2. Lennox
CHAPTER 2
LENNOX
HATEFUL – POST MALONE
“Are we there yet?”
Jerked out of my simmering anger that’s built over the hours-long drive through the midlands, I focus on the view outside the window. Concrete motorways and impoverished cities have been swallowed by empty countryside.
We’re surrounded by frost-bitten fields, dotted with the occasional livestock. Even the sheep look miserable. It’s a little more built up than the north of the country, but we’re far from the nearest town or city.
“Not yet,” I grunt back.
“We’ve been driving for hours.”
“Just be grateful we’re being transferred together.”
Sighing through his nostrils, Raine tilts his head back and lets it hit the chair cushion. His long fingers are tangled together, wringing and twisting. He’d never admit to it, but I know he’s nervous as hell.
It fucking pisses me off. I hate that everything he knows, the safety systems he’s put in place that allow him to function, have all been torn away.
Priory Lane is being ripped apart as we speak. Some ex-patient talked, probably thinking they were doing us a favour. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Our files were stamped for immediate relocation when the institute’s doors closed.
Glancing across the narrow aisle that separates the transfer van, I try to catch my best friend’s eye. Xander stares straight ahead, a bored look on his face.
He’s utterly unfazed, as per usual. Some days, I’d happily beat him black and blue just to elicit a hint of emotion. His lack of concern or even annoyance is infuriating.
The handful of others all cuffed and shoved onto this rattling piece of scrap emblazoned with Priory Lane’s coat of arms don’t dare speak in our presence. It’s good to see that our authority is upheld even outside our territory.
We’ll need that dog-like obedience to continue if we’re to survive whatever lays ahead. If it’s anything like the last place, this institute is just another torture chamber hidden by slick marketing and the public’s disinterest in the mentally ill.
We will take it just like we took Priory Lane—hard, fast and with force.
Cuffed hands gripping the back of the chair in front of me, I clench the cheap plastic until it creaks and splits. That gains Xander’s attention. He spares me a cold glance, his midnight-blue eyes devoid of understanding. My emotions run hot, much to his disdain.
“Don’t say it,” I bark at him.
“Pull yourself together, Nox.”
“How are you not freaking out about this transfer?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m not concerned.”
“You should be!”
Nothing rattles Xander. Not after what we endured together, months before Raine came along. Xander has always had little empathy, but the slivers of human vulnerability that remained were quickly beaten out of him in Priory Lane.
Returning his attention to the mist-soaked scenery outside the window, Xander ignores me. I didn’t actually expect a response. But fuck if it wouldn’t feel good to see his airtight control falter, even for a second.
Silence reigns until the winding road ends at the entrance to the rural estate. We drive through a huge, wrought-iron archway sandwiched between brick pillars.
Adorned with twisted vines and perfectly formed roses, the garish crest at the apex of the gate denotes two letters: HM. A signed death warrant that’s stamped on our thick case files.
Harrowdean Manor.
“We’re here,” I whisper to Raine.
Adjusting the round, blacked-out glasses balancing on his straight nose, he nods detachedly. His hands are trembling, despite his poor attempts to hide it by forming fists. A thin sheen of sweat coats his forehead too.
With the long journey and constant supervision, he hasn’t been able to get high today. I should’ve known this would happen. But dealing with his inevitable withdrawals is low on my list of concerns right now.
This is our new home.
The kingdom we must conquer to survive.
Along the winding, cobblestone driveway, weeping willows sway in the cool winter air. Up ahead, Harrowdean looks pretty small in comparison to the institute we’ve unwillingly left behind.
Relief momentarily extinguishes the furious fire that’s constantly burning in my veins. Hell, this will be easy. It’s tiny in comparison to Priory Lane’s sprawling compound of buildings.
“Small,” Xander comments.
“Good news for us. We can figure shit out fast and get back on top.”
Quickly counting six floors marked by dark windows and glossy ivy strangling the red-brick exterior, a smile tugs at my mouth. This will be even easier than I thought.
