ECHOES OF THE DAMNED (ENG)

EPILOGUE

'I don't remember killing them.'

Matheo's words echoed through the courtroom, his voice trembling. The faces before him—judges, jury, and the families of Alexis and Adrianna—were cold and unyielding. A few months had passed since that horrifying night at Colbert Hospital, but the weight of his actions had only grown heavier.

The detectives had gathered enough evidence to seal his fate. His DNA was all over the crime scene—on Alexis and Adrianna's bodies, the bloodied objects, his t-shirt on the floor, and the incriminating polaroids. Each photograph was like a frozen scream: terror in their eyes, fear on their faces, captured in brutal clarity by the camera he once used for his art. Now, those pictures were nothing but a twisted testament to his descent into madness.

Standing in court, Matheo looked lost, hollow. When asked to recount the night, all he could say was that he did not remember. His mind was a broken puzzle, the pieces scattered in a fog of confusion. He admitted his guilt, but not to the details. He had no memory of the violence, the rage, or the horror he had inflicted. The haunting truth was clear—he was not himself that night, something inside him had taken over, but no one believed him.

The trial moved swiftly. The evidence was overwhelming, but Matheo's defense was simple: he was not sane. The doctors testified in his favor, stating he suffered from severe dissociation and psychosis. The judge ruled that Matheo was mentally unfit, legally insane, and sentenced him to spend his days in a psychiatric hospital, rather than a prison.

The sterile white walls of the psychward became his new reality. Each day blurred into the next, the monotony unbearable, yet strangely numbing. There were no more photos, no more polaroid, no more adventures—only the endless torment of not knowing, not remembering, and never being able to take back what had happened.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he would sit up in his narrow hospital bed, his breath catching as he imagined hearing faint whispers, like the voices he once heard in Colbert's shadowy halls. He would relive flashes of that night—glimpses of his friends, their laughter turned to screams, their faces frozen in those awful photos.

*

One quiet morning, Matheo sat at a plain, metal table in the psychiatric hospital's break room, staring down at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. The room was sterile and dimly lit, the only sounds the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional shuffle of other patients moving about in the background., His mind was elsewhere, swirling with memories—or rather, the absence of them.

His hands gripped the pen tightly as he tried to form the words that had been clawing at him for months. In front of him, the letter to his friends' families needed to be written. It was the least he could do.

With a deep breath, he lowered the pen to the paper, and slowly, the words began to flow.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Baron, Mrs. Cissé, Mr. Nguyen and Mr. and Mrs. Fortier.

I know that no words can undo the pain I've caused, and I don't expect forgiveness. But I owe you all an apology, and the truth—no matter how hard it is to write this letter.

I made a horrible mistake. Taking everyone on that urban exploration was reckless. It was all my idea, and I deeply regret it. At the time, I thought it was just another adventure, something exciting. But I was wrong. I put the people I cared about in harm's way, and for that, I am deeply sorry.

I don't have an explanation for what happened during those terrible hours. My mind is a fog, and I can't clearly remember much of that night—especially when it comes to Alexis and Adrianna. I know that I was responsible for their deaths. I know that I'm the one who did it, and I know that nothing will ever bring them back. But please understand, I wasn't myself. Something inside me changed that night. I don't know how to describe it, but I can't remember everything clearly, and that haunts me more than I can put into words. It's as if I became someone else, someone capable of doing things I never could have imagined.