"This is it then. We can go."

"Are you ready?" He wasn't sure why he was asking. Waylon looked terrified either way. Neither of them knew what was out there, so he couldn't exactly blame him.

To his surprise, Waylon nodded. "Ready."

Miles stepped out first. It was pitch black outside, and the rain certainly didn't help. It was pouring from the dark clouds, splattering mud and spraying water everywhere. Even though they were already soaked from the sprinklers, Miles was not thrilled to get even more wet and miserable. He reached for his camcorder, noticing Waylon do the same, automatically trying to switch to night vision. The blue green screen was fuzzy and distorted, there wasn't much to see besides vague outlines.

"I can't see shit, even with the night vision." Waylon grumbled.

"It's better than nothing. Father Martin said he would be around here."

There was a loud crack of thunder and a lighting bolt struck the navy sky. Waylon flinched at the unexpected noise.

Miles caught on quickly to the other man's discomfort. "It'll be fine, Park. Just a little rain." He spread his arms out, letting the rain splash on his face. It was actually quite refreshing. Although he was covered a lot more than Park was, who was only wearing his patient jumpsuit with no shoes or socks.

"It's not that I..." Waylon shivered, still staying where he was. "I'm having second thoughts about trusting...that man."

"I told you, I don't trust him-"

"You're still going to look for him though," He interjected. He met Miles' frustrated glare, and continued. "We have enough evidence to prove Murkoff is up to no good and finally escape. We could...I dunno, climb one of the fences or something."

"Or something." Miles repeated dryly.

He seemed to acknowledge Miles' reluctance. "Earlier I disabled the electricity, we wouldn't get hurt. It might be harder with my leg but...we could still escape."

"You're right. You can leave if you want to, I can even help you get out." He tried to raise his voice over the heavy rain, remaining firm. "But I'm staying."

Waylon's face fell. "What? You're kidding!"

"Nope, completely serious. I'm staying."

"Miles-you said it yourself. You have the footage, you have documents, you have my interview! Isn't that enough?" He stepped out into the rain, gesturing around him, grimacing as his feet touched the damp grass. "You have everything you need."

Miles fixed his dripping wet bangs and shook his head. "I have evidence, sure, but I don't have answers. This whole time I've been avoiding Variants, hiding in lockers, reading notes and documents and I still don't understand what Murkoff is up to or why they're doing this. Hell, I still don't know what Project Walrider is-not completely."

That part was a lie. He knew more about Murkoff than he let on. He had even written a few pieces about it. He even knew about Murkoff creating the project-some kind of weapon before he even arrived. He still wasn't sure if it was a physical presence or not though. He continued without missing a beat. "The whole reason you sent that email was to expose Murkoff and show the world what scumbags they are. I thought at first it was patient abuse and human experiments, but this is way more complex, and looks... supernatural. I can't send this to some random news site with the footage and documents without knowing the full story."

"Why not?"

"Well for one, video footage can be faked with simple editing tricks," Miles explained. "So can written documents. I've already been blacklisted from 'reliable' news sources, so the likelihood of anyone believing me is slim. I could be written off as crazy, which has happened. " His anger started to bubble up. "I can't let Murkoff get away with this. I need to know the truth. If I die trying to expose them, then at least I'll die knowing everything, and maybe save a few lives too."

"That's crazy."

Miles smirked. "Don't I know it. It's all part of being a journalist."

"I don't think most journalists, scratch that, most people would willingly do something like this. You're...really..."

"Stupid, yeah."

"I was going to say brave."

That took him slightly aback, even if Waylon had called him that before when they first met. Courage was something he always thought he had, a distinct ability he embraced when he decided to become a reporter. Waylon's email only brought that bravery to the surface.

He exhaled. "Nah, I just wanna make the world a better place, and maybe it'll be worth it," Miles winced, pain shooting through the stumps of his missing fingers. The rain had washed some of the blood leaking through, but it still hurt like a bitch. "I'm sure you get what I mean."

"Yeah, my...my family..."

Miles saw the glimmer of hope and determination in Waylon's expression and felt a small wave of admiration for him. Waylon may be terrified for his life, he went through a similar version of hell from the way he acted, yet he was still thinking of his wife and children first. He had related to that feeling once, so he understood to an extent what he was fighting for.

