His Lullaby {Eddie Gluskin x Waylon Park} {Outlast}

Chapter 3: The Sick & Twisted

Secrets have a cost. They're not free. Not now, not ever.

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"Lance!" a small voice called out.

"You can't catch me!" said another.

Waylon could hear giggling, the two jingles of the little boys' laughter creating a warm feeling in his chest.

He could see a dark corridor, everything fuzzy and out of line. Everything had this rainbow glint to it, swaying back and forth in beautiful waves as his eyes glanced over his surroundings. The sweet golden rays of sunshine shone through a window to his left, specs of dust gliding through the air. It was peaceful. He was peaceful.

Waylon slowly started to walk down the corridor, grunting in pain as he took his first step. He couldn't understand why, but everything hurt. It was as if he had just fallen down a flight of stairs, his ribs sitting unsteady and feeling like they'd fall apart at any moment. Waylon struggled to breathe, lungs burning as he gasped for air.

"Come back, Lance! I'm not fast enough!" the small voice called out again. The cheeriness in tone confused Waylon. The corridor was empty, and no lights were on. The only light was coming from those rays of sunshine, however cheap curtains covered them and swayed as the wind came through the window.

Waylon took another step, attempting to make it to the window. His legs hurt. Had he been running? His breathing was unsteady, as if so.

He looked out the window, but was surprised to see nothing but darkness. Where had the sunshine been coming from? Waylon backed up out of the window's view, sunshine glares remaining and specs of dust still flying around.

"Lance?" the voice called out, a bit closer to Waylon. He turned away from the window and looked into the void of the hall. It was completely empty, but he could make out a shape. It was a small boy with unruly hair, slouching a bit as he looked at Waylon.

"Aiden?" he called out. The figure looked like Aiden, or at least his shadow.

"Dad?" the voice called out again. The figure slowly walked towards him.

"Aiden!" Waylon cried, trying his best to run towards the figure. However, the corridor grew. Even though he was running - or at least attempting to given his pained and fatigued state - the figure was never getting closer.

Why wasn't it getting closer?

"Mr. Park?" a deep voice called out to him.

Waylon awoke, startled by the intrusion. His eyes were fuzzy and fatigue overcame him, although it was different this time.

"Mr. Park?" the voice asked again, closer this time.

Waylon looked around, surprised to see himself in his bed, once again surrounded by the pasty grey of the room Murkoff gave him. The covers had been thrown off the bed, and Waylon sat up. In the doorway stood Jerome, eyes tired and looking annoyed. Probably from having to continuously call out to Waylon.

"S.." Waylon breathed out. It felt as though he couldn't get his words to work right in his mouth. "Sorry. I'm awake." The room spun around him, however he tried to ignore it. He didn't feel like the people here would take kindly to him not working because of a bit of dizziness. All he could hope was that his feet would keep him right side up when he got out of bed.

"Good. I was hoping you would have gotten enough sleep last night but..." Jerome trailed off, taking in Waylon's state with a look of disgust on his face. "I suppose you'll just have to make it through today. You're starting work with Mr. Blaire this morning."