Six months earlier
A dark figure exited his house at eleven, thankful for the storm a few days earlier that had put out the streetlights. He half-ran, half-walked the few miles to the asylum. His father's keys jingled annoyingly in his pocket and he put his hand on them to silence them. One of the night workers knew he was coming, of course – he was going to tell where Roger was for some money.
To be honest, this dark figure would be fine with leaving Roger in the asylum if he hadn't heard what went on in them a few days earlier.
"So, Maurice, are you going to do what your father does?"
Maurice looked up from his dinner and grinned at the woman who was currently taking his father's attention. He wasn't a fan of her – he wasn't a fan of any of the women that his father kept company with – but he had a reputation of the director of the asylum's happy, cheerful son and he would keep that up, if only for his own good. "Probably," he said. "There's nothing else I'm interested in."
There was a truth in the lies he told people. He was interested in people who were… mentally unstable, so to speak. Insane. It was one of the reasons he'd liked Roger so much. Even when they were going to school, there was something… off about him. Maurice had tried to figure out what, exactly, was the thing that was wrong with Roger, but he hadn't managed it before they were rescued.
"What kind of things are they doing to help them nowadays?" the woman asked, directing her attention to Maurice's father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a perpetually uninterested expression and dark, thinning hair.
"Well, there is the electroshock therapy, of course," his father said. "And the frontal lobe surgery, but we don't do that for all of them. Other asylums have begun to move from these techniques, but we believe in sticking with the old ways."
Maurice hadn't wanted that to happen to Roger anymore – he'd been in Maurice's father's asylum for nearly five years, ever since they'd gotten back from the island. Most everyone had been able to go back to normal lives, Maurice figured. He had. He was fifteen years old now, he was going to school back at his old school – the only other boys from the island he recognized there were Robert and Henry, not even Jack went there anymore, and he had a girlfriend. Sort of.
Life was pretty nice.
But now he was breaking into an asylum at nearly midnight to rescue one of their more insane patients. Roger Dressler was in there because he was insane. He'd murdered two little children, oh he must be insane, too, we must lock him up.
Nobody had mentioned that Jack had been the chief, or that everyone had participated in killing Simon.
There it was – there was the asylum. Maurice wriggled under the fence, thankful for the recent growth spurt he'd had that had shot him up four inches and, as a result, made him a bit thinner. The bottom of the fence still caught on his shirt, however, and he wasted a few minutes getting himself untangled. The night attendant he would talk to was waiting by the south window – the south wing was completely empty, due to… well, due to something-or-other, Maurice sometimes zoned out his father while he was talking.
Maurice practically rolled to the window, partly because to stay a bit more unseen and partly because, well, it was fun! As soon as he ran into the side of the building he slowly raised himself to his knees and tapped on the window a few times. It was opened and Maurice crawled through. He handed the man a handful of money and the man pointed him in the direction of Roger.
Roger, apparently, was in a solitary confinement place. While most of the 'patients' were in large rooms that housed up to sixty people, Roger was by himself. Possibly in a straightjacket, but that was just Maurice's speculation.
He peered into the small windows at the top of each solitary confinement door. Nobody that looked like Roger.
Aha! There – a small, slumped figure. It looked dark-haired, but with the low light, Maurice couldn't be sure. He'd have to go in and check.
He looked up to see the number of the room, then fumbled with the keys until he found the right one. The lock jammed and Maurice found a slight flash of panic – what if someone came past while he was here, pressed against the door, trying to get it open.
But then the lock gave and Maurice opened the door. It creaked, and he winced. The person inside looked up, dark eyes glinting with the faint light trickling in from the hallway.
"Roger?" Maurice asked, taking a step toward him. The person pushed himself backward, eyes narrowing and baring his teeth. He was in a straightjacket – but his lips looked badly bitten, and the top of the straightjacket was littered with tooth-marks. "Roger, it's me. Maurice. I'm going to get you out of here."
