Chaotic (sequel to Psychotic)

Chapter 12

He had seen it in the papers. Twelve years in prison and it's the first thing he lays his eyes on once he's released. Right there in the streets, finally walking as a free man, he heard the paperboy shout the words.  "Wickendale Escapees Presumed Dead" was the exact headline. 

At first he didn't think much of it. In fact, he didn't want anything to do with prisons now that he had gotten out of the one where he'd been trapped for over a decade. But something caught his attention, made him linger just a moment longer. A name. 

With his old 1930's work boots he stepped back to see the boy. "What did you just say?" 

"I said, 'Extra, extra! Criminals Harry Styles and Rose Winters presumed dead! Read all about it here!'" the boy reiterated in the same salesman-like tone. 

Rose Winters. 

It was her, he was absolutely sure of it. Suddenly his throat became dry. His mind went blank as two pieces of his past collided before him as if part of some sick practical joke. Rose. She had escaped from Wickendale. Which meant she had to have done something wrong to be admitted there in the first place. And now, she was dead. The thought of her had gotten him through his time behind bars, and he comes out to find that she's just gone, along with all of his optimism and hope. 

But no, he thought, she couldn't be. The paper just said presumed dead, and he didn't spend a shitty twelve years at that place for nothing. This had to be fake, this had to have been plotted by someone else. 

He began to grow hot as the blood inside him boiled with anger. And he knew just who to take it out on. 

"Sir, are you alright? Do you need help?" A young voice asked. He was yanked back into the present as he saw the bewildered kid still standing before him. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said, about to leave. But then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, you must walk around this city a lot selling papers, right?" 

The boy nodded. 

"Great, do you happen to know where the Wickendale Mental Institution is?" 

"The one in the news? I think it's that way," the kid pointed. The man looked in the same direction as his extended pointer finger. 

"Perfect, thank you," he replied. And instead of going home the way he had been planning to for twelve years, he headed toward the type of place he'd already vowed never to go back to; a prison. 

He didn't have a vehicle or a bike or money. Well, maybe he did back at his old house - if it was even there after all this time. But there was no need, his outrage carrying his feet quickly as he passed through the busy London streets. 

But even so, the two large prisons weren't exactly close together. In fact, they were almost on opposite sides of the city, both just a little outside its borders. So the newly freed man had plenty of time to take things in. 

One of the most obvious changes since he had last been part of the real world were the vehicles. Strange looking, and much more advanced than they used to be. They didn't seem as loud, and there were a lot more of them. 

And hoardings in lots of places, too, giving the city more of a commercialized feel. But even more surprising was what was plastered on one of them. A model in a rather revealing type bathing suit that split into two parts at the waist. He had never seen swimwear like it. 

To top it all off, one shop had a color TV in its window, something he had heard of but never seen. It was miraculous and so real looking, and he wanted to stop and get a better look. A better look at everything really, not just the TV's. Things had changed so much while he was been behind bars. But there would be time for that later. He had something more important to take care of first.