The whole institute appears to be based in one huge manor house with the odd smaller building dotted around. Most of the offshoots look abandoned. If everyone is housed inside, we can take control of such a small population easily.
Parking outside the wide-set entrance steps flanked by more pillars, a tall, narrow-shouldered man awaits with the usual black-clad security presence. His fine suit and prominent gold tie pin betray his identity.
I recognise him from those expensive brochures that always seem to be floating around in the institutes. This guy features in all the phony marketing materials.
The warden’s here to greet his newest arrivals.
“Hold onto me,” I mutter.
“I’m fine,” Raine murmurs back.
“Jesus, man. Just hold my fucking sleeve or something.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Biting back the urge to cave his head in, I grab his hand and move it to my arm, forcing him to grip my coat sleeve. His lips are pressed in a tight line as I guide him down from the van with Xander leading the way.
The others fall behind us without a single word uttered. No one dares move before we do. After disembarking, we’re quickly scanned with wands to search for weapons, and our bags are confiscated to be searched.
I play close attention to Raine’s violin case as it’s scanned and combed through. If anyone dares cause trouble for him, it’ll be the last thing they do. I don’t let anyone give Raine shit.
The warden plasters on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Morning all. I’m Mr Abbott Davis, the warden here at Harrowdean.”
There’s a murmur of greetings.
“So who do we have here?”
“Xander Beck, Warden .”
Davis studies Xander with an appraising look. “Mr Beck.”
Lifting his slim wrists to be un-cuffed, Xander doesn’t flinch beneath Davis’s watchful stare. The warden’s lip curls at the power move. He knows exactly who we are and what we were to Priory Lane’s regime.
“Sir.” A blonde-haired guard approaches with a clipboard. “All inmates accounted for. These six complete our arrivals from Priory Lane.”
Davis nods, still staring down Xander’s icy glare. “Excellent. Please show our new arrivals inside.”
Gritting my teeth hard enough to physically hurt, I swallow down the barrage of abuse that wants to escape. Being cuffed and dragged about like sacks of meat feels fucking degrading after all we’ve done for the powers that be behind our captors.
“What’s happening?” Raine grunts.
“Stick with me.”
“I can walk alone.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to.”
Awkwardly gripping his guide stick in one cuffed hand, he purses his lips. He’s at a disadvantage without the gift of sight, but no matter his pride, Raine knows we’d never let anyone set a damn hand on him. Not while I’m breathing. I’ve lost enough people I care about.
We all follow the guards inside. Xander will have a plan. I trust his judgement. The tap of Raine’s stick against the interior’s hardwood floors breaks the oppressive silence as he searches for obstacles.
Harrowdean is as lush as expected. It’s all dark, stained wood, glinting crystal chandeliers and panelled walls covered in fancy as fuck artwork. The well-lit reception is small and leads to a grand staircase, splitting off in different directions.
CCTV cameras are fixed at multiple strategic angles, of course. Heaven forbid management fail to capture the material they’re so desperately seeking. That’s another dark secret, though. One of many.
“Stick.” A guard stops at Raine’s side.
He tilts his head. “Nope.”
“Not a request, little freak.”
Forcing Raine behind me, I move to block the guard’s approach. “You really gonna stoop that low?”
The asshole sneers at me. “Just doin’ my job. Lord knows what illegal contraband he’s got stashed in that thing.”
“There’s nothing in it,” Raine defends.
“Hand it over, inmate.”
Meeting Xander’s eyes, his mouth is a flat line, the only hint at his underlying emotions. The fucking robot isn’t going to intervene? Fine. He may wield his words as a bloodless weapon, but these wankers don’t listen to reason.
“Nox,” Raine warns, doing his weird, mind-reading perceptive shit.
How he somehow manages to read us despite not being able to see our bodies or facial expressions, I’ll never know. Raine’s perceptive by necessity and highly attuned to other people’s emotions.
He sees beyond the usual social cues the rest of us are so easily distracted by. But I don’t need analysing right now. Ignoring him, I seize a handful of the guard’s black t-shirt and wrench him closer.