"Yeah, your family. You could go back to them." Miles wasn't an expert at comforting people, but he figured that would cheer him up despite the shittiness of everything else.

But it didn't. Waylon still looked worried. "Murkoff knows I was the one who blew the whistle," He murmured. "They're still in danger too, they'll be targeted, won't they?"

Miles' silence confirmed Waylon's fears.

"That settles it. I'm going with you."

The whiplash in the sudden change of decision made him stare, exasperated at the other man. "Like hell you are," Miles growled. "I promised I'd keep you safe back there."

Waylon glared at him defiantly. "I don't need your protection."

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. You've been through too much already, I can't-"

"Bullshit, so have you!" Park shot back. "I've changed my mind, I'm going with you and that's my final decision. We're gonna suffer together if we have to."

Miles rolled his eyes. "Two minutes ago you said the idea was crazy. Indecisive, much?"

"I was being impulsive-cowardly, maybe. I didn't realize what could go wrong, and what is at stake here. Even if I escape unscathed, Blaire and the rest of Murkoff know about what I did. They'll get more suspicious and like you said, if I release anything too early, they'll surely come after me and my wife." He hugged his chest. "If we can find out more information, prove everything then it might just be worth it. I want to help save humanity and put an end to this once and for all. Also...I'm not exactly sure where to go if I did try to escape." He admitted. "It's too dark."

Miles laughed. "Fair enough. So you aren't scared anymore?"

"Oh no, I'm terrified." The reply seemed to be his attempt at a joke, but it fell flat.

Miles was unsure if he should be pleased or annoyed at Waylon's change of plans. On one hand, they made a pretty decent team. Both were crafty and intelligent men with a vendetta against Murkoff. On the other hand though, Waylon was jumpy, anxious and reasonably traumatized. Not that Miles wasn't, but he felt he could handle things better than him if the situation became truly dire. Still, they made it this far...then maybe they did have a chance. If Park could just make up his mind, that is.

Waylon continued to shiver, terribly exposed in his coveralls Miles awkwardly shrugged off his jacket and held it out. "Here."

"Oh, no I'm fine I ..."

"Take it." He insisted. "I'm...trying to be nice here."

Waylon hesitated, then shrugged on the jacket. It was a little big on him, but it did the job.

"We need to keep moving," Miles declared. "And Park?" Waylon stared at him, confused. "We'll make it."

They would be more than just victims. They would be survivors. They would get the justice they deserved, that everyone who suffered in the asylum deserved.

I really need to stop making promises I can't keep.

The minutes passed like hours as they trekked through the courtyard. Not only was it impossible to see where they were even going, but the path was slippery. One false move and he would slip and fall right on his ass. Miles regretted giving Waylon his favorite jacket, he was soaked and chilled to the bone by now, while Waylon stayed snug and relatively warm. Wind whipped him right in the face occasionally which only added to his annoyance. He was miserable. His hands were numb and sticky with blood. His entire body ached and most importantly, he was too damn cold. If Chris Walker or any random Variant didn't kill him, then hypothermia would.

It didn't help that Waylon was starting to get on his nerves every time he had to stop for a moment to complain about his leg. He didn't want to be mad at him, but considering their situation, every little thing was irritating.

Then he spoke again. "I'm starting to have second thoughts..."

"What else is new?" Miles' remark came out snarkier than he intended. "You were the one who agreed to come with me."

"I know, but it's freezing, and I'm not sure I can walk any further," He sounded strained, taking another moment to pause and rest his leg. Miles almost wanted to leave him there. He watched Waylon struggle to his feet and gasp. "Miles." He pressed.

"What?"

"I said..."

"I heard what you said. Do you have any better ideas?" Miles asked, whipping his head back in exasperation. "Because if you don't, then shut the fuck up. I'm trying my best to get us out of here."

Waylon scowled.

He groaned. "I'm tired and cold too, but do you see me whining about it? No! Because that would be pointless! And before you say another thing about your leg, I'm not sure what I can do to help with that so you're just gonna have to deal with it for now. Got it?"

Waylon mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like 'asshole', but he chose to ignore that. He didn't want to argue anymore, despite him obviously being a little antagonistic. It wouldn't do any good to fight, and he knew Waylon was just as scared as he was. Probably a little bit more than he was, naturally. That didn't mean he was going to apologize for acting like a dick. He was just frustrated, which was a completely justified reason. Together they knew what was at stake here. Neither of them liked working together, evidently from the two petty arguments they had in only a few hours, but they had no choice. They didn't have to be friends, but Miles did silently vow to at least try not to kill Waylon if he annoyed him too much.

