The Shield One-Shots Book 3

Crazy In Love/Ambrollins

 Screams of terror echoed off the stone walls of Oakside Asylum. The building had been placed on lockdown,  red lights pulsed in warning as sirens wailed. Everywhere you looked there were mangled bodies strewn across the floor - patients, Nurses, and Orderlies alike. He had killed them all in his rampage; their blood drenching his clothes like a badge of honour, victims to his insatiable hunger for killing. He clutched a kitchen knife, that he had swiped from the employee kitchen, with a tight grip, blood still dripping from the tip as he slowly moved through the corridors looking for his next victim.

 After swiping a staff member's keycard to gain access to the outside world, he made his way to the parking lot where he found the car that belonged to the keys he had also taken. With a sense of triumph, he calmly got into the car, placed the knife onto the passenger's seat, and started it up, driving away into the darkness. His destination was home- where he could start tracking down his prey that had eluded him for too long and he was getting antsy.

 The tires of his car squealed as he sped away from the Asylum, each mile taking him further away from his crimes. As he drove further and further away from the Asylum, his crimes had finally been discovered. He drove for hours, and when he finally arrived home, there was only darkness to greet him. Once he parked the car in the dilapidated garage and shut the door behind him, no one would know it was there. No one knew about this place, he had made sure of that, making sure that his crimes happened far away from here, keeping it his secret. This was his home and no one was going to come here unless he wanted them to. The full moon illuminated the crumbling house and broken grounds as he stepped outside and smiled – he was safe again, he was home.

 He stepped onto the front lawn, the grass patchy and dead in places, bushes overgrown and entwined with each other. Trees lined the property, giving it the illusion of being deep in a forest, isolating the house from everything else. He climbed the porch steps, which creaked under his weight, groaning with every step, threatening to collapse beneath him. The steps wobbled to one side and had holes in the boards near the top. He made it to the top, where he could see through the holes in the floorboards.

 The railing was broken in some places and the awning sagged against its frame. He tried to open the door, but it was stuck shut from years of disuse. Using his shoulder, he forced it open and began to pick his way through the debris that littered the house - broken furniture, old magazines scattered across the floors and cobwebs clinging to every dark corner. The air was hot and stale and carried a potent smell of mold and decay. Debris crunched underfoot as he made his way through the worn hallway until he reached a small bathroom at the back of the house.

He stepped into the musty bathroom, his feet crunching on bits of broken glass and other garbage as he felt around for a light switch. He knew there was no electricity in this old house; but still, he tried to turn it on. When nothing happened, he left the room and headed towards the kitchen. He rummaged through drawers and cupboards until he finally located a few dusty candleholders, candles, and matchsticks tucked away inside a kitchen drawer.

 Striking one match after another, he finally lit a candle and returned to the bathroom. His reflection stared back at him from the dirty cracked mirror, his reflection was distorted but still recognizable. With a crooked smile, he turned the water tap - but there was no water either. Sighing, he picked up the candle and walked out of the room. As he entered the living room, ready to build a fire, thunder rumbled across the sky sounding like it was getting closer.

 He made the decision to use the rain to clean himself, and he quickly placed the candle on the shaky coffee table. Taking a deep breath, he opened the back door and stepped outside into his backyard. The rain was falling hard but it felt nice against his heated skin. In moments, his clothes and body were damp with the cleansing water. He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes, lifting his arms out in a "T" formation, he then lifted his head towards the sky. The rain had cleansed him of the dirt, but it also seemed to quench the fire that had been raging inside of him—the same fire that had caused him to do what he did at the Asylum. But this relief was only temporary.