Maurice stood outside his father's office, trying to work up the nerve to knock. After yesterday's incident, he'd grabbed Roger and dragged him back to the house – how the hell had he gotten that far away, how the hell had he managed to stab Bill but thank God that Bill had been too busy dealing with the fact that he'd been stabbed to see that Maurice had shown up – then locked him in his room. He'd also put the chain on him; he didn't want to take any chances. He was getting too lax with Roger. Roger was too crazy.

Roger was… well, maybe he was too much for Maurice to handle.

It was hard to admit, but maybe it was true. And now his father was in his at-home office, answering phone calls about Roger Dressler's escape and rumored stabbing of the Boudreau boy, they hadn't been able to talk to the boy yet but they'd dried to talk to Ralph Roemers and he'd been unresponsive, oh that's right, both of them had been on the island, too –

"Calm down, Maurice," he muttered to himself. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He wasn't going to freak out. He wasn't. He was going to march right into that office and tell his father that he broke Roger out of the asylum. He was going to tell his father where Roger was and that he was restrained and that the guys could just come right in and take him back. He could say that he was… he was just doing an experiment with Roger. Yes, an experiment. He'd thought he could fix Roger and he was wrong. He was just practicing for when he did the same thing as his father did now.

Okay.

He could go in there.

But he should probably knock.

After debating knocking for about five more minutes, Maurice stepped a bit closer to door and raised his hand. Alright. He'd knock and tell his father. And then Roger would be gone. Roger and all of his stress would be gone. His grades would go up. He could maybe mend things with Gwendolyn. He just had to knock, damn it.

He didn't get the chance to. His father opened the door and looked surprised to see Maurice standing there, pale and nervous-looking. "Maurice," he said. "What do you need?"

"Um," Maurice said. Now that he had to chance to confess, it wasn't as easy. He searched for the right words to use. "Well. I."

"Is this going to take very long?" his father asked, checking his watch. "If you need money for something, you know where we keep extra money. You can just take it-"

"No, it's not anything like that," Maurice said. He swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his throat seemed. He needed some water or something. "I… well… Roger, uh, 'escaped' six months ago, right?"

"Approximately," his father said, nodding. He looked a bit suspicious. "Why?"

"I…" Maurice trailed off. He looked down at the floor, the carpet and his socks suddenly very interesting. "Ihelpedhimescape."

"What?" his father asked. Maurice had a sneaking suspicion that he'd known what Maurice had said, but was just trying to be mean. Maurice closed his eyes and tried again.

"I… I helped Roger escape."

It was quiet.

Maurice opened his eyes, looking at his father. He was just staring at Maurice, looking like he didn't quite believe him.

"You're joking."

"No. I'm… I…" Maurice took a deep breath. "I… I paid the night guy and I took your keys and I took Roger out and…"

"Where is he?" Maurice's father said. Maurice could tell that he was mad and took a step back. "Maurice. Don't tell me you just released him into the world like he's ready for it."

"No. No. He's. He's downstairs. He's in the basement," Maurice said. "He's in the back room."

"You've kept him down there for six months," his father said, a little doubtful. Maurice nodded. "And he's only escaped this last time, when he stabbed the Boudreau boy."

"Well…" Maurice thought of the time he'd escaped and gone to the church and freaked out Ralph. "There was one other time… but nothing happened. I caught him before he got too far."

"Hm," his father said. "Well, I'm going to call some people to come pick him up."

"Wait," Maurice said, pulling two keys out of his pocket – one for the door and one for Roger's restraint. "The bigger one's for the door."

His father didn't ask what the smaller one was for, but he'd find out soon enough.

Maurice, his bedroom being the basement, decided to head into the bathroom. He leaned on the sink, staring down into the drain. He was… was going to be okay. This was going to be okay. He was just going to forget Roger.

The men would come and put Roger in a straightjacket and take him back and put him back in his solitary confinement room.

Maurice would be free.

It would be okay.

He wouldn't have to deal with Roger anymore.

He'd done the right thing.

This was the right thing.

He heard someone pull up; probably the attendants. He stayed staring down into the drain, fantasizing that something would come up and pull him away. He didn't want to be here anymore. He should probably get out of the house so that he wouldn't have to hear them pull away with Roger.

"Maurice!"

Oh shit, Roger was calling for him. Screaming for him. He couldn't just leave Roger. No, he couldn't. This was a bad idea.

He ran out of the bathroom and to the room at the back of the house. With trembling fingers he tore through the cupboards. He'd started to cry. He didn't know why. He didn't care. Where was it god damn it?

His father kept two guns. One of them he always kept loaded, just in case he needed it on very short notice. The other one was for show – ah, there was the one he needed.

Maurice, do you know what you're doing?

I am rescuing Roger. That is what I am doing.

You're going to kill people.

I am rescuing Roger.

Have you ever shot a gun in your life?

It can't be that hard. Just pull the trigger, right?

He laughed at that – it didn't sound like a laugh though, it sounded like he was choking, like he was crying and choking and it wasn't real laughter, nothing was real, he needed to fucking hurry or they'd take Roger away for good.

He ran – wasn't it like running with scissors, running with a loaded gun? – for the basement. He opened the door, kind of dreading the scene downstairs.

It wasn't as bad as he thought. His father stood at the foot of the stairs, watching as the attendants carried a screeching, twisting, straightjacketed Roger.

Maurice hoped that his aim was good enough.

His father was the closest.

The world seemed to slow down as he took careful aim, rubbing tears out of his eyes, and pulled the trigger. He wasn't quite ready for the backlash and winced. He saw the bullet punch straight through his father's lower back, and his father fall to his knees. Even from the top of the stairs he could see the blood, the blood and, oh, his father was going to die but his father didn't have his hands on Roger so he'd have to kill the others next.

They'd dropped Roger, and he'd rolled under Maurice's bed. Good. He wouldn't get hurt, then. Maurice knew he had to be quick; not only would people hear the gunshots, but if one of these guys jumped out of the way… he didn't know how many bullets this thing had, or how to reload it, so he just had to hope he was doing things right.

Point, shoot, miss, damn it, point, shoot, we've got one, two, three, four, oh, that one's not quite dead, point, shoot, dead, five out of five, one hundred percent.

Breathing hard, Maurice dropped the gun and ran for the bed. Roger squirmed his way back out from under it and Maurice got him out of the straightjacket. "I'm sorry," Maurice said, half-sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Roger slapped him across the face and Maurice jerked back, shocked, but a bit calmer. "Thanks," he said, sniffling and wiping the tears off of his face. "Sorry-"

"Stop apologizing," Roger said, standing in. "We need to get out of here."

"We should…" Maurice stood up as well, hugging himself and looking around at the dead bodies. One of them twitched; like he wasn't completely dead, and Maurice had to focus to not puke up his lunch. "We should grab some supplies. Food. Money. Warmer clothes."

"We don't have much time. I give you five minutes," Roger said, loping up the stairs. Maurice glanced around and pulled a sweatshirt on over his t-shirt, careful to not step on anyone. He grabbed his backpack as well, emptying it of all of the unneeded homework and, after a brief consideration, unlocking Roger's chain and sticking it in there. He might need it for something.

Five minutes later, after shoving as much canned food as he could into the backpack, Maurice accepted a coat from Roger and the two headed out the door.

i have no idea how guns work

hence the point and shoot point and shoot thing

so

i'm sorry

but

i hope that the chapter was enjoyable enough anyway