Lucas finally managed to slip away from Kane, his heart still pounding from the encounter. The adrenaline lingered in his veins, mixing with the relief of finally being able to leave. The school day had dragged on endlessly, and all Lucas could think about was getting home and away from the suffocating atmosphere Kane always brought with him.
As he exited the school, the late afternoon sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the pavement. He kept his pace brisk, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the school as possible. The weight of everything that had happened over the past few days pressed down on him, making his steps feel heavier with each passing minute.
By the time he reached home, the sky had darkened to a deep blue, the stars just beginning to peek through. The Mortons' house loomed ahead, its silhouette familiar yet foreboding. The house was quiet as he approached, and Lucas hesitated for a moment before finally opening the door and stepping inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a wave of exhaustion had hit him, the adrenaline that had kept him going all day now draining away, leaving him feeling hollow. The house was eerily silent, and Lucas wondered if anyone had even noticed his absence. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound on the hardwood floor.
When he reached the living room, he paused, expecting to see Ms. Thomson or his adoptive mother waiting for him, ready to pounce with questions or reprimands. But the room was empty, the only sign of life a faint glow from a lamp in the corner.
The emptiness of the house felt strange. After being surrounded by Kane's obsessive presence and the constant chaos of school, the silence was almost unsettling. Lucas's gaze flicked toward the stairs, half-expecting someone to come down and confront him. But no one did.
Lucas climbed the stairs quietly, avoiding the creaky spots out of habit. When he reached his room, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar surroundings greeting him like an old friend. He let out a long breath, finally allowing himself to relax.
He moved to his bed and sat down, the mattress sagging slightly under his weight. As he leaned back against the headboard, Lucas stared at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The events of the past two days on a loop in his head—his encounters with Kane, the brief moments of fear and thrill, and the constant, nagging voice in his mind that told him he was losing control.
But for now, Lucas didn't want to think about any of that. He just wanted to close his eyes and let sleep take him, even if it was only for a few hours. With a heavy sigh, he kicked off his shoes and slid under the covers, his body sinking into the softness of the bed.
As he drifted off, the last thought that crossed his mind was the unsettling realization that no one had asked where he'd been. No one had called, worried or angry. The Mortons hadn't even bothered to check if he was alright.
Lucas couldn't shake the feeling that this solitude, this indifference, was somehow worse than the suffocating presence of Kane and he knew deep down ,that solitude was the only answer for a monster like him.
_________
Lucas was deep in an uneasy sleep when the creak of his door opening jolted him awake. The room was dark, with moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting eery shadows on the walls. His heart quickened as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw the figure standing in the doorway.
Mrs. Violet Morton, his adopted mother, lingered there, a wine glass dangling precariously from her right hand and the wine bottle in the next already more than halfway gone. The sharp smell of alcohol hit him immediately, mingling with the faint scent of her expensive perfume. She swayed slightly, her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the hallway light.
"Lucas," she slurred, her voice carrying that unmistakable edge of someone who had had too much to drink but was trying to maintain control. She stepped into the room, the hem of her silk robe brushing against the floor as she moved. "Wake up. We need to talk."
Lucas sat up slowly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. His body was tense, immediately on guard. He could see it in her eyes—the mix of condescension and disdain that she never quite managed to hide when she looked at him. She took a sip from her glass, the red liquid sloshing slightly as she did.
"What did my husband ever see in you?" she started, her tone teetering between curiosity and disgust. "He insisted on bringing you into this house… insisted that you were 'special' somehow. But I've never understood it."
Lucas's stomach twisted at her words. He remained silent, his face a carefully crafted mask, but his mind raced. There was something about the way she said "special" that made his skin crawl in disgust.
Violet took another sip of wine, her gaze unfocused as she stared at him. "I mean, I know you're beautiful. You have those eyes that… draw people in. He always said you had 'a certain charm,'" she said, her voice dipping into something almost wistful before it turned sharp again. "But charm doesn't make up for being ungrateful."
Lucas's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. The way she was talking—there was something unsettling about it. It was like she was revealing something she didn't even realize she was saying.
"Do you think I don't know about my husband's little… fascination with you?" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. "He talks about you when he thinks I'm not listening. He's always been drawn to your type—young, beautiful, vulnerable. Just like I was, back when he found me."
"He would watch you, you know," Violet continued, oblivious to the tension rising in the room. "He would sit in his study and just… watch your pictures. Said he was fascinated by how you moved, how you looked so innocent and yet had something darker in you. Said he could see it in your eyes. Made him feel… young again." She chuckled darkly, her words laced with a strange bitterness.
Lucas felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. He knew Mr. Morton was always… attentive, more than he should be. But hearing it spelled out like this, in Violet's drunken rambling, made the reality of it sink in in a way that made him want to escape, to run from the truth she was unknowingly exposing but he had nowhere to go.
"But what's the point of all that?" she snapped suddenly, her mood swinging again. "All that attention, all that interest, and you repay us by sneaking around with God knows who, disappearing without a word? Ungrateful brat," she muttered, finishing her wine in one long gulp.