They stopped at three street lamps standing in a triangular formation, surrounded by some benches, and in the middle was a fountain. Miles nearly gagged as he immediately was greeted with the coppery stench of blood. He didn't know where it was coming from until he approached the fountain, and the water was a deep crimson.

"So much blood..." Waylon whispered. "I've never seen so much blood."

"Tell me about it," replied Miles. Without his jacket, he was aware of how ruined his once white shirt was. It too, was covered in blood and who knows what else.

Waylon paled, eyes darting from the fountain, to the building behind it. "I have a bad feeling about this." He shuddered.

"You already said that."

"No, I mean, I feel like I've been here before. Inside that building."

"Every part of this asylum looks the same once you've been here long enough, which I have," Miles replied sardonically. "I need to think of a game plan anyway."

"You mean you don't have a plan?"

Miles shook his head, splashing water everywhere like a wet dog. "Obviously not, I can't think of ideas off the top of my head. I don't know about you, but I need shelter, I'm freezing my ass out here."

"I don't feel safe going in there."

There was another crack of lighting.

Miles turned around with his camera held up. "And I don't feel safe out here. So get fucked, we're going inside the building." His smug expression faded slightly to assure the nervous man. "It'll be fine, Park, we won't be here for long, I swear."

A wispy black cloud swirled behind Waylon. The other man didn't seem to notice, but it sent a shiver up Miles' spine. By the time he blinked once again, it was gone. He decided not to bring it up. He didn't want Waylon to freak out anymore-or worse, think he was crazy for seeing things.

Miles opened the door and Waylon- very reluctantly entered the deserted building. "The Vocational Block." He mused. Haven't visited this part of the asylum yet. It looks even worse than the Male Ward, and that's saying something.

Waylon paled, looking around in a panic at the rotting walls and closed in space. "Wh- what did you say?"

Miles clicked his tongue. "We're in the Vocational Block."

The shorter man's eyes frantically darted about. His face twisted, sickly and horrified. "No...no...no...it can't be- I just left I couldn't have- no..." He had the same petrified look when Miles had brought up the Morphogenic Engine-and that worried him.

"What's wrong?" He demanded, holding onto Waylon's shoulders to stop him from collapsing.

"He's here, oh God, he's gonna get me, he's gonna fucking rip me to shreds I can't-" He babbled, pressing himself against the closest wall.

"Park! What are you on about?"

Park continued to shake and tremble, whimpering unintelligible words and pale as a ghost.

"I'm not gonna repeat myself. Tell me what's wrong." He tried to keep him calm as best as he could, while still trying to be reasonable.

"We need to leave right now," Waylon said in a hoarse whisper. "This is the Groom's territory."

He frowned. "The Groom...? You mean the crazy guy who wants a bride and was chasing you?"

"And tried to cut off my dick and balls with a saw, yes," He gulped, voice wavering.

"Oh fuck, I can't believe I forgot about that part."

"The things I saw Miles, I never want to see again. I barely escaped- I was naked and bound and...I almost didn't make it. He would have mutilated me just like he did with the others." He gestured meekly to his chest area, then lower, before clenching his fists. "He'll do the same to you."

"I don't think he'll be too impressed with what I got." Miles shrugged, glancing down at his jeans and then looking back up. "This would be so much easier if we could fight back. Give him a quick punch to the face."

"He has knives, Upshur."

"Yeah, well. Okay, maybe there's a shortcut or something to get the hell outta here."

"I think there is..." Waylon muttered. "Past that elevator shaft. That's where I fell and hurt my leg."

The aforementioned elevator shaft was empty save for a broken ladder hanging to the walls. There were shards of wood and glass at the bottom, soaked in dried blood. Waylon's blood. "Damn. That's a nasty fall."

"I was trying to flee, and The Groom didn't...exactly like that." Waylon tried to move past it, still panting from his panic attack.

"And they call him the Groom because he wants to make a bunch of men his brides?"

"Yes. His patient report said his name is Eddie Gluskin and he's obsessed with marriage to an unhealthy degree. Something about past abuse, I don't really know. Since there were no female patients to torture left, I suppose he took his chance with the male inmates to create...an idealistic woman. Which led to some horrific results as you can probably imagine. He thinks I'm a...woman too."

