INSTITUTION OF THE ILL AND FORGOTTEN

CHAPTER ONE

(Skylar's POV)

As I stood before the ancient, castle-like mansion, a sense of foreboding washed over me. The dilapidated structure loomed ominously, its eerie presence sending shivers down my spine. Here I am, entering another hell, I thought, unable to shake off the feeling that something I never expected was going to happen.

But how did I end up here? To unravel the mystery, we must journey back two days ago, to a moment that changed everything.

The memory of my foster father's enraged voice echoed in my mind, piercing through the chaos of my thoughts. "SKYLAR!!!" he bellowed, his fury palpable. Startled, I leapt up from the makeshift bed, a mere sheet on a cold, unforgiving wooden floor. Confusion melded with fear as I braced myself for the inevitable, wondering what I had done wrong this time.

The door crashed open, revealing my foster father's wrathful countenance. His eyes burned with a ferocity that made my heart race. "DID I NOT TELL YOU THAT I WANTED THIS HOUSE SPARKLING CLEAN BY THE TIME I GOT BACK?" he raged, his words lashing at my fragile existence.

In that moment, a voice in my head, Rony, whispered that he had never given such an instruction. But I knew better than to speak up, aware that it would only invite more suffering. So, I remained silent as he unleashed his fury upon me, his blows raining down relentlessly.

The world around me blurred, the sound of his violence drowned by the ringing in my ears. Defiantly, I refused to make a sound, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my pain. As the onslaught continued, I felt an eerie detachment, as if I had become disconnected from my own body, lost in a haze of desperation.

Lost in my torment, a thought whispered with sinister persuasion, urging me to end it all. Images of worthlessness and despair consumed my mind. "Why don't you just end it? You don't amount to anything," my thoughts taunted. But a flicker of resistance remained within me, a stubborn refusal to succumb. I stumbled into the bathroom, my trembling hand reaching for the razors, craving release from this torment.

Then, in that moment of darkness, Rony's voice broke through the chaos, a glimmer of hope in the abyss. "Skylar, don't. Let me take over, and this will be over soon enough." But I yearned for more than just a temporary respite. Ignoring his pleas, I continued my desperate ritual, dragging the razor across my skin, seeking solace in the pain.

Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open, and the world faded into blackness.

A few hours later:

I found myself inexplicably transported to a nightmarish realm, cloaked in darkness and devoid of any tangible form. It was as if I had been plunged into the depths of my own subconscious, trapped in a twisted dimension of fear and uncertainty. Faint whispers echoed through the murky void, teasing my ears but remaining frustratingly elusive, like muffled voices seeping through the depths of an ocean.

Suddenly, my senses sharpened, and I regained consciousness to find myself engulfed in blinding light. The searing pain coursing through my body left me groaning in agony, struggling to sit up against the nurse's stern warning. Slowly, the realization dawned upon me - I was confined within the sterile walls of a hospital. Panic washed over me, fueling my desperate attempts to rise despite the searing pain.

Chaos ensued as a wave of frantic voices filled the room, blending together into a cacophony of urgent pleas and alarmed exclamations. The sheer pandemonium only intensified my already skyrocketing anxiety, causing me to hyperventilate and lose control. In a desperate attempt to calm me down, the doctors made the decision to sedate me, plunging me once again into the depths of unconsciousness.

As the haze of sedation lifted, I awoke to find myself in the presence of an unexpected gathering. My social worker stood solemnly, flanked by two stern-faced police officers. A sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air as she exchanged hushed words with the officers, their expressions tense and serious. Their attention shifted abruptly as I made a small noise, drawing their collective gaze towards me.

With a soft yet commanding tone, my social worker said to me, her words laced with cautious optimism. "Good afternoon, Skylar," she greeted me. "These gentlemen are here to ask you some questions. Are you comfortable with that?" she inquired, her gaze filled with concern. With a hesitant nod, I signaled my consent, and the room fell into a tense silence, bracing for the unknown that lay ahead.

"Ok, Skylar," the police officer began, his voice filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. "We received a distressing call from the neighborhood watch about some alarming activity at your house yesterday. They mentioned hearing intense yelling. Can you shed some light on what happened?"

My mind raced, desperately searching for a way to protect myself, to keep the dark secrets hidden. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I contemplated my next move. The weight of my past, heavy with deception and pain, threatened to consume me. But I couldn't let them see the truth.

Summoning all the composure I could muster, I maintained a facade of casual indifference. "Nothing happened yesterday," I replied coolly, trying to disguise the tremor in my voice. "I simply forgot to do my chores, and, as a result, I was punished. That's all."

The police officers exchanged glances, clearly skeptical of my response. They scribbled something down in their notepads, their eyes fixed on me. One of them leaned forward, his voice laced with concern. "Does this kind of punishment happen frequently, Skylar?"

My heart pounded in my chest as I weighed my options. Admitting the truth could mean liberation from the horror I endured, but it also meant risking everything. Yet, the torment had become unbearable, and the truth yearned to break free. Summoning a hint of courage, I nodded slowly. "Yes," I finally confessed. "When instructions are not followed, the punishment can escalate."

The room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air. But the interrogation wasn't over. Another officer, his voice tinged with disbelief, pressed further. "Are you suggesting that the punishment gets so severe at times that you would resort to taking your own life?"

Silence enveloped me once more, as I contemplated my response. I clung to my right to remain silent, my eyes fixated on the floor. The officers exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of concern and disbelief. Eventually, they gathered their belongings and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

As the room emptied, only my social worker and a mysterious man remained. My social worker's voice resonated in the empty space, her words piercing through my haze of despair. "Skylar, your foster parent has been arrested for child abuse. You won't be returning to that home. Instead, you will be placed in an institution for the mentally ill, where they can provide the care and support you need."

A flicker of hope ignited within me, the possibility of a fresh start. But my social worker's next words shattered that hope. "Mr. Elijah here is the co-owner of the institution, and he will be taking you there. They will have full custody of you until they deem you healthy."

I gazed at Elijah, his presence both intimidating and intriguing. Questions flooded my mind, echoing through the corridors of my thoughts. What would my life be like now? Would this institution truly heal me? And who exactly was Mr. Elijah, the enigmatic figure who held the key to my uncertain future?

Back to the present

As I stood before the imposing mansion, uncertainty mingled with a glimmer of possibility. The next chapter of my life was about to unfold, a journey where secrets seemed to be the catchline. Little did I know that this new beginning held the potential to unravel the mysteries of my past and ignite a spark within me.

(A/N) WELL, I HOPE YOU LIKE THE CHAPTER, AND WHAT DO YOU THINK SO FAR?

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