4. Damien

I'm a patient man and one thing patience grants me is the ability to sit and wait for the perfect time to strike. All of my ducks need to be in a perfectly organized row before I can make my move. If I do it too soon, I'll cut down my time to get to my end goal as quickly as possible.

Everyone thinks the notorious Damien King is a mindless zombie, but it's all an act to get their guard down. They have no clue that I cheek my meds so I'm at full strength when the right time comes. I've learned to drool and drop my weight on command and none are the wiser for it. No one suspects a thing.

I am the lion laying in wait and the gazelles move around me with no idea that I'm ready to pounce.

For almost a decade, I've bounced back and forth between the general population of the prison and the psych hospital.

Escaping from a regular psychiatric hospital is hard. Escaping from a prison is impossible, but a prison psych hospital, it's the middle ground. It's the closest I've come to freedom. Since my sentencing, I've added one hundred people to my body count, hence the frequent visits to the prison psych hospital.

I don't give a shit about anyone's life, not a single person, except her. And she's not here. If she was, I wouldn't have a reason to leave.

I need to get back to her. I've been slowly dying without her. Fourteen years is too fucking long without her by my side, in my fucking arms. Still, I wait because I have no other choice. Trixie depends on me biding my time.

The door to my room opens as I stare at the floor in front of me, pretending to be completely zonked out. Med time has already come and gone. So, why is someone in my room?

"Evening, Damien."

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. I barely hold in a smile at his arrival. Check-fucking-mate.

He's a security guard. His name is Luke Martin and rumor has it that he moonlights here to earn extra money for his family. Apparently, working as a cop in Chippewa Falls pays shitty so he has no choice but to work security.

Such a shame. Everyone says he's one of the good ones.

"It's lights out, Damien," he mutters as he steps further into the room, but I don't move an inch. He can come turn it out if he wants. "You know, even though it's been fourteen years, everyone back home still remembers you. The kids call you The Boogeyman, but the adults…we remember. What the hell happened to you?"

If only you knew, Luke.A lot of fucked up shit happened to me.

"You probably don't remember me, but we had classes together that year. You're actually one of the reasons I requested this job. I wanted to make sure you were taken care of. A lot of people want to think you're just evil incarnate, but I don't think you are. I know the boy who was my classmate and I really hope he's in there somewhere."

Keep reminiscing, Luke. It's just going to get your head bashed in. Might even get you skull fucked, literally.

"It would really suck if he just disappeared. Maybe he'll come back someday." Luke walks around the bed and I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't move. I barely even blink. "Goodnight, Damien."

He reaches for the light switch and I fucking pounce. Slamming him into the wall, he squeals like a dying cat. Well, he got the dying part right.

"Damien, what are you doing!" he screams, but he knows just as well as I do that these rooms are sound proof. No one will hear him scream, no matter how loud he is.

It's nothing personal, Luke.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, I slam his face into the faux brick wall and he cries in pain. His face crashes against the wall again, blood spurting out of his mouth and bathing the wall in it. Instead of wasting more time torturing him, I wrap my arm around his throat and squeeze his throat between my bicep and forearm, tightening as much as I can as he sputters…until I hear the pop in his neck and he goes completely slack. Either he passed out or I broke his neck. Doesn't matter to me. I'll get what I need from him and make my escape.

Luck must be on my side because Luke is roughly the same size as me in every place. He must spend most of his time in the gym instead of with his family. Such a pity.

I'm quick to undress him and swap our clothes before grabbing his car keys, wallet, and all of the different accessories for his security guard uniform. Winding up my long hair around my hand, I shove it up into the baseball hat that says Security on it before leaving Luke bleeding on the floor.

I've spent over a decade preparing myself for this day–the day that I get out of this place–and nothing will stand in my way. Keeping my hand on the taser at my waist, I track my moves through the hall. I've been led in, out, and around this ward enough times. I know my way through it and that was this cell"s biggest mistake. Do not let your most dangerous prisoner know the way out.

"Goodnight, Luke!" some nurse calls from behind me, but considering they think I'm Officer Martin, I wave my hand behind my head to keep from drawing too much attention. I will gladly kill every motherfucker in this place, but the longer I stay in here, the more likely I'll lose time and time is not something I have a lot to give along with fucks and humanity.

I take in a deep breath as I step outside and pull the hat over my head, blocking out the freezing rain pelting down on me from above. It soaks through Luke's uniform, but it's better than being in that place. Yanking the car keys from my pocket, I click the unlock button and follow the flashing headlight through the blinding downpour. Once I unlock the forest green Jeep, I climb inside and lock the doors with a sigh before ripping the hat off my head, shaking out my hair.

