Chapter Two: Escape
21 years old. He was twenty-one years old today. And he was getting transferred. The voices got loud again.
Do it now, go! Go home, find her, kill her. NOW!
Michael took a breath. Today was the day. The day he's going home...
As Michael took that breath, he knew it was too late. He knew the voices had won. He had forgotten.
The voices had finally taken his sanity. He knew if he wasn't transferred out of there, it was only a matter of time before the voices made him kill Cynthia too. And this time, he was going to listen.
He started to shake. The voices were screaming now, so loud in his head, so insistent and persistent, that he couldn't even think straight.
His hands were shaking and his stomach was turning. He finally snapped...
In a flash, he was up from his seat on the bus, too quick for Loomis or any of the officers to catch as he grabbed a guard and bashed his head into the metal frame of the bus again and again and again until blood splattered on the wall, the guard's skull cracking with a dull thud.
Michael stood over the twitching body for a moment, breathing heavily, slightly confused. He was surprised at what he'd just done, but a part of him had been expecting it.
The voices had been telling him to do this for a long time.
He quickly took the guard's rifle and made his way toward the back of the bus, where he pushed another guard into the aisle grabbed him by the neck, pulling him to the back door, before throwing him out onto the highway. And then chaos erupted as guards and officers rushed to stop him, grabbing at him, and screaming for him to stop resisting.
It was so, so loud as Michael fired the rifle, hitting a guard behind him, blood and guts coding the wall in crimson red, and then Michael was gone. Gone like a shadow walking into the night.
It only took five seconds.
The chaos on the bus was a blur for Michael. He was in his world now. No more conflicting memories or confusion. No more waiting to come up with the right thing to do or say, or the right way to act. It was all just instinct and adrenaline, and the bloodlust in his own eyes. He could feel it beating in his chest, and for the first time in his life, he felt free.
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Michael wandered into the cold night, ignoring everything besides the voice guiding him home. It was the only voice he could hear and for the first time, he was grateful for the voice.
Michael walked alone through the woods, a dark cloak of night surrounding him. The voice in his head grew louder, and more powerful. He could feel it drawing him deeper into the trees, further away from civilization, further away from the doctor. Every step felt heavier like a weight pulling him down.
His breath became shallow, and his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. He felt trapped, lost in a world he could barely understand, but the voice pushed him forward, ever forward.
The more he walked the better he felt. Better because there were no more of the loud voices from the other annoying patients who just wouldn't shut up, no more of Loomis chatting nonstop bullshit in his ear, no more anything. And it was the most peace he felt in a long time.
When he stopped to rest for a while, all he could hear were the sounds of the birds chirping their songs, and the leaves rustling in the wind as he felt the cool breeze sweeping through him. With a wave of peace washing over him, Michael sat on a rock in the forest, breathing in the crisp, clean air. He stared into the night sky, the stars glowing brightly above him, and a sense of calm washed over him.
The voice in his head grew fainter until it was but a whisper, and then faded away entirely. For a moment he thought he could hear his mother... saying his name. He stood, glancing around curiously before his eyes caught a slim shape coming up to him.
He took a few small steps toward it, his head tilted slightly and his eyes zeroed in. As the shape came into focus he recognized his mother standing in front of him, with her warm little smile, and piercing blue eyes watching him intently.
She looked at him, resting her warming hand on the side of his face. "Michael..."
He just stared at her, unsure if he was dreaming or not. Her smile only grew softer as she took his hands in her own. "It's okay. You can come home now, Michael. You can go home and see Cynthia, just like old times..."
Michael felt himself relax, Yes. Cynthia. He needed to find her...
Suddenly he opened his eyes again and was still sitting there in the damp woods, only now the sun was peaking through the clouds and the trees, warming everything in sight.
Michael sighed and shook his head. Of course, it was a dream.
Michael pushed the dream away and stood up again. At least now he knew where he was going.
Home...