LUNATIC (RUTHLESS ASYLUM (A RUTHLESS UNDERWORLD NOVEL Book 2)

by K. L. Savage

  She turns slowly to me, and when she sees me and Apollo, her eyes smile even if she doesn’t. “Zain?”

  I slide the card on the scanner and open the door. “I’m breaking us out.”

  She doesn’t question me. She bolts out of bed, scurrying to the doorway. She wraps her arms around her waist and stares at the floor.

  “We have to hurry,” I tell them, and we still have a few people to get out. I won’t miss these long hallways, white tiles, and bright lights.

  Apollo wraps an arm around Goldie and hurries her along. She trusts him to guide her forward because she hates to look up. She hates to look at her destination or the people in between. Goldie is always lost in thought.

  “Felix, let’s go!”

  “Do you see them?” he asks, looking up frantically and darting his eyes around the room.

  “See what?” I ask impatiently.

  “The dragonflies.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Apollo says, staring above Felix’s head in envy.

  “Pretty. Oh, so pretty, Felix. Let’s go. We need to get Oli.” I press the card against the scanner and Felix comes running, swiping at his head.

  Then he ducks and shuts the door, pointing at the fake dragonflies. “Ha! You’re trapped.”

  I grab his wrist and pull him along. For a second I’m wondering what the hell I’m going to do with a bunch of diagnosed crazies like us, but I’ll figure it out. We don’t deserve to be here.

  When we get to the last door, Oli is there, counting his steps. “Make a wish, set it free, and if it comes true, it was meant to be,” he says three times. Oliver has an extreme case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. His compulsions are in three.

  “Oli! We need to get out of here.”

  “Zane! Hi. Hi. Hi.”

  “Hi, Oli. Come on, we are leaving.” I swipe the card one last time for my friend that always gave me his applesauce because he knew I liked it so much.

  “I like trips. Where are we going? Hi. Hi. Hi.” He waves to Apollo. “Hi. Hi. Hi.” He greets Goldie next.

  I’m happy not everything he says is in threes, or we would be here all damn day. Right as he walks out, the alarms sound and the locks start sliding into place.

  “Fuck,” I curse.

  Lockdown.

  If we don’t get out of here in the next few minutes, we are going to be trapped.

  “I don’t have time to hold anyone’s hand. We have to run, so you better keep up.” Without giving my friends another look, I start to run down the hallway and pump my arms. There isn’t time to jog. We have to sprint.

  “Hey! Stop right there!” A guard shouts from behind us.

  “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,” Oli chants as he sprints by me, a crazed, panicked look on his face.

  I grab him by his shirt and hang a left down another hall. “Follow me, don’t pass me, Oli.”

  He nods, sweat beading down his red face.

  The guard’s boots pound on the tile behind us, echoing the madness living in these walls. We get to another door, and I slide to a stop. Just beyond this door is our promise of freedom. But I have to take care of the guards first. “I want you guys to run, okay? Run as hard, and as fast as you can. I’ll catch up,” I say, gasping for breath as I see the first guard round the corner.

  “We aren’t leaving without you,” Goldie says, sad and forlorn with a quiet voice.

  “I will be fine. I promise,” I squeeze her shoulders and watch as big metal bars clink across the doors as the lockdown makes its way to the end of the hall.

  Right where we are.

  I slam my body into the door and open it. “Go! Now!” I yell at them as the sun bears down on my shoulders. I’m afraid they aren’t going to make it. I grab Oli by the shirt again and throw him outside. “I said, go!”

  They run out the door, one by one, and I lift my elbow to smash a guard in the face at the very last minute. I lay the baton between the crack of the door so it doesn’t shut all the way, in hopes I can still get out of here.

  Another guard comes, waving a taser in the air. He presses the sides and a blue bolt sparks between the two metal tongs. I slide left and miss the electricity by a hair, grab his arm, twist it, snap his wrist, and press the taser against his neck. His body shakes and jerks from the electricity, collapsing.