I did it. I fucking did it. I got out.

Putting the key in the ignition, I turn it on and pull it out of the parking spot, speeding out of the employee lot.

* * *

I fucking remember everything,which also means I remember the way to the Rothchild house from the few times the devil and I had to pick Trixie up from her parents. It's not a big house, but it's in a better condition than the one we were living in.

That reason alone is enough for me to slit Mr. and Mrs. Rothchild's throats. They could've easily hired a nanny to take care of Trixie, but they sent her into that war zone the devil called a house. They didn't fucking care. She is their daughter and they left her in a house for weeks at a time that should've been condemned. They don't fucking deserve her.

I pull the Jeep into the thick brush of the woods surrounding their house and look through the glove compartment until I find Luke's gun. I prefer more hands-on methods, but this will do for now. Switching out the security shirt for a hoodie from the passenger seat, I shove the gun in my pocket before climbing out.

They are going to get the shock of their fucking life when I go in there and take Trixie, but they won't be able to complain with a bullet between their eyes, can they? Fucking pricks.

I don't try to hide that I'm coming. Instead, I walk right up to the front door and knock because I'm a fucking gentleman like that. I wait patiently with my hands in my pockets as I hear the soft patter of feet and conversation on the other side of the door.

"Who could be here at this hour? It's almost two in the morning!" Mr. Rothchild mutters in aggravation.

"Calm down, Albert. It's probably just someone with car trouble."

I huff with humor. Car trouble indeed.

The door opens a crack with the chain lock in place. "Can I help you?" Mrs. Rothchild asks and rage fills me as I look at the familiar woman who would abandon her daughter regularly to travel the world with her husband. This bitch deserves to die.

Without waiting a moment, I slam my boot into the door with all the force in my body. The chain snaps and the door slams against the wall, vibrating on impact, denting the wall from the force.

They scream in horror as I step inside and pull out the gun, pointing it between the two of them. Without taking my eyes off them, I kick the door closed and scowl at the most worthless excuse for parents I've ever had the displeasure of knowing. They did bring Trixie into the world so there must be something redeemable in them. It's the only reason I haven't pulled the trigger yet.

Trixie.

"What do you want?" Mr. Rothschild cowers like the waste of space he is and his wife holds up her hands defensively.

"We have money and you can take our car if you need. Just don't kill us, please."

This entire situation is laughable. They don't even recognize me. They have no idea who just walked into their house or how much danger they are in right now. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the only personal belonging I was allowed to keep while I was locked up and flash the picture of me and Trixie at them.

Mrs. Rothchild glances between me and the photograph of us together and I see the moment it all clicks. She gasps in horror. "It's you! You're that–that–that boy…Damien." She cowers beside her husband as they cry. So fucking pathetic.

I shoot the wall beside their heads and they scream as I thrust the photo at them again.

Where is Trixie?

Mr. Rothchild shakes. "Bellatrix? That's what you want, right?" he asks.

I nod once.

He stutters like an idiot before covering his head with his hands like they're bulletproof or something. It's hilarious really. "After the killings…we–we gave her up for-for adoption."

The amount of rage the boils in my blood has my entire body twitching. They fucking gave her away!

I cock the gun, so fucking pissed I want to destroy their corpses until they are unrecognizable. They put her in that bad situation then they threw her out like she was nothing. They were her parents. They were supposed to protect her.

"We had no other choice," he sobs brokenly. "Our jobs took us all over the world. Samantha was the only reason we were able to keep Bellatrix in our lives at all. Once she was gone, we couldn't keep our daughter. She has a better life now with a loving family that's always there for her."

Mrs. Rothchild has some balls because she stands up and blocks her pissant husband from view with her hands up. "We can tell you where she is. She's still in Chippewa Falls. We see her all the time."

I nod for her to continue, but she seems tongue-tied, like the words are on the tip of her tongue. My patience is wearing thin. I didn't come here expecting to find out they threw my girl away just because life got hard. I came here expecting to find her warm and comfortable in her bed upstairs, her raven hair fanning around her face. "She was adopted by the…the…the…"

"That detective," Mr Rothchild speaks up. "Sullivan. He's the lieutenant now. He and his wife adopted her and changed her name."

"That's right!" the bitch pipes up. "Aurora. They changed her name to Aurora, like Sleeping Beauty." She grins like this makes everything better.

