Chapter 1

"Dar-ling?"

The voice echoed through the dusty room, ricocheting off the crumbling walls, so it sounded like a million men calling out.

Waylon Park was crouching behind a cabinet. His breathing was deafeningly loud, his heart a bass drum. His trembling hands held a battered camcorder. A barely audible continuous bleeping told him that it was almost out of life. He put his last battery into it, filling the battery gauge, and turned the night vision off to save power.

There was another battery on a table two meters away. Maybe if he-

"Where are you, darling?"

Waylon froze. The sing-song voice came from the other side of the cabinet; a heavy hand rested on the top with a dull clang.

Eddie Gluskin, the groom of Mount Massive Asylum, was looking for his bride.

Waylon prayed Gluskin didn't come around the cabinet. He could hear the insane variant humming 'I Want A Girl' under his breath.

Eddie Gluskin was a sociopathic, deluded and misogynistic man, dressed in patchy groom attire, who seemed intent on making Waylon his bride.

Thoughts of what he could do kept surfacing in Waylon's mind; images seared into his retinas that could never be erased.

"Darling!"

Two strong hands clamped onto Waylon's shoulders. He stifled a cry as he was dragged over the cabinet. Gluskin was regarding him with a bright smile.

"My, don't you like to play hard to get?" he said warmly. "Well, no more of that, I need to make you my bride, and a woman must be presentable on her wedding day!"

He tutted as Waylon struggled to free himself. "I said no more of that, darling. You must be so eager for us to join in marriage, but you must be patient."

Waylon felt like screaming as Gluskin's right hand wrapped around his left, leading him away. His other hand, palm and fingers sweaty, clenched around the camera. It was still filming, pointing at the floor. Just as he was about to leave it behind, to keep it away from Gluskin, it slipped from his fingers. The groom stopped when he heard the metallic sound.

"What's that?"

Gluskin bent and picked up the camcorder. He looked at Waylon with a surprised expression. "A camera, darling?"

He let go of Waylon's hand for a few seconds and turned the camera over. A frown broke out over his face. He grasped Waylon's hand again before the man could run and kept on walking, holding tightly onto the camera now. Waylon felt a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away. Fear knotted his stomach; a cold sweat lay over him like a second skin.

He was led down a maze of corridors until he had forgotten his way to freedom. Gluskin closed every door behind them to make sure Waylon's escape would be hindered. If he even tried to escape.

"Here we are," came Gluskin's voice. To Waylon, most of the journey had been in total darkness; without the camera's night vision, he was blind.

Now, in the dim light, he could see something pale and tall, looming from the darkness a few meters away. Squinting, he recognised the shape. Gluskin saw his scrutiny.

"Yes, darling, it's your wedding dress. I made it myself in the hope that you would wear it someday."

Although Gluskin's voice was polite and gentle, Waylon was terrified of the groom. There was a small thud as the man in question, still holding Waylon's hand tight, placed the camera down and approached the dress. He laid a hand across the dress lovingly.

"Don't you see?" he asked, turning. "I exist only for you."

Waylon recoiled as Gluskin placed a hand on his shoulder. The groom smiled before steering Waylon into a chair, which was in the shadows close to the dress. Waylon found himself pushed into the chair. Gluskin tightened straps around his wrists before noticing his prisoner's fearful expression.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, darling, it's all for your own good," he said sadly. Waylon lowered his eyes silently.

Leaving Waylon in the chair, Gluskin went back over to the camera. It was still recording. The room was dim, but light enough for the camera to video without night vision. He pointed the lens at Waylon before going to the dress. He took it from the mannequin and came back to Waylon; holding the dress up against Waylon's chest, Gluskin smiled. It was a perfect fit.

Waylon couldn't take it anymore. He inhaled in a shaking, sobbing breath that was clearly audible. Gluskin paused and stood up straight, holding the wedding dress in one hand. His brow furrowed as he looked down at Waylon.

"Are you scared of me?" he questioned in a low, somehow dangerous voice. Waylon's bottom lip was trembling involuntarily like he was a child; the lump in his throat was so great now that it threatened to choke him. Gluskin repeated the question like a warning and Waylon shook his head slowly, too terrified to nod. His eyes stung and he looked up at Gluskin. His vision blurred, his eyes watering.

Gluskin didn't notice. He glanced at the dress like it was now an afterthought before sighing. He loosened the straps around Waylon's wrists and, for a wild fleeting moment, Waylon thought he was being freed. This hope was dashed as Gluskin handed over the dress as carefully as if it was a newborn child.

"I want to see you with it," he murmured. Waylon's heart sank as he was pointed to space behind a wide door, which was propped against a corner where two walls met to form a makeshift screen. He stepped into the darkness, hidden from Gluskin's sight. He held out the dress gingerly.

Could he make a run for it? If Gluskin turned his back to the screen, maybe Waylon would be able to stuff the dress over his head and run out. He risked the quickest glance. Gluskin was stood facing the crude screen intently, arms crossed.

Damn. No chance.

Waylon withdrew and leaned into the corner where the walls met opposite the screen, clutching the dress to his chest. Breathing deeply, he wondered if Gluskin would get bored soon.

"Darling? Are you all right?"

There it was, Gluskin's constantly tender voice, no trace of boredom behind it. Waylon closed his eyes and thought of Lisa, biting his lip. He had to do it. Otherwise, Gluskin would go to see why he wasn't emerging.

First, Waylon took the sickly yellow jumpsuit off, shivering as the coldness of the air hit his skin. He could hear Gluskin humming again.

Then Waylon stared at the dress, wondering how to put it on; he decided the best way was to pull it over his head. The double layer of skirts was strange against his legs and he was unaccustomed to having a bodice on. But, as uncomfortable as it was for him, Waylon had to reluctantly admit to himself that Gluskin had good dressmaking skills.

Swallowing his pride and the last ounce of dignity he had, Waylon Park took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the screen.