  The loud clanks of the locks stampede down the hall with each metal bar. There are only a few doors left before I don’t have time to make it out. A guard’s fist connects to my face. Blood slides down my tongue like a tasty drink. A chuckle escapes me, and when he tries to hit me again, I catch his fist and plunge the taser in his gut. His body quivers just like his coworker, but the difference is he bites his tongue and blood tints the inside of his lips.

  “You will not abuse my mental illness, or my friends more than you already have.” I press his body against the wall and hold him by his throat.

  “You’ll never make it out there,” he wheezes, then laughs, coughing as the blood chokes him. “You’ll kill people. You people aren’t capable of living a normal life.”

  The bars locking the door slide across the doorway, and the force of the lockdown system pushes the metal so fast and hard, that it cuts right through the guards body. He’s locked to the wall, impaled just like the door is supposed to be. I jerk my head up from the bar in his torso when I hear more boots thudding in the distance.

  “Yeah, looks that way, doesn’t it?” I say, patting my hand on his pale cheek. I duck under the rod, grab the baton that kept it cracked, then use my shoulder to push it open. “You’re going to want to put a band-aid on that. And don’t forget…” I grab his chin, not giving a fuck about the blood marinating down his mouth, “…to take your medication for that,” I say, throwing the words of this place back at him.

  I dip out the door and it slams shut behind me. The Nevada sun barrels down on my face and I run toward the woods, putting this nightmare behind me once and for all. I’ve spent more than half my life in this hell hole.

  And I’m done.

  “You okay? You’re bleeding,” Apollo asks as I catch up.

  I stare down at the cuts across my knuckles and nod. “Yeah, I’m good. We need to hurry. Porter said to call him when we get to a safe place.” We all start running through the woods, the distant yell of guards in the background along with the bark of search dogs.

  Whatever happens, the effort is worth it.

  I want to experience something other than the chaos inside my mind. Something more than being trapped, confined, and hated in a place that hates the mentally ill.

  I don’t care if this world kills me, because I’ve been dying slowly for the last thirty-five years.

  Present day

  I swear I hear the screams of the past haunting this place. The low groans of people fighting their minds resounding down the hallways. Their pain forever soaked into the rotten walls of this Asylum.

  I guess that’s why it feels so much like home. Is it sad that the surrounding vintage of what used to be a mental institution brings me comfort? I suppose it shouldn’t, considering I killed two men to get out of that hell hole.

  This hell hole is mine. That’s the difference.

  We’re all sleeping on the floor right now. No blankets. Just huddled on the floor against each other to keep warm. We don’t have a lot of money right now, but we will. I’ll figure out a way to take care of everyone. I have to. I’m the only one mentally capable enough to hold down a job.

  Which doesn’t say much, does it? But it was my idea to bail us out of the Asylum, so this is on me to take care of my friends. They left a place where at least they could rely on a bed and three meals a day, to come with me to a place with a leaky roof, holes in the floor, and crumbling walls.

  The only new things we have are the clothes and shoes we stole from a retail shop on our way here to meet Porter, but that isn’t going to be enough to get us by. The clothes will get dirty and how are we going to wash them?

  Fuck.

  I’
m in over my head. I shouldn’t have brought them here.

  “Zain. Zain. Zain.” Oli’s repetitive nature has me blinking, looking away from the catastrophe of the living room. Oli is sitting in one of the rusted wheelchairs he found down the hallway, trying to roll it closer to me, but the wheels are stuck from old age.

  “Hey Oli,” I greet him with a smile and rub my temples when an ache starts to throb. The feeling of restlessness starts to enter my body.

  “Have you been sleeping well?” Oli asks, tapping the armrest of the chair three times. “You know you have to sleep, Zain. You have to sleep for your mania.”

  “I know, Oli. It’s been a little stressful, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

  “Porter has been asking for you,” Oli informs me.

  “I don’t care, Oli. He’s lucky he is still alive, and for all I know, that won’t last long.” I kick a piece of drywall into the fireplace and a cloud of smoke and dust billows out. I place my hand on my hips and take a look around this dump Reaper graciously let me rent from him. I know he bought the place out of spite because he knew Porter was living here. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. The entire situation is a shit show.

