Epilogue

Several months later

Ibraced my hands over my ears to prevent the piercing alarm from tearing my eardrums apart.

We were herded out of our cells to congregate in the communal hall, so everyone could be accounted for.

What the fuck could it be this time?

Since the massacre of the Terror Squad months ago, there had been a full overhaul of Oakview Asylum. The government trialled numerous tactics to improve the place, introducing new doctors, new treatments. Everything. The only problem was, nobody knew what the fuck they were doing.

Most were terrified from the previous unanswered murders. Me? I didn't give a fuck. I absolutely hated most of the people who were gone. I say they deserved it.

So, if anything, my time here had improved immensely.

It was the middle of the night, inmates trailing through the dimmed corridors like lifeless zombies.

Then the lights cut out.

I breathed a sigh, darkness settling my tired mind, my fingers deftly flicking my lighter open and closed.

Click. Click.

I turned a corner and there, plastered on the wall in clear, glowing letters was a message—LAY LOW—with an arrow pointing in the opposite direction.

I could count on one hand how many people understood those words, their significance. Hell, less than one hand. More like two fingers for the people living.

I followed the arrows down deserted passageways and came to a side exit, my palm hesitating over the handle. Could this be a test? Even if it was, I couldn't bring myself to care.

With a deep breath, I pushed the latch open and there waiting for me was a good-looking stranger who seemed bored. Without a word, the corner of his mouth twitched, engraving a slight dimple into his stubbled cheek before he extended a hand.

Grasping onto the offer, he pulled me through the archway. The suppressant barrier was uncomfortable, however not anywhere near as painful as I last remembered.

The man released me, hitched his chin to the end of the alley, then turned in the opposite direction, vanishing into the night.

I pitched around the sharp corner he indicated and came up short.

Psycho leant back against one of two motorbikes, his arms wrapped around the shoulders of a blindfolded Dr Chaser who, in turn, settled back against his chest.

Psycho held a finger to his lips and my gaze caught on his freshly tattooed knuckles. Eight digits, each finger with a letter, altogether spelling M-Y-G-O-L-D-E-N.

"Can I see my present now?" she crooned. I'd never seen her like this. Instead of a professional suit and lab coat, she wore biker gear, tattoos peeking out over her skin.

Psycho nipped the flesh between her neck and shoulder. "Happy birthday, baby." Then he ripped off the blindfold.

Dr Chaser scanned the surrounds, amber eyes climbing my frame before a wide, genuine smile dominated her face.

I robotically waved, unsure what the fuck to do. "Ah, happy birthday, Doc."

She squeezed Psycho's hand and tilted her head to the second motorbike. "Let's go home, Ace."

Thanks for reading the journey of August and Micah.