Miles shuddered. Somehow knowing that knowledge made everything worse. The further they stepped down the halls, the more Miles wanted to run out of there. The walls were splattered (presumably with blood) with odd phrases like 'There's no place like home', 'Love makes a house a home' and other mushy romanticized bullshit. It was bizarre. Old timey 1920s music crackled through some speakers as they walked. He hadn't even noticed it before, he was too distracted by how disturbing everything else was. He wasn't sure if he wanted to keep moving. Maybe he should have listened to Waylon.

The instrumental became louder and louder. And then someone, a distinct baritone, started to sing along with the music. Only this time, it was too clear to be a recording.

"I want a girl, just like the girl that married my Dad..."

"Shit!" Waylon stopped in his tracks. "It's him."

Him could only mean The Groom. The vocals, although pleasant to the ear, were eerie knowing who exactly was singing. Miles have never met him, let alone seen him, but he was smart enough to trust Waylon.

"Are you sure?"

"She was a pearl and the only girl that Daddy ever had."

"Yes!"

Miles' mind was scattered, unsure of where to go in this maze. His heart pounded, the singing seemed to be close now. Too close. He wanted to be cautious and protect Park at the same time. "What do we do? Uh- um-" He grabbed the closest doorknob-grateful it was not locked and shoved it open. "This way!"

But Waylon wasn't there when he checked behind him. He had somehow gone the other way and disappeared without Miles noticing. He groaned and slammed the door. If Eddie Gluskin was like of the other variants, he would be too stupid to actually open the doors, and instead try to bash it-giving the reporter some time to hide. With any luck, Waylon found somewhere else to hide.

Okay. Don't panic. You're just hiding from a deranged maniac. Again. Only this one might be worse.

This room wasn't dark like the others. There was a blinking light bulb above the middle, so Miles was able to see where he was going. The only problem was if The Groom managed to find him, then his hiding spots would be limited and quite frankly, pointless.

He panted, resting his hand on...something. He glanced over, flinching at the strange touch of the object, registering what it was. It was an old fashioned iron sewing machine. The needle was still in place and hovering over some white fabric, as if it was used recently. A stool was beside it. "What the...?"

He turned off night vision on his camera and pressed record. All around him were mannequins, staring blankly at him with their dead eyes. They were all clad in dresses, flowing white wedding dresses. Some were long, made from lace that fell to the floor, others were low cut around the bust with patches stitched crudely at the bodice. Upon closer inspection, they were made from spare straitjackets. Clearly, this was no simple arts and crafts project.

"Ugh...this is..." He didn't have any words to describe how messed up it was, accidentally brushing against a mannequin with his hip. "I need to find Waylon and get out of here. Right now. He was right, God I can't believe he was right."

The music abruptly stopped.

"Ah, I see you've been admiring my dresses, darling."

Miles' blood ran cold. No...

"I've been told I'm quite the talented tailor. Although it is typically a woman's job to fret over such feminine activities, I wanted to make sure my beloved looked beautiful on our big day."

He quickly dove under the nearest table. He didn't know where The Groom's voice was coming from- if he was in the room or not, but he sure wasn't taking any chances.

"Unlike those sluts I've been forced to deal with, I can tell all you want is to be loved and appreciated. I can help you. I've been rethinking, and I've chosen to forgive you for your past misdeeds. You were only playing hard to get, you little vixen."

He fought the urge to gag. This man's attempt at charm was pathetic.

"You needn't hide from me, I know you're in here. I recognized your sweet, soothing voice calling out to me. Come out, my dear," the door creaked opened from the other side. "I'm tired of playing silly games." Footsteps, loud ones stomped through the room. "There's nothing to be frightened of. I'm only here to free you of any vulgar parts and create an honest woman of you."

Miles was revolted. It had been a long time since he heard those words referring to him, and something in him snapped. "Fuck off!"

He instantly regretted it. The mood shifted, from sultry and suave to dangerous and demented.

"My, my, what vulgar words," He chided. "And here I thought, you were different from the others." Gluskin crouched down to meet face to face with Miles caused him to gasp. His appearance- although not as hideous as Chris Walker or Rick Trager, was not pleasing. His eyes were sunken, face gaunt, covered in grotesque red blisters from the engine.