  The only reason Porter is not torn to pieces right now is because of Tongue.

  His half-brother.

  And while I don’t know how that is possible, I have to be grateful, because at the end of the day, Porter has been my friend longer than the rest of the gang has. I’ve seen him when he’s normal, pumped full of medication to keep him ‘Porter’ and not this ‘Groundskeeper’ he keeps insisting we call him.

  He isn’t a bad guy. He just needs help.

  But I’m not going to throw him in a mental institution. We deserve to be in a place where we are cared for, surrounded by friends, love, and laughter. We deserve a life.

  Reaper’s condition was that we hire a nurse to keep us in line, but I can’t afford to yet. I told him we had one in order for him to rent us the place, but that was a lie. I was desperate for us to have somewhere to be.

  I won’t give up my friends like the system gave up on us. They shoved us away in a cold, dark corner. We weren’t wanted. The people we needed tossed us out like trash. They hated us for being different, for being more than what they were used to.

  And we were left to die.

  I’m not standing here saying I’m a good man. I know I’m not. I killed two people, and I don’t feel bad about it. I did what I had to do for my family. My friends might not be like everyone else’s, but they are mine.

  They are my makeshift family of misfits, and as long as I have them, I’ll be okay. Don’t get me wrong, I’d give anything for Reaper to want to get to know me, but I’m just a stranger to him. A man who is sick in the head. A man who Reaper’s father gave up on. I’m nobody to him, and he shouldn’t have to worry about getting to know me. There isn’t any pressure.

  But he gave me a photo album for Christmas, full of the years I’ve missed of his life. I haven’t stopped looking at them. I must open the album thirty times a day. Reaper is a better man than his old man ever was, I can see that. The only thing I can hope for is he gives me time to prove to him I’m not unstable and worthless.

  I can be something.

  I can be someone.

  Somehow.

  Feeling eyes on me, I turn over to look over my shoulder and everyone is staring at me.

  I swallow and the rusty wheels of the chair Oli is sitting in squeak, grating my nerves. I rub the back of my neck, the energy surging. I’m becoming restless. I need to speak. I need to say something.

  “Iknowyouguysarelooking—” I raise my voice, needing them to hear me, but speak fast. I have to speak fast or what I need to say won’t come out.

  Goldie lays her hand over my mouth. “Breathe,” she says, inhaling and exhaling slowly for me to follow. “You’re talking too fast and you’re sweating. Stop now before you get yourself too worked up and you’re in bed for three days.” Her voice is calm, like one of those voices you’d hear on sleep meditation.

  I need to do something. Maybe I can fix the staircase, or I’ll go talk to Porter, or I’ll go change the oil in my car. I can do all those things. Who says I need to only do one? I squeeze the sides of my head and fall against the wall, bumping the back of my skull on it.

  Suddenly, slender arms wrap around me and hold me tight. I’m surprised. I open my eyes, through sweat and a racing heart, trying to fight the urge of the mania creeping in. They should know not to look at me like that, as if I’m expected to make a big speech. It fucks with me.

  Mania is a form of bipolar disorder, and symptoms range for everyone. I have a lot of sleep deprivation, talking fast, excessive energy, violet urges, sexual urges, racing thoughts, and grandiosity.

  For instance, I broke out of a mental institution. That is grandiosity.

  I don’t regret it for a minute.

  “What are you doing, Goldie?” I ask, gasping for breath. She lays her cheek on my sweaty shirt and hugs me tighter.

  “I read that hugs help lower your pulse and may help relieve stress. I never got to do it before. The institution wouldn’t allow it,” she states, somehow managing to hold me tighter. Her hands don’t touch as they lay flat on my back.

  I’m too shocked to reciprocate the hug for a minute, but then I realize, it’s working. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. It’s been so long since I’ve hugged someone, I forgot what it was like. They wouldn’t let us touch each other in the institution. They were afraid we’d get too dangerous, so human contact is nice. It’s going to be a habit I’m going to have to get used to.

