My father hid the gun.

Looking back on it, it had to be one of the first signs. The second sign probably came a few nights ago, when I found my door locked in the middle of the night. I guess I never really thought much of it, though I'm pretty sure it was still there, in my sub-conscious. And the third sign, well, it was less of a sign and more of an actual event. A man from the local police station was sat in my kitchen.

The room was silent, spare for the noise of a boiling kettle, but nothing felt out-of-place. It felt normal. When I slowly crept through the door, all hope drained out from my face. Photos, labelled with arrows. A stack of official looking papers. I recognised the symbol from the incident. Scarlet and white with the flag of our country pasted on top. The Union Jack.

Scarlet meant the bond of brothers. The bond created through blood. No matter what people say to try and convince me, scarlet isn't the colour of blood, no matter what shade it appears in. And despite what a lawyer once told me to believe, it isn't the colour of betrayal either.

Her blood had stained the garden fences a vibrant rose-red. And as I watched Rand flop to the ground, landing of the soft, green grass, the colour I felt was a deep scarlet.

Scarlet for shame.

I closed the door, and tiptoed across the cold, marble floor whilst curling my toes. The kettle beside me started to reach its peak in the amount of noise it could make, screeching away. It was the weekend so both of my parents were home, making the room feel suddenly far more claustrophobic. The heat from the kettle was starting to make the room hot. Too hot. If only I could open a window.

But we didn't open the windows any more.

I walked towards the table where the police man and my parents were busy ignoring me. Dad was talking in a hushed tone, and Mum had her hands resting on her pen, letting the ink spread through the paper, and onto the table surface below, seeping like blood. I cleared my throat.

"You're sending me to Mount Massive," I tried to phrase it as a statement, but it came out as more of a question.

Mum clumsily put the lid back on the pen and frowned at the ink-stained paper, confused as to how it must have gotten there. Mumbling to herself, she got up, chair scraping against the marble floor, and left the room with no further words. None directed to us, anyway.

The police man spoke next. "Harper, you're incredibly lucky. Mount Massive is very reclusive in selecting it's patients, I mean, uh, clients. But given your circumstances," he says nodding towards me, before turning to face Dad. "and her mental ability and capacity, they were willing to make an exception for her."

"What circumstances?" I asked, but nobody responded. I assume it would have been interesting though. ' We have a slight problem, being that our daughter recently killed a person, more specifically her best friend, in our garden, and people around here are none to pleased to hear that, you see.'

The police man could have changed that sentence in any way he'd have liked. Dad could've, Mum could've, anyone could've. It would still end with me holding a bloody gun, and Rand bleeding out on the dirt.

Dad stood up, opening a cupboard to fetch coffee cups, setting them down on the side, roughly. "Dad?" I asked. Mum had tried to send me there a few years ago, without the permission of Dad. I had always been the 'foreign body' within the household. Dad got the phone call from the asylum requesting a meeting. It didn't go all too well.

"Over my dead body," I remember him mention back then.

Now he was simply ignoring me. He poured the coffee into the cups without looking in my direction. He took a deep breath, his hands shaking. "It'll be good for you," he said the the kettle.

Two years ago, my Dad had lied. According to him, it would have to be over his body. Apparently, any dead body would do.

I walked back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and collapsed on my bed and pulled out my phone. I punched Amanda's number into the screen, and pressed it against my ear, listening to it ring. It went straight to voice mail. Amanda only recently made her way into my life, rather forcefully. I had learnt she was always getting grounded.

She usually got a weekend stuck inside for sneaking out during the night. She was once sentenced for three days for going out with a boy after curfew, but it was during the middle of the week. One time she lugged her parents supply of beer to the park, and when the police showed up she got a full two weeks under house arrest. Not nearly as long as this time though.

It was going on five weeks now, maybe six. Such a waste for one tinny thing. A tiny lie. I wasn't going to be charged, no matter what she said. Not prison wise, anyway. That's what the lawyer had said.

It was a couple of weeks ago, when we still had the hunting rifle in the shed, and my door was still left unlocked at night. Ryan Sinclare or Sanclaire. Something like that. He looked like he'd been in a tanning bed for four hours too long with slicked back blonde hair, with bleached white teeth. Fortunately, he happened to be as sleazy as he looked.

"Harper Hope," he had said, looking me up and down, eyes sparkling. " Quite the name."

"Yeah, so is Rand." I remember mumbling, picking the sleeve of my jump. I stopped, looking up at his face, and his unnaturally tanned skin. He had never really spoken to me before. It was always a whisper, and a thumb jutting towards me. And yet, here he was. Smiling at me. Talking to me. I had sensed it as soon as he opened his mouth that day. So had my parents, and they started to lean forwards in their seats, wanting to hear more on the matter.

"It's over."

"What happened?" I had asked, standing as still as possible.

Ryan waved his arms towards the patio that led out towards the garden. His eyes looked at me, though this time I doubt they were trying to check me out. He was indicating to the marks scattering my neck and forearms. "Based on all the evidence they found," he said, this time pointing to my arms " the prosecutors are satisfied with your choice." He finally looked back up.

I cast a sideways glance at my parents, but they were looking towards the garden. "The victim was committing a felony," Ryan continued. "and so, the homicide is justifiable."

I remember Dad saying things like 'that's great' or 'amazing' but you could tell she wasn't really paying any attention any more. I, however, squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn't sneak a glance at the garden through the window. I didn't do much. I could still see it. The fence, still stained red, though much less colourful. The shed door looked tight with a padlock. The hunting rifle now taken away by Dad.

I shivered at the memory and grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl and took it up to my room. I started to pack a suitcase, not sure if I'll be needing it where I'm going. Mount Massive was for the crazy. The insane. The damaged. And all because of that night, I fell under all of those categories.

I was sucked down into my mattress, my body slow and sluggish. I closed my eyes tight. I kept the duvet pulled up to my chin, as if that would stop me seeing it.

That white outline.

He was coming closer. Creeping in slowly and steadily. I could no longer keep my eyes open any longer, and yet sleep seemed far from real at that moment. I didn't want to be awake. He was here.

That white outline.

My whole room was pulsating with it, the vision crawling around the walls of my room. Then I fell into the dream I'd had every night since Rand died.

Her brown eyes would fill with confusion. Her raspy voice pleading with me. "I'm sorry," she would cry. The words dying on her mouth as she bleed away, he blood staining my hands. My shirt. My trousers. The fence.

I thought she had betrayed me.

Looking back on it, it that had to the first sign. The second sign was the hallucinations. I guess I really should have thought much more of it, though I'm pretty sure it was still there, in my sub-conscious. And the third sign, well, it was less of a sign and more of an actual event. I was going to Mount Massive.

Hi! I'm pretty new to this, so don't judge me too harshly. :'3

Anyway, I really enjoyed both the main game AND the DLC for Outlast, which, as you may be able to tell, inspired me to write this really bad chapter one to this story. This is my first story on FanFiction, and so clearly my first on Outlast. I hope you enjoy it, and that it is decent enough for you to actually read it.

I'm hoping for at least three reviews before I post the next chapter? If you can manage it. Constructive criticism is always wanted, but please try not to hate on me too much. As I said, I'm new to this game.

Thank you all!

The Gift Of Fear.