Miles glared at him, trying to not show any weakness.

"You...you are not my love." The Groom growled after the realization had sunk in.

"Don't come any closer." He warned.

The Groom's expression darkened. He was remarkably tall, too large for him to grab at Miles with the space between them. "Tell me where she is." He demanded.

"He's far away from you," He spat. "Probably. Even if I did know, I would never tell."

If The Groom noticed the pronoun change, he didn't acknowledge it. "You stole her away from me." He accused, voice low and haunting. "I can see your lies with those swinish eyes. You corrupted her-seduced her! You...vile...whore!"

"Did you really just-?" Miles held on to a table leg tightly, trying to figure out an escape plan. If he could only figure out where The Groom entered...

Like a switch, the Groom's demeanor made him filled with rage. "Tell me where she is before I slit your throat!" He thundered, reaching for a freshly sharpened knife from his pocket.

Split second decisions were necessary, as Eddie Gluskin continued to rant and rave nonsense about Miles stealing Waylon away from him or something. Without thinking, Miles leaned back, raised his knee, and smashed his shoe into Gluskin's face-thankful that he chose to wear his trusty hiking boots. He scrambled under the table to the other side, using the extra time he had to find the door The Groom had foolishly left open. He grinned, sprinting towards it.

He thought for a moment that he was free. But that had been wishful thinking. He underestimated the Groom. He was grabbed instantly, manhandled by the shoulders and roughly shoved against the wall. Kicking and swearing did nothing to stop the towering man from keeping him still. Miles shut his eyes and hoped for a swift death. But he didn't see a weapon at all. Instead, he saw the Groom stare at him maliciously, a bruise forming on his nose from Miles' kick.

"You're quite feisty, I must admit," Gluskin mused, only holding on to Miles with one arm. He laughed as the other man yelped and struggled against his grip. "For a moment, I thought you were actually going to escape. You remind me so much of my fiance..." He caressed one of Miles' stray curls with his free arm. "Always running away. So very timid, she is."

He said it so naturally, as though he had been practicing this fantasy for a long time. And he probably had.

"Get off me!" growled Miles. He didn't care that he was poking the tiger. He was pissed.

His flailing only seemed to make the Groom laugh harder and tighten his grip around his throat to silence his screams into wheezes. "She never attacked me however," The way he didn't hide his obvious arousal made Miles want to apologize profusely to Waylon forever thinking he was a coward. "You're a fiery minx, aren't you? Now, I understand that the fairer sex has a tendency to be emotional, but getting into hysterics is simply... unacceptable." He moved on from stroking his hair, to rest his fingertips on his chin, grimacing in disgust at Miles' scruff. "Such vulgar hairs that need to be tamed. But those eyes...I could stare at them for hours..."

"Don't fucking touch me." He repeated, his voice barely escaping a croaked whisper. Nausea surged his insides with every violating touch.

He ignored his shaking and smirked. "I only want a little peek. You best behave." He very slowly started to lower his hand to feel around Miles' belt, tutting. He wanted to fight back, to struggle harder, but the idea of getting stabbed didn't sound pleasant.

Then, with the Groom's hand hovering over Miles' zipper, he blurted out a weak, "Stop!"

It didn't work. The Groom simply loosened the clasp of the belt and zipper, pulled them down and started to fondle Miles' crotch for a little too long; before realizing something didn't seem quite right. The baggy center of his underwear was not what he had expected at all. "I...don't believe it. Your parts are..." He uttered, dumbfounded. "You have no..."

"Ugh, thanks for the astute observation," Miles snarled. "Put my packer back on, fuckface."

"Did another man do this to you?" He demanded, ignoring Miles' request. He continued to stare at his crotch like it was the most disturbing thing he had ever since.

His cheeks flushed. "Do what?"

"He cut away everything vulgar already, didn't he?" The Groom stated. When Miles did not reply from pure confusion, he repeated, this time with more venom. "Didn't he?"

"I- I don't-"

"You let someone else steal your virginity away. I should have known you were a filthy slut consumed by lust. I suspected it, but now I see the truth."

Oh. He thinks another man did this to me-that I'm just another guy who got mutilated.

"Well, yes, but actually no-" Miles didn't even want to try to explain that wasn't how any of that worked. Reasoning with Eddie Gluskin was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall who also happened to be choking him and losing his patience. He had to tread carefully.