She moved closer in, her balance swaying slightly as she did, and walked toward the door. "I just don't understand," she murmured to herself as she left the room, her voice trailing off. "Why he chose you…I didn't want you.I wanted to adopt a little girl,but he insisted as soon as he saw you."
Without saying another word, she stepped into the room, her bare feet almost silent against the wooden floor. She moved with slowly , her eyes scanning the room as if she were seeing it for the first time. Lucas watched warily as she made her way over to his desk, her fingers trailing along the edge.
"I've been in here," she said suddenly, her voice low and slurred. She picked up one of his books, flipping through the pages carelessly before setting it down again. "I've seen the books you've been reading, the notes you've been making."
Lucas sat up slightly, his body now tense. He didn't know what to say, so he remained silent, watching her as she continued to move around the room. She picked up a small trinket from his dresser, examining it with a disdainful expression before setting it back down with a little too much force.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she murmured, turning to face him, her eyes glassy but filled with something dark and unreadable. "So perfect.... But you're not, Lucas. You're not as clever as you think."
She took a step closer, her grip tightening around the wine glass. "I see everything. I know what you're trying to do, how you're trying to outsmart us. But you can't hide from me." Her voice wavered slightly, the alcohol making her words stumble, but the intensity in her gaze was unwavering.
Lucas remained still, his mind racing. He hadn't known she'd been in his room, hadn't even considered that she would go through his things,he hadn't kept one thing from the Morton's,not becase he was ungrateful but he wanted to feel at home, with things he got from his biological parents close.
The realization that she had been snooping around made him wary ,wondering if she found the jars, but he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his face neutral.
"You don't deserve this," she whispered, her voice dropping to a venomous tone. "You don't deserve any of it ,any of him. We took you in, gave you everything, a house...a family...a new life and what do we get in return? Nothing but your arrogance, your defiance for everything." She spat the last word as if it were a curse.
"You're just like me, you know," she continued, her words dripping with venom. "Came from nothing, just like I did. But you think you're better because of those pretty eyes and that innocent act. You're nothing but competition, a reminder of what I had to claw my way out of."
Mr. Morton had been watching him, obsessing over him, all under the guise of fascination. And Violet—she was too drunk, too wrapped up in her own disdain, to even recognize the twisted truth in her own words.
Lucas shivered, his mind reeling as he tried to process everything. The silence of the room felt oppressive, pressing down on him as he tried to push away the thoughts, the disgust that Violet's words had awakened.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong in the Morton household.Lucas remained still for a moment after Violet left the room, the unsettling conversation replaying in his mind.
The words she had spoken, the strange mix of disgust and bitterness, had planted a seed of unease that grew with each passing second. He could still hear her voice, slurred and sharp, echoing in the quiet house. Driven by a mix of curiosity and a gnawing need to understand, he slipped out of bed, his bare feet silent on the cold floor as he followed her.
He found her in the hallway, the dim light casting long shadows across her face. She didn't notice him at first, too absorbed in her own thoughts, muttering under her breath as she wandered aimlessly.
"Why him?" Violet murmured, her voice low and wavering. She took another sip of wine, her steps unsteady as she made her way down the hall. "He was so sure about you… so convinced you were the one. But what about me? What about what I wanted?"
Lucas followed at a distance, his presence ghostly in the dim light, watching her closely. There was something about the way she spoke that interested him—like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she didn't quite understand.
She paused, one hand resting against the wall as she stared at a framed photo of her and her husband smiling blankly. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, as if she was looking at something far beyond the surface of the picture. "He's always been so distant," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Always focused on his work, on his 'projects.' And then he brings you here, like some… treasure he found. But what makes you so special? What do you have that I don't?"
There was a sharpness in her tone now, a bitterness that Lucas recognized as jealousy. But it was a strange kind of jealousy—one that seemed rooted in something deeper, something she herself couldn't fully grasp.
She trailed off, her hand slipping down the wall as she started walking again, her steps slow and unsteady. Lucas followed her silently, his mind racing. He had never seen her like this before—so vulnerable, so openly resentful. The jealousy in her voice was palpable, but there was something else there too—an undercurrent of confusion, of not understanding why she felt this way. She was lost in her own thoughts, spiraling deeper into her drunken musings, and Lucas found himself both disturbed and fascinated by it.
"You're just a boy," she said, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke to the empty air. "Just a boy. What could you possibly give him that I can't? What does he see in you that makes him forget about me?"
Lucas said nothing, keeping his distance as she continued down the hall. His eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her, his mind processing her words. It was clear that she didn't understand what she was saying, didn't realize the implications of her own ramblings. She was too consumed by her own jealousy, too blinded by the wine and the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.
As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused again, staring down into the darkness below. "I've given him everything," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. "Everything. And what do I get in return? A husband who spends his nights in his study, watching… watching you."
She laughed hysterically tlhen, a bitter, hollow sound that echoed in the empty lhouse. "What a joke," she muttered, taking another sip of her wine. "I've become a joke."