It fixes nothing, except I now know where to find her. It just became a bit more complicated. I doubt Trixie even knows who she is. I bet the Lieutenant hasn't told her anything about what happened. I bet she doesn't remember me, but I'll make her remember.

Without another second for them to process anything, I pull the trigger and the hammer slams back, the bullet flying through the barrel. It pierces Mrs. Rothchild's skull and with a splash of blood exiting her brain, she falls lifeless to the floor. Her husband instantly starts screaming.

"Susan, no!" He turns to his wife and pulls her into his arms before glaring at me. "You're going to burn in hell. She's a cop's daughter now! You can't just kill her and get away with it. It's different than a house of junkies. They'll hunt you down then you'll burn for this!"

Maybe they will hunt me down for what I'm going to do, but I don't really care if I live or die. All I care about is getting to her.

I cock the gun and shoot him between the eyes so he can join his despicable wife in hell. Maybe we'll have adjoining rooms when this is all over. Won't that be swell?

* * *

I stay awakeall night to track her down and dawn is just breaking when I squat down in the bushes outside of the Sullivan home, staring up at the house. The internal clock ticks away in my head, like my subconscious is keeping track of every second that passes until I can look at her face again and make sure I didn't make a mistake by killing the Rothchild's prematurely. Either way, I'll still find her. It will just take a little more time.

The sun rises over the house a few minutes before the doors on the top balcony swing open and my eyes are glued to the shadows within. Who is going to come out? Will it be her or one of the assholes I'm going to put down?

Suddenly, a woman walks out in a black tank top and sleep shorts, holding a coffee mug between her fingers. Without thinking about it at all, I know it deep within my gut. It's her. Her hair is dyed silver with her dark roots poking through and she's not a little girl anymore, but I know it all the way down to my soul. It's my girl, the one who was ripped from my arms kicking and screaming.

I can still hear her crying for me, but seeing her there, it brings a peace to me I haven't felt since the last time she was in my arms.

She flips her hair over her shoulders as she presses her elbows on the balcony edge. She takes in her surroundings like an innocent baby bird ready to take flight, but then her gaze stops on me. I know she couldn't possibly see me. I'm too far away and behind a bush. I can see her just fine through the branches, but she shouldn't be able to get a clear picture of me. I'm perfectly hidden from view.

Her fingers run through her hair absentmindedly, but she must sense me because she doesn't look away. I want her to see me, to remember me. I want her to run out that door, let me take her in my arms, and be glad that I've come back for her.

Please, remember me, Trixie.

Suddenly, a car zooms down the street and the brakes squeal as they come to a quick stop in front of her house.

"Hey, Sullivan!" the driver yells before a catcalling whistle falls from his lips.

The rage that settles in my bones is unlike anything I've ever experienced. The way she seems to retreat into herself solidifies that whoever this fuckhead is, he needs to die for making her feel any type of way.

"Morning, Derek," she mutters with a frown on her face. "Say hi to your mom for me." Then, she turns and goes back inside, closing the door behind her.

Come back, Trixie. Don't let them make you uncomfortable.

"Dude! Give it up already. That Sullivan girl isn't interested," one of the douchebag's friends says before the idiot laughs.

"Who gives a shit? She doesn't need to be interested. She just needs to be there. She can complain to her Daddy all she wants afterward. No one's going to believe the little freak anyway. Just make sure she comes to my Devil's Night party and everything will be gravy."

Before I can stand to my feet and bash that fucker's face into his dashboard, burst his brains all over the place, his car races away. The blood surges through the back of my head and I fight to stay oriented to time and place even if I've lost the person bit along the way.

He was talking about raping her, forcing himself on her. No, not fucking happening. Over my dead body. No one fucking touches her. Not a single person, even if she wants them to.

The frat boy wannabe dies tonight, even if I have to scour all of Chippewa Falls for him, burning everything in my wake.

Lowering my hood over my head, I watch the house like a hawk until the man I recognize as a much older Officer Sullivan walks out of the house with who I can only assume is Mrs. Sullivan. They climb in their respective cars and drive away.

No matter how much I want to, I can't just burst through the door, throw her over my shoulder, and leave with her. I have a plan I have to see through so I can not only leave with her but keep her as well. It's going to take a lot of bloodshed, but that's the point of Halloween. No one ever expects anything bad to happen on Halloween and screams can easily be explained by excitement for the holiday.

Just be patient, Damien. We're almost there.