The tension evaporated into stunned silence. The Groom, for a brief moment, was at a loss for words.

"You have no use to me," Eddie said, eerily low. Despite his frequent mood swings, the man did not snap at him this time, and instead said more matter of factly: "You have already let another man plant his seed inside your mangled womb. It's too late for you. Be still."

Eddie kept a firm grip, squeezing his neck harder until Miles gasped and gagged. The world was spinning, his eyes rolled around, trying to keep his breathing steady. But he couldn't. His throat tightened once more before he was released. He let out one final whimper before he finally fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Now look at what you made me do, darling..."

Then everything faded to black.

Miraculously, Miles somehow woke up not dead. He didn't think he knocked out for very long, but long enough to feel dazed and confused. It took a second for him to adjust, his neck probably bruised from Eddie choking him. But he was alive.

He blinked his bleary eyes and tried to figure out where he was. Looking down, he could see he was in some kind of gymnasium, complete with a balance beam and a rusty basketball hoop. A gymnasium was an odd place to be held hostage, but seeing as the room was altered with metal rods poking through the floors and walls, it clearly had been designed for torture.

The first thing he noticed was that his legs were completely numb from the hips down. As were his arms, and it took a second to realize he was tied up. His arms were in fact hanging over his head, bound together by the wrists, and he was dangling in the air by some rope through a strange pulley system. It explained why he couldn't feel any of his limbs. He glanced down, breathing a sigh of relief to see he was still wearing clothes. But why was he still alive? He thought for sure that Eddie would have killed him by now...

He yelped when his body rocked slightly, bumping into another body hanging alongside him. That was the second thing he noticed. He was not the only one hanging. No, there were plenty of men lying, some upside down like pigs in a meat locker. Unlike Miles however, they were all dead. Judging by the smell and the flies buzzing around each individual corpse, they hadn't been dead for very long. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind this specific massacre.

Miles' closest 'neighbor' was a man with his eyes gouged out. Lumpy pieces of flesh were sewed to his chest in an attempt to look like breasts, and his cock was shredded apart until nothing was left. His mouth was wide open, stuck in a permanent scream. Dozens of men, mutilated and worse. Killed by the same man and left to rot without any remaining distinguishing features left.

Wait...these men aren't just his murder victims. They're his rejected brides.

He took another look at the metal poles. There were so many, sharp and pointed and holding together corpses like some fucked up shish kebabs. And Miles was currently in the center of it all.

He didn't try to struggle against the ropes. He was hanging incredibly high, and the ropes were loose. If he tried anything, there was a good chance he would fall straight down and either break the rest of his ribs or be impaled by a metal rod. No, all he could do now was-

"At long last, you've awoken."

Miles flinched at the sudden noise, scowling as he saw Eddie Gluskin smiling at him. His arm was resting on the pulley system connected to Miles and he hadn't even noticed. "I swear, when I get down from here, I'll-"

"Oh my, I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," Gluskin said, shaking his head. "Especially when your threats could land you in even more danger. Why, if I let go of this rope...you'll plummet to the ground. Your life rests on my hands."

"Why are you keeping me alive? I thought you said I was a useless whore."

The man's sadistic grin seemed to grow wider.

"You're right, I did. But then I realized while you were sleeping that this could be a perfect opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Miles' stomach dropped.

"What's a wedding without bridesmaids?" Eddie brought the rope down to his chest, which caused Miles to drop slightly. "That is where you come in. Once I found my bride, you will celebrate the ceremony with us. I know how you women are, wanting to chat with each other and the like."

Miles gulped. When Eddie pulled the rope, it had made him move close to one of the metal rods. If he wasn't careful, he would surely fall. "Right, um, okay. I'll be the bridesmaid. Just one thing, can you let me down?"

"Silly girl, of course not. Not until I find my fiance."

He cringed. He knew Eddie was demented, but that didn't shake how uncomfortable he was with being referred to as a woman. He did have more important things to worry about though, like not getting impaled.

"For your sake, you best hope she shows up soon," Eddie said, in a sing-song tone.

Soft footsteps entered from the opposite side of the room. "I'm here." The voice was quiet, but echoed loudly from the gymnasium's large space. Miles had never been happier to see Waylon Park standing there. He looked unscathed too, most likely from hiding somewhere the entire time.