  Goldie is like a sister to me, so the fact that she went out of her way, out of her comfort zone, to care for me, won’t be forgotten. She struggles a lot. I don’t know much about her story, but the guards whispered. It was something about her husband dying that left her in the state she’s in now.

  She pushed her fears and sadness aside to help me, and for someone like her, that’s an amazing sight to witness. “Thank you, Goldie. I feel better.”

  Her blonde hair tickles my nose as she leans back and peers up at me with permanent red eyes from crying. “Really?” the faintest of smiles appears on her lips. She hasn’t smiled since I’ve known her.

  “Really. Thank you.” I kiss the top of her forehead and she steps back, but Oli slams against me next, knocking the breath out of me.

  “Thank you,” he says. “You saved us from that awful place.”

  I try to let go, to break the hug, but he shakes his head. “No, not yet. Three sets of three seconds.”

  “Of course, Oli.” I hug him back too, and when he is ready to let go, he stops so abruptly. His hands drop and he takes a step back in a rush, but his left hand touches my side and then he slams against me again. “I’m sorry. One more time. I have to count perfectly. I can’t touch you when I’m done.”

  “Whatever you need, Oli.”

  “Am I interrupting something?” Reaper stops at the screen door, then knocks.

  “Just a second,” Zipper hisses at my nephew. “Oli can’t lose focus.”

  Reaper lifts up his hands in surrender. “I understand.”

  “Whatever. I’m sure you don’t,” Zipper bites. If there is someone who is close to functioning normally, it’s Zipper. He looks worse than he is because of the scar on his mouth, but he has severe PTSD, and it isn’t from being in the military. Something god awful happened to him, and it’s left him unpredictable like the rest of us, but at least a normal conversation can flow with him.

  “You’d be surprised how familiar I am with your situation,” Reaper says just as Oli lets go, successfully not touching me.

  He lets out a relieved breath and Felix comes up from behind Oli, sidesteps him, then gives me a hug too. “He’s right,” he says, giving me a quick pat on the back, then breaks the hug. “Duck!” he screams, and I drop to the ground along with everyone else when he whacks the air. He grins, “Okay, I got it. Pesky littl
e demon butterfly. They have really sharp teeth.”

  Oh boy.

  I’m so in over my head.

  “I’m not giving you a hug,” Zipper grimaces.

  He doesn’t like to be touched.

  I push off the wall and nod to him in understanding. I don’t need to say anything. I just need to let him know I understand. I turn toward the front door, which is hanging off the hinges. The only thing that locks is the screen door by a small piece of metal that can break with an easy tug.

  Yep. I’m in so over my head that I’m pretty sure Porter buried me and all I see is fucking dirt. “Jesse—I mean, Reaper. Sorry. That will take getting used to. I’ve only known you as Jesse.”

  “It’s okay,” his deep voice grumbles, sounding similar to his father’s. I won’t tell him that. A beeping of a truck reversing has me looking over his shoulder, and I frown. “You going to let me in or are we going to talk through the screen all day?”

  I jump out of my thoughts and scramble to open the screen door. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having guests…” The old door creaks and when it opens, one of the damn hinges breaks and the bottom of the screen door bangs against the porch.

  The rickety porch which groans in protest as Tool climbs the steps. He pauses, eyes the floor, then takes a step back. “I’m just going to stay right here,” he points to the ground.

  “Probably best. This place needs a lot of work,” I say, suddenly embarrassed because I know how terrible we look, how the house looks, and I don’t have anything to drink to offer him. “Reaper, can we go somewhere else to talk?”

  Cigarette smoke lingers on Reaper, reminding me of the first time I caught his father smoking. Martin was behind the house, sitting next to a bush, and we were home alone. When he caught me, he wasn’t mad, but he made me smoke with him.

  I don’t know how Reaper does it. It’s the nastiest fucking habit ever.

  “No, right here is fine. I haven’t had a real chance to meet everyone. No one else came over for Christmas.” Reaper lifts a brow at me, and I know that means he is asking me why no one else came.