Alyssa's Asylum

Hanging by a Thread

❤ A/N: Hey, I'm sorry this took a really long time! But here's this chapter. It's sort of a filler, with a little bit of a twist. The next chapter will come soon, I promise! Comment and vote please! ~Emi❤

Chapter Six:

I leaned against the rough bark of the towering oak tree. Out of the corner of my eye, I could still see the Asylum, set atop the looming Doomsday Hill. From this view, I could appreciate that the grey building was in desperate need of repair. It was easy to imagine that a secret escape way could be hiding underneath the prison, with its crumbling columns and shingles hanging by a thread.

Despite the ruined appearance, the Vigilants went overboard in security and technology. No one could ever hop the fence, because there wasn't one. A wall of mostly invisible electricity glowing red surrounded the premises and went all the way up to the heavens. Only a Vigilant could get in and out. Guards, too, lined the outside of the wall, evaluating anyone who walked through the wall. I knew that everyone in the Asylum was equipped with a tracking device ingrained in their skin so they could not escape.

Tracking device.

"Oh my... Oh my gosh," I murmured. The tracking device is ingrained deep in my left bicep. In my rush to get out, I must have forgotten about the stupid thing. The Head of the Asylum must have noticed by now.

I risked another peek at the old prison. Sure enough, a crowd of Vigilants were standing around one man, gesturing feverishly. Okay, I had to get back in there, find the pendant, and pretend that the device must've malfunctioned.

An impossible task.

Maybe the strangest metaphor I could use right now, but right now, I felt like one of the shingles, hanging by a thread. Ever since the Christopher incident, my life has turned upside down. I am going to break if they find me. I may as well give myself up to them.

I take my right hand and frantically scratch my left arm in blind hopes that the tracking device will come out.

It doesn't work.

My hands have a permanent shake to them, thanks to what I saw in the Asylum.

I take a step forwards, and paper crinkles under my feet. The files. I must memorize them and destroy them or hide them to keep them safe. I look down, and a name glares up at me.

XERXES FLATT. I gasp- that's my father's name. Underneath, in fine print, is says his family. HUSBAND OF ROWEN SAMSON FLATT, FATHER OF ALYSSA, ADELIE, AND DARREN FLATT.

I take a deep breath. The rest of the manilla folders are dew-coated, but I dig in anyways. There's one dedicated to me, one for a man named DOCTOR BRIT JAYSON and CAY HARRISON, the head of the Asylum, and finally HAWKIN WINTERS. I have no idea who some of these are, but if Jayk thought they were important to me, then they must be. I trust Jayk.

My mind tells me to save the files and get them later, when I escape again. But the other half of my brain says that there may not be another time, and I need to read them here and now.

And so, against my gut instinct, I dive into my father's file.