Madness

"Garrick, I've followed your lead my whole life. Just this once, I need you to listen to me."

Elliot's gaze was locked onto Garrick, his eyes dark with urgency. Garrick stared back, his gut twisting with unease.

Then, something caught his attention.

There was blood—dried and smeared—right behind Elliot's ear. Garrick's brows furrowed.

"Where's your wife and kid?"

Elliot's voice was flat. "In the bedroom."

Without hesitation, Garrick strode past him, yanking open the door.

Inside, Elliot's wife and child huddled in the farthest corner of the room, their small bodies trembling. Their eyes, wide with terror, flickered toward him—but they didn't say a word.

A cold weight settled in Garrick's stomach. He slowly shut the door and turned back to Elliot.

But instead of confronting him directly, he moved to another door. His hand hesitated for just a second before gripping the handle and pulling it open.

The sight inside made his breath hitch.

Lying on the floor was a man in his seventies. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and thick. A kitchen knife was embedded deep into the back of his skull.

Garrick's stomach lurched. His hands curled into fists.

Because he knew exactly who this was.

Elliot's father.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but no explanation could justify what he was seeing.

Slowly, he turned back toward Elliot, his voice hoarse. "What the hell did you do?"

Elliot's expression didn't change. "He couldn't hold on anymore. He asked me to end it."

Garrick's chest heaved as anger, disgust, and sorrow churned inside him. "Elliot… that was your father."

He grabbed Elliot by the collar, his hands shaking. "Are you even human anymore?!"

Elliot calmly pried Garrick's hands off him. His next words were chilling.

"Garrick, I killed my own father. Do you really think anyone can stand in my way now?"

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence.

Then, Garrick shoved Elliot back, his voice filled with revulsion. "You're a goddamn lunatic." He snatched the bottle of water from the table and stormed toward the door.

The second he stepped outside, the door across the hall opened at the same time.

A sixty-year-old woman, her graying hair pulled into a messy bun, stepped out. Her eyes landed on the bottle of water in his hand, and her face lit up with a smile.

"Oh, Garrick! You're such a sweetheart, bringing us more water again."

His jaw clenched. "It's not for you."

The woman's smile faltered. Then, without warning, she grabbed his arm.

"What's that supposed to mean? I thought we were sharing supplies. That means this water is mine too."

"No, it's not." Garrick yanked his arm free.

The old woman sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. Doesn't matter anyway. I've still got a few bottles left."

Garrick's head snapped toward her. "A few bottles?"

The woman's eyes darted away for a split second—just long enough for him to catch it.

She had let something slip.

She had more than she let on.

Every time she came crying for help, acting desperate, it had been a game. A scam.

She waved a hand dismissively. "What are you talking about? I don't have anything left. But you guys should really go find something decent to eat. Enough with the junk food—get some vegetables or something. We need balanced nutrition, you know? I swear, I've been getting mouth ulcers from all this garbage. My gums hurt so bad—ah, there it is again! I better head back inside."

And with that, she shuffled back into her apartment, slamming the door shut.

Garrick stood frozen in place, the weight of everything crashing down on him.

Garrick clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Every word, every revelation—it was all a mental onslaught, hammering into his skull.

But that wasn't what terrified him the most.

No.

What he feared—what kept him awake at night—was his wife being violated. His sister-in-law being taken. The women in his life being at the mercy of monsters.

He couldn't let that happen.

A deep breath. A steady voice.

"It's me."

From inside, there was a pause, then the sound of the peephole shifting. A second later, the door unlocked, the deadbolt clicking free.

Shana looked up at him, curiosity in her tired eyes. "How'd it go?"

Garrick stepped inside, locking the door behind him. His movements were stiff, his mind still racing.

"Not great."

Shana frowned. "What do you mean? Elliot listens to you more than anyone. You couldn't even get a bottle of water from him?"

Wordlessly, Garrick placed the bottle on the table.

Silence.

Shana and Maggie both stared at it.

The message was clear.

He didn't take the water. He refused.

Both women turned pale, their faces drained of all color.

Then—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang, shattering the stillness.

Every nerve in Garrick's body went taut.

Then came the voice.

"Garrick, it's me! Elliot! I thought about what you said—you were right."

Shana's face lit up. "I'll get the door!"

"Wait!" Garrick's voice was sharp, immediate.

Shana froze, looking back at him in confusion.

He didn't hesitate. "Both of you—go to the bedroom. Now."

Shana and Maggie exchanged a look, hesitant, but something in Garrick's tone made them obey. Without another word, they disappeared down the hall.

Garrick turned back to the door, pressing his eye to the peephole.

Outside stood Elliot, shoulders relaxed, his expression unreadable.

"Elliot," Garrick called through the door, voice careful. "Did you really think it through?"

Elliot let out a forced chuckle. "Garrick, man, I got chewed out earlier, and honestly… I see your point. I was being too harsh. I just wanted to tell you—I'm with you on this. I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier. My bad."

A beat.

"Anyway, just wanted to clear the air. Get some rest, Garrick. I'll see you tomorrow."

Elliot turned and started walking toward the elevator.

Garrick exhaled. His grip on the door loosened.

Maybe… maybe Elliot really had come to his senses.

He reached for the handle, hesitated, then opened the door slightly and called out—

"Elliot! I'm really glad you—"

The words died in his throat.

Elliot didn't turn around. Instead, he spoke softly.

"Garrick… you still opened the door."

A chill ran down Garrick's spine.

Something was wrong.

He moved to slam the door shut—

But it was too late.

Elliot's massive hand shot out, slamming against the door, keeping it open.

Pain—white-hot, blinding pain—shot through Garrick's arm.

For a second, he didn't understand. Then, his gaze dropped.

His right hand was gone.

Severed.

It lay on the ground, fingers twitching, blood pooling around it.

His vision blurred. His mind screamed.

Then—another flash of agony.

A kick—brutal, precise—slammed into his stomach, sending him crashing backward into the apartment. His body hit the floor hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

The world spun. His ears rang.

Through the haze of pain, he saw Elliot step inside, shutting the door behind him.

The grin on his face was manic, wild.

His voice cracked as he laughed. "Garrick… why did you make me do this? Why couldn't you just believe me? Why did you force my hand? Why—why did you make me cut you?!"

Blood dripped from the knife in his grasp. His hands trembled, but his eyes burned with something far worse than madness.

Desperation.

Garrick gritted his teeth, pain tearing through every inch of him. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.

But his voice was firm.

"Elliot… stop this."

"I'm not the one who's blind, Garrick—you are." Elliot's voice was eerily calm, but his eyes had gone ice-cold. "They're coming tonight. