Page 41 of Straightjacket

Carnage will smother this place until there’s nothing left of it, and who would I be if I didn’t allow that to happen?

My hand hovers over the first switch and I’m inches away from flicking it when the screen in front of me changes, and right there in the middle of a bloodbath is my little demon with her arm inside of a guard's stomach. Chaos explodes around her, but she remains calm, yanking out his intestines whilst he cries for help.

Placing the gun down, I grip the table and lean in closer, watching in awe as she tears this man apart with her bare hands, drenching herself in blood, and I’ve never been more fucking turned on in my life.

It’s like I’m seeing her for the first time, and I’m falling in love with her all over again. She continues to prove just how strong she is, no matter what stands in her way, she’ll rip it to shreds. And it only continues to confirm what I already knew, what I knew right from the beginning– that she’ll make it out of here alive.

The back of my eyes starts to burn, the realisation of how this ends for us hitting me like a brick to the face. I drop my head between my shoulders, and as I close my eyes a memory hits me. A vivid flashback of an address, scribbled onto a piece of paper.

“If you ever don’t feel safe here or anything happens where you need to get away, go here. It’s safe, I promise you.”

Her words ring in my head and I scour the table for a piece of paper and a pen, lifting various items up until I find a notepad. As soon as I pick it up, a wave of sadness hits me because it wasn’t so long ago that I had to use something like this to communicate, and now I’m using it to save Iris.

This small scrap of paper will do the very thing that I couldn’t do– protect her.

Once I’ve written the address down, I fold it up and shove it into my pocket, then without even thinking and the weight of the world on my shoulders, I open every fucking cell block in this place. Iron bars rattle the very foundations, and I watch the screens for a moment at the chaos unfolding. Bodies rally through the hallways, butchering every guard they see like starved zombies. Blood splatters the walls, chunks of flesh dropping like sacks of shit on the floors.

Salem Penitentiary has become a fucking bloodbath once again.

Grabbing the gun, I give my little demon one last look on the screens as she continues to fight through the mass of bodies, a wicked grin on her face.

“I’m coming for you, baby.” I murmur and leave the office to fucking end this.

Bodies cover the floors, a trail of destruction in my path as I weave through the hallways to what I hope is the final door. Instead, I’m met with fists hammering on a locked door which is strange because every cell should be open, I made sure of that, so why is this one still locked?

I carefully step over another crushed guard until I’m able to look through a small hatch. Fists continue to rain down on the door but I’m unable to see anyone.

“Hey, who's in there?” I shout through the hatch, and the banging stops.

“Oh... oh, Peter is that you? Tell momma what’s happening?”

Peter? Momma? What the fuck is going on.

I clear my throat. “Uh, no. It’s not Peter, I dunno who that is. What’s your name?” There’s a silence then the voice I just heard changes into something else.

“My name is Alice,” the woman coughs then begins to speak again. “Peter is my son, Peter Thorne. Where is he? Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

My brows furrow in confusion because I’m absolutely convinced that I heard two people in that room.

“Is there anyone else in there with you? Maybe another cell or something.”

There’s no way Thorne is just keeping his mom in there, what if it leads to another cell? To my sister.

“No. It’s just me, there’s nobody else. Can you please let me out?”

As much as I want to, I need to know more. “Why’s... Peter keeping you in there? You’re his mom, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she says with a heavy breath. “My... my son isn’t well. He... has a sickening infatuation with... her.”

Her words leave me even more confused than before. “What do you mean by her? You said there was only you in here.”

“I have dissociative identity disorder. Well, that’s what my son says. There’s another personality if you will, that he much prefers to speak with. Amongst other things.”

A sickening feeling swells in my stomach at her gesture, and I’m beginning to fear that Thorne is more far gone than I thought he was.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, slipping my hand into my pocket to fish out the key I found on Thorne.

“Of course, but I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.” I can hear the small smile in her words.