He reached for Roger – supposedly, it certainly looked like Roger – and the smaller boy hissed at him. Maurice withdrew his hand and glanced back at the hallway. Someone was going to come past eventually – soon, probably – and then they'd be found out. He couldn't let Roger out of the straightjacket yet because he'd probably go psycho; Maurice had to wait until they were safely at home. Maurice's bedroom was the entire basement, he had a room in the back that he'd put a mattress in, Roger could stay in there.
"Fuck it," Maurice muttered, grabbing Roger around the middle and throwing him over his shoulder. Roger twisted, hissed, and even bit him once or twice as he shut the door with his foot, shoved the keys deep into his pocket, and sprinted down the hallway. "Stop it, I'm getting you out of here."
"You really want him?" the attendant that had helped him asked. Roger growled at him. "I don't even think he's human anymore."
"Roger's never been human," Maurice said, dumping Roger out the window first, then slipping out himself. The way home was difficult; thankfully his father was gone for the next few days on a holiday. He could replace the keys and get Roger down to his new room. And then get Roger some food, because he was incredibly light. Whether that was because he just wasn't eating or he didn't get enough to eat, Maurice didn't know.
"Alright Roger," Maurice muttered, putting Roger on his mattress. Roger sat, leaned against the wall, eyes narrowed. "I'm going to take you out of the straightjacket now. But if you try to escape or hurt me, you'll go straight back in. And I'm bigger than you. Do you understand?"
Roger didn't respond. Maurice undid the straightjacket with trembling fingers, keeping an eye on Roger's eyes the whole time. They looked dead now, like he was out of 'angry alley cat' stage and into 'I don't give a fuck what happens to me' stage.
"Alright," Maurice said, mouth dry. He backed up. "I'm going to… I'm going to go get you some food. A… do you want a sandwich and milk? Or maybe some cookies and milk. You look like you need cookies. Cookies it is."
He was rambling, he knew that, but he was so damn nervous he couldn't really help it. He backed out of the room, locking the door so that Roger couldn't get out – he didn't look like he wanted to get out, but you never knew – and got the food as quickly as he could. He didn't really want to leave Roger alone for too long.
He balanced the cup on the plate of cookies and opened the door. Almost as soon as he did so, Roger tackled him, the milk and cookies going flying and Maurice's back hitting the ground. Roger pinned him there, staring down at him with the 'angry alley cat' eyes back again.
"Roger," Maurice said, having to struggle to keep his voice from shaking. "Roger, let me up and go back to your room."
Roger didn't answer, and instead kept staring down at Maurice.
"Roger."
Nothing. Maurice decided to try a different tactic.
"Don't you want your cookies and milk? I'll have to get you new milk, of course, but you don't get them unless you get off of me and go back to your room. Right now," Maurice tried to make his voice as threatening as possible, but it didn't work. Roger just kept staring at him. His fingernails were starting to dig into Maurice's wrists. They were long; too long to not hurt. "Roger."
A thought hit him just then – what if this wasn't Roger? No, it had to be Roger. He looked like Roger, and he was perhaps a bit more psychotic than Roger had been, but… but those asylums were weird. He could've gotten incredibly catlike in there.
Maybe he should get Roger a kitten.
No, he had to focus on getting Roger back into the room. The only reason he couldn't was because he was scared. And he shouldn't be scared – he was twice Roger's size. No, Roger should be the scared one. Maurice pushed himself up. Roger was incredibly light.
"Now go back into your room," he told Roger, who had been moved to his lap. "Or I'll have to put you there."
Roger didn't budge, and Maurice picked him up and carried him to the room. Roger didn't try to bite him this time, and instead just stiffened. "Are you ever going to talk to me?" he asked. "Are you really Roger?"
He put Roger down on the bed and waited. After a few minutes, he sighed. "Never mind."
"Yes."
Maurice paused. He glanced back. Roger was looking at him. "W-what?"
"I am Roger," Roger said. His voice sounded like he hadn't used it to speak in a while. Maurice went back into the other room and brought back the cookie that hadn't been broken when it hit the floor. He handed it to Roger, and Roger began to eat it. Slowly, but he was eating.
Maurice smiled. This would work.
Actually, there are going to be either two or three POVs, switching every three chapters. Eventually they'll all connect.
