Victor perched on the edge of his cot, the thin mattress creaking under his weight. He was supposed to be getting some light reading in—his book was two years old by now, but still hadn't been read—but his eyes kept flicking back to the television screen every few minutes, incapable of fully disregarding the background noise. There was a story running about some new park that had just opened, and Victor's heart skipped a beat as Stephen's face flashed onto the screen.Victor's grip on the book tightened, his knuckles white. "How is he alive?" he muttered under his breath. Clarke had assured him that Stephen was taken care of. Thoughts began racing in his mind, colliding in a frenzy of disbelief and anger. He dropped the book—its pages splayed open as it hit the floor—and moved closer to the TV, eyes narrowing at the sight of Stephen's smiling face.Across town, in a vast penthouse suite, Stephen was rummaging through the wardrobe, his frustration growing. Marianne had gone out to take
Stephen's heart began to race. It hadn't been some dream or just a flick at the back of his imagination. This was real, connected with something from his past. He must be able to remember it. There was his profile displayed before him on the screen: **Name: Stephen King Level: Penicia OneSkills: Persuasion, Prediction Points: 25**.His eyes fell on the 'Rewards' icon. It seemed to pulse, urging him to tap on it. He did so after a moment's hesitation. A new window opened, showing his current skill points and the option to unlock a new skill. "Persuasion skills?" Stephen thought. If he could use these to get answers from Marianne, it might be worth the risk.Just as he was about to select the new skill, the screen vanished into thin air, leaving Stephen staring through the now-normal room. He felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. He had to play this carefully. Gathering his thoughts, he decided it was time to head back to the hotel and confront Marianne.Meanwhile, Enoc
Enoch strode into the hospital, his bright eyes scanning up and down the sterile, highly-lit corridor. The place was silent except for the sound of faraway footsteps and humming overhead lights. He set off down the corridor towards the doctor's office, with quick purpose. He knocked at the door. From inside, he heard a muffled voice. "Working hours are over. Please return tomorrow." Enoch didn't wait for an invitation and opened the door, catching the doctor in mid-bite of a sandwich. The look on the doctor's face changed from surprise to one of irritation. "I thought I said working hours are over." Enoch's expression remained cool. "Not for me. I need some information, and I am willing to pay for it." The doctor's eyes narrowed. "We don't release patient information to outsiders like that." Enoch dragged out a thick wad of cash, setting it on the desk. "Here's $50,000. Just give me a few minutes." The doctor frowned deeper but clearly couldn't resist the sight of the money. He
The first light of dawn was seeping through the curtains into Marianne's bedroom, casting a light on the littered room. Marianne sat at the edge of her bed; her eyes fell on the blackened windowpane. She had hardly slept since Stephen went out the night before. It was as if her heart was beating against her chest while she replayed their last confrontation repeatedly in her head.She had glanced at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. The screen was an endless list of missed calls, all of them to Stephen. Each ring had been answered by voicemail. Frustration gnawed at her, and she pressed her trembling fingers to her lips in a struggle to keep her anxiety at bay.She dialed Stephen's number again and inhaled sharply at the immediate click of his voice. She hung up and pressed redial, but when again the call went straight to voicemail, she put down the phone to pace around the room.The quiet was suddenly too much to stand, so Marianne dialed her mother's number and waited
Clarke sighed deeply and then crossed his arms. "So, that's how you treat a brother you have known for years, Charles. Come on, man."Charles stood blanketed in stoic demeanor still, the frown on his face deepening. "What are you driving at, Clarke? You and I both know where this is heading."She stepped closer and bent down toward him, her voice suddenly intensely serious. "Who took you in, then? Where was it you ran to when you had no place to go?"Charles's eyes did not widen as the answer struck him; he knew it as well as Clarke. His lips tightened, shutting his response in.She dared to push it further. "Where did you stay when you had none?Charles finally spoke, reluctance in his voice. "You did, Clarke. You were there."Clarke nodded, but bitterness lined his eyes. "Who made you his brother when you had nobody?" he asked.Charles's expression sagged a little, but he said sullenly, "You did."The air was heavy with tension as the two men stood there, eyeing each other. Charles
Victor lay on the hard, narrow cot, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of his prison cell. The thin blanket was threadbare and provided scant comfort against the biting chill of the night. The buzzing of mosquitoes supplied a steady background hum that prevented him from sliding into the sleep he so desperately needed. He swatted at one that landed on his arm but knew it was useless. They had always come back, always found a way to harass him.But the mosquitoes were not the only things that kept him awake tonight. Tomorrow was the day he had been waiting for—the day that finally he would be free. Years of incarceration, and the thought of freedom washed him in a wave of happiness, even in that restless night. With a happy sigh, a rare smile curled at the corners of his mouth. He closed his eyes, trying to picture what it would look like outside of those walls: not having to feel the cold concrete beneath him or the bars that kept him enclosed.The sounds of the prison at night were famili
Stephen gasped at the sound of his ragged breathing as his mind raced to wrap itself around what had just happened. Scene in front of him was a nightmare from which he could not wake up. Victor lay lifeless on the cold floor, his once-gray concrete now turned into a deep, sickened red, blood pooling around his lifeless body, from where the wound bled. It twisted something deep inside him that he was not sure would ever right again.Charles stood there, a ghost of the man Stephen thought he knew, his face pale and his eyes hollow. His hand shook a little as he raised it, as if to try to convey an apology without words, but Stephen was not looking for an apology. He wanted answers—answers that might never come."Yuna is fine," all but whispered Charles— hushed, almost too hushed, to the point where this was the kind of hush that tried to soothe but only made matters worse. "She's safe with me."Stephen's eyes narrowed as he tried to take in the words. A cold dread tightened in his chest
The air was thick with tension as the police swarmed the room, their movements precise and practiced. One officer approached Charles cautiously, gun trained on him, while another swiftly retrieved the bloodied knife from the floor, bagging it as evidence. Charles barely resisted as they forced him to the ground, cold metal cuffs clicking around his wrists. His face remained a mask of resignation, a broken man caught in a nightmare of his own making.Stephen stood frozen, shock and disbelief still coursing through him. His mind struggled to process everything—Victor’s lifeless body, Charles’s betrayal, the arrival of the police. It all felt like a blur. An officer stepped toward him, speaking in firm, clipped tones, but Stephen barely registered the words. He didn’t resist when they cuffed him, his eyes locked on Victor’s body as the paramedics zipped it into a black body bag.As the body was wheeled out, Stephen felt a hollow ache in his chest. Victor had been his last connection to t