and I headed towards it, hoping no one would follow.

I sat down, setting my tray on the table and picking at my food. The taste was bland, the textures unfamiliar. I ate slowly, my mind drifting back to memories of family dinners with my parents and Stacey. The ache in my chest deepened.

Just as I started to think I might get through the meal undisturbed, a group of kids about my age approached. There were three of them, two boys and a girl, their expressions a mix of curiosity and mischief.

"Hey," one of the boys said, sliding into the chair across from me. "You're the new kid, right? Alex?"

He had short brown hair, a little on the chubby side and was quite short.

I nodded, not meeting his eyes, hoping my silence would dissuade them.

"I'm Emile," he continued, undeterred. "This is Jayden and Zoey. We saw you come in with Ms. Daniels earlier."

"Hi," Jayden said, plopping down next to Jake. Zoey took the seat beside me, her eyes scanning my face with a mix of sympathy and interest. Zoey had shoulder length blonde hair, and blue eyes. She was the same height as me, maybe a bit shorter and quite petite.

While Jayden on the other hand had blond-brown hair, green eyes, and was the tallest of all of us. Probably the most good looking too. 

"Is it true what they said about you?" Zoey asked, her voice softer than the boys'. "About what happened to your family?"

What happened to my family was all over the news. There wasn't a person in Washington who had not heard about it.

I stiffened, my grip tightening on my fork. The last thing I wanted was to relive that nightmare in front of strangers. "I don't want to talk about it," I said quietly, hoping they'd take the hint.

Emile and Jayden exchanged glances, their expressions shifting to awkwardness. "Oh, sorry, man," Emile said, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't mean to pry."

Zoey nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, we're sorry. We just... wanted to say hi and see how you're doing."

I forced a small, tight-lipped smile. "It's ok." I muttered, turning back to my food, hoping they would leave me alone.

But they didn't. Instead, they started talking amongst themselves, their conversation circling around the usual teenage topics—school, sports, movies. I tuned them out as best I could, focusing on finishing my meal quickly so I could retreat to the solitude of my room.

"Do you play any sports?" Jayden asked suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.

I shook my head. "Not really."

"You should join us sometime," Emile said with a grin. "We play basketball in the yard. Well they do, I'm more of a cricket guy, but they such at it."

I shrugged, not committing to anything. The idea of playing basketball, or doing anything remotely social, felt exhausting.

They continued talking, their voices a constant buzz in my ears. I ate mechanically, my mind elsewhere, counting down the minutes until I could escape. Finally, I finished my meal and stood up, grabbing my tray.

"Nice to meet you," I said flatly, heading towards the tray return area without waiting for a response.

I walked back to my room, the sounds of the orphanage fading behind me. As soon as I entered, I locked the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. The brief interaction had drained me, leaving me feeling even more isolated and alone.

I moved to the window, looking out at the darkening sky. The stars were just beginning to appear, tiny points of light in the vast expanse of night.

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Chapter Word Count: 2,109 

Story Word Count: 7,427