Lucas watched her carefully, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place in his mind. Mr. Morton's obsession, his fixation on Lucas—Violet saw it, felt it, but didn't understand it. And in her confusion, she had turned her frustration inward, blaming herself for something that had nothing to do with her. She was jealous of Lucas, but not in the way one might expect. It wasn't about beauty or charm—it was about the attention, the focus that Mr. Morton had shifted away from her and onto him.
Lucas felt a coldness settle in his chest as he listened to her, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He understood now—understood the twisted dynamic that had been playing out in this house, the silent war that had been waged without his knowledge. Violet didn't hate him, not really. She hated what he represented, what his presence had taken from her. And in her drunken state, she was laying it all bare, revealing the cracks in the facade that had been carefully maintained for so long.
But she didn't realize the full extent of what she was saying, didn't understand the monster that lurked behind her or her husband's gaze when he looked at Lucas. She didn't see the danger, festering in the shadows. And as she continued to ramble on, lost in her own thoughts, Lucas face grew increasingly calmer.
With that, she turned and stumblingly began to descend the stairs. The house was silent again, save for the soft creaking of the floorboards as Violet made her way back to wherever she intended to go.
As Violet descended the stairs, Lucas followed her again, unable to shake the growing unease. Her mutterings had taken on a darker, more personal tone, and he could sense that she was on the edge of crossing a line.
She stopped only a few steps in, swaying slightly. She started talking again as if she knew Lucas was there"You know," she said, her voice thick with the effects of the wine, "it's not just about what you've taken from me. It's about where you came from. Your real family—what a bunch of lowlifes they must have been."
Lucas tensed, his heart pounding with rising fury in his chest. Violet continued, her voice dripping with contempt. "They were nothing but scum, weren't they? Filthy, broken people. The kind who don't even deserve a second chance. And yet, here you are, living this charmed life, while people like me, who actually deserve something, get pushed aside."
She took another swig from her wine glass, which she had clumsily refilled. "And don't think I haven't heard the stories. How your family was just another set of losers, too weak and too useless to make anything of themselves. And yet, somehow, you're here, getting everything handed to you. It's laughable, really."
Lucas's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Violet's words stung more than he had anticipated. The way she spoke about his family, with such disdain and malice, cut deep. It wasn't just an attack on him that he really cared for; it was an attack on everything he had come from, everything he had tried to distance himself from.
Her voice grew more heated, her anger fueled by the wine and the jealousy that had been simmering for so long. "I've spent years trying to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, only to be overshadowed by a fucking boy."
With a final, bitter look, she continued down the long winding steps slowly again, her steps growing fainter as she retreated unaware of Lucas who stood frozen, the echoes of her words reverberating in his mind. Her insults about his past, her jealousy, and her disdain had left a mark, fueling a mixture of anger and sadness that was hard to shake.
The house was silent once more, and Lucas felt a cold emptiness settle in his chest. He knew that Violet's outburst was a reflection of her own issues, her own insecurities, but the impact of her words was undeniable.
But that cold emptiness wasn't enough. Something darker stirred within Lucas, something that clawed at his insides until he couldn't ignore it any longer. His hands twitched, and before he knew it, he was moving—swiftly, almost inhumanly fast. One moment he was standing still, and the next, he was behind Violet on the stairs, his breath barely audible, his presence like a shadow.
Without hesitation, Lucas shoved her with a violent force that sent her body hurtling forward. Violet's scream, high-pitched and filled with terror, shattered the silence, echoing through the house as she tumbled down the stairs. Her arms flailed, desperate to grasp onto something—anything—to stop her descent. But it was futile. Her body collided with the wooden steps, bones snapping and cracking with sickening precision, each impact more gruesome than the last.
As she reached the bottom, her body crumpled in a twisted heap, limbs bent at unnatural angles. Her head lolled to the side, blood pooling beneath it, soaking into the rug that now seemed to pulse with the rhythm of her fading life. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the sound of Violet's ragged, desperate breaths.
Lucas remained at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with a mix of exhilaration and something else—something far more sinister. Slowly, he began to descend the stairs, his footsteps slow as if savoring each moment, each heartbeat that still echoed in the darkened house.
Violet's eyes fluttered open as he approached, her gaze unfocused and filled with agony. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and she tried to speak, but only a wet, gurgling sound escaped her lips. Her vision cleared just enough to see him—Lucas, standing over her, a shadow in the dim light.
And then she saw his smile.
It wasn't a smile of kindness or comfort. It was a twisted, cruel grin that spread slowly across his face, stretching his lips into something grotesque, something unnatural. His eyes gleamed with a sick enjoyment, a pleasure that radiated from the depths of his darkened soul.
The sight of it made her choke on her own blood, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. The horror in her eyes was unmistakable as she realized the truth—the boy she had once thought she could control, manipulate, had become a monster far beyond her comprehension.
Her heart pounded in her chest, but with each beat, the strength left her. Her vision blurred again, but she couldn't look away. The last thing she saw as the life drained from her body was that smile—Lucas's cold, haunting smile, a silent promise of the darkness that now consumed him.
And then, finally, Violet's eyes glazed over, her body going limp as the last breath left her lungs. Lucas stood over her, staring down at the lifeless form, his grin fading into something more neutral, almost bored. The thrill was over, the exhilaration fading as quickly as it had come.