"Darling!" Eddie exclaimed. "There you are, my sweet. Where have you been?"

Waylon batted his eyelashes coyly. "Oh, I was ...looking for you, actually. I overheard you saying you had a bridesmaid for me?"

Park! What are you doing? Miles wanted to scream. Unless, he was playing Eddie for a fool, putting on an act that he was a blushing bride.

"Why, yes I did." Eddie planted a kiss on Waylon's extended knuckle. "Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"May I see her? Please."

"Of course." Eddie gave the rope some slack, lowering Miles a bit, but not enough to touch the ground. "She isn't nearly as beautiful as you."

"Oh Eddie..." Waylon actually giggled, much to Miles' discomfort. "She's perfect."

Eddie grimaced. "Her body has been tainted by another man. I would like to make a few adjustments to her, and you."

Park cocked his head to one side, motioning to Miles behind him, was a particularly sharp cluster of rods. In front, was a crooked balance beam lying on the floor, unused.

At that moment, he had a funny idea of what the man was going to do next.

Waylon's attempts at flirting seemed to be working, as Eddie was distracted by his sweet and shy demeanor. His gaze fell amongst each individual object, the crumbling roof, mixed with the crooked beam and the rods and the rope and-

Snap!

The Groom released the rope containing Miles, who landed with a thud. His eyes shut from the impact, unable to see what was happening. Even if he did see what happened, he was obscured by a beam in front of him. He heard Waylon cry out in horror, an unsettling crack followed by Eddie's agonized scream. The squelched squish hitting something sharp. Then silence.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

Miles' eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused. Still bound, he tried to crawl forward to see what was going on and if Waylon was okay. As he turned, he finally saw what was causing the man to freak out.

There was that same row of metal rods resting against the wall-the torture chamber. In the middle was the Groom himself, completely impaled. His ribcage was torn apart and his organs were leaking out into a bloody pulp.

Miles took a second to examine the corpse, checking to see if he really was dead. Even if no human was able to survive such a gruesome encounter, he wanted to be safe. He breathed a loud sigh of relief. He's dead? How did this happen? I didn't see anything!

Thankfully the sobbing man coated in blood answered his questions. "I didn't mean to- oh god...oh god he's dead..?"

"Park?" He asked nervously.

"I killed him." Waylon's terrified eyes stayed put, watching Eddie's lifeless form. Then he started to shake. "I killed him."

"What?" Miles tried to stand, looking over closer at Eddie's body. He almost wanted to laugh. "Oh thank god you did, I thought for sure I was a goner. How did you...?"

"I didn't mean to." Waylon whimpered, voice cracking. "I was walking towards him, letting him touch me. I thought...I thought I could lead him away and I could save you." He laughed, still trembling. "Then he fell and tripped, just like that. It was so easy, so fast. I could have stopped him if I wanted to. But I didn't. Did you check if he actually died?"

"He's dead." Miles confirmed.

"How much blood is on me?" Waylon asked as he wiped his tears. He didn't let Miles answer. "I'm just like all the others, aren't I? All the patients that have murdered innocent lives."

"He wasn't innocent."

"I let him die. And I don't feel guilty at all. I'm just relieved."

"You did the right thing." Miles tried to meet Waylon's dark eyes. "Even if it doesn't feel right. He won't be able to harm anyone anymore."

"I wanted to save you. I couldn't let him harm you. Is that crazy?"

He thought for a moment, trying to reflect on what was being said. If he said yes, then he would simply be a hypocrite. He had laughed right at Trager's corpse, filled with glee as that monster of a man let out his final gasp. It made Miles feel safe at last. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was losing his mind in this terrible place. But God, did revenge feel amazing.

"If it is, then I couldn't be more grateful," Miles said calmly. "I don't know how you did it...but you did."

There was a long pause. The only sound he could make out was the dripping of Eddie's insides hitting the floor and Waylon's uneven, panicking breaths.

"Um, Park? I know this is probably a bad time to ask...but could you maybe untie me?" Waylon wordlessly loosened the ropes and released Miles. "Thanks."

"We should go."

"Yeah. I ...I think the rain stopped. We can keep looking for Father Martin. Then you can go home."

Waylon took one last look at Eddie's lifeless eyes. "I don't know if I can ever go home."