My movements are limited with the cuffs cinched tight around my wrists, but I can still smash my forehead into his nose to elicit a delicious crack that makes me drool with satisfaction.
“Leave him the fuck alone,” I threaten.
The guard’s wail of pain is music to my ears. I manage to lift my hands quickly enough to get two awkward punches in, causing him to fall flat on his ass, blood dribbling down his chin.
Tackled from the side by another guard, I’m soon eating a faceful of the polished wood floor. My entire body hums with electric rage, setting my nerves alight and incinerating all sense of reason.
I buck and thrash, attempting to throw off whoever is pinning me to the floor. I’ll kill them all. If we’re not gonna rule this place, then we’ll burn it to the ground instead. I won’t go back to being a specimen.
“Ah. Mr Nash, I presume?” Davis crouches down on my left. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Gee, thanks.” I turn my head to look at him.
“It isn’t a compliment. Are you that determined to spend your first night here in solitary confinement?”
“You wouldn’t dare. Don’t you know who we are?”
He casts a critical eye over me. “I think it’s quite clear that I do.”
“Then why the hell are we still here?”
“Because you are my patient like anyone else now. Your previous arrangement is null. We run our own operations at Harrowdean Manor.”
“Warden Aldrich assured us this would be a smooth transition.” Xander hasn’t moved an inch, still wearing that inscrutable look. “We had an agreement after the events of last year.”
Davis scoffs in genuine amusement. “I don’t care how Aldrich ruled his patients. He’s under investigation now, isn’t he? This is my institute, and you are under my care. Fall in line or face the repercussions.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
After losing everything, we survived Priory Lane by taking the lifeline we were offered. A chance to escape the clinician’s sadistic program and serve a greater purpose. Without that, we’re as vulnerable as the rest of these lunatics.
Gaze connecting with Xander’s dead eyes, he offers the tiniest shake of his head. Fucking fine, dickhead. He wants to play this smart instead of smashing shit. We’ll see how well that strategy works.
“Sure,” I grit out. “Care to call your attack dog off?”
Smiling thinly, Davis stands and smooths his charcoal suit trousers. “At ease, Langley. Our angry friend here will keep a lid on his temper.”
The heavy weight on my back vanishes. I’m free to awkwardly stand. Hands white-knuckled on his guide stick, Raine is staring straight ahead behind his black lenses, appearing checked out.
I know he’s hanging on to every verbal clue to decipher what’s happening. Most assume he’s zoned out when he does this, but he’s actually picking apart every last sound and scent.
“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Davis looks between us all. “Much like Priory Lane, classes and weekly therapy are mandatory. Your previously chosen educational subjects will be accommodated.”
“Where are the dorms?” a quieter patient asks.
“The east wing is assigned for residential use. Utilities can be found in the west wing, with classes and therapy rooms spread between the north and south. Other buildings are off-limits.”
The urge to ask sizzles through me. What about the rest? We know from first-hand experience what he’s deliberately omitting from his explanation. More lies beyond this whistle-stop tour. The real purpose behind this institute.
“Your previous IDs will suffice,” Davis continues. “Keycards will be issued for your assigned rooms along with schedules. Some of you will have to bunk up.”
Our bags, now searched and declared clear of any contraband, are dumped back at our feet by more of Davis’s obedient lapdogs. Scooping up mine and Raine’s bags, I touch his hand to guide it back to his violin case. He wouldn’t dare entrust anyone else with his precious baby’s safety.
Sparing us all an authoritative glower, Davis adjusts his silk tie. “Heed the lessons learned from your last incarceration. I won’t tolerate any trouble.”
I swear, the corner of Xander’s mouth twitches infinitesimally. But it’s gone so quickly; I have to wonder if I imagined it. Beneath his iceman persona, we all know that trouble is his fucking middle name.
“Follow the rules, complete your sentence and go home.” Davis nods like it’s that easy. “Welcome to Harrowdean Manor.”
Yeah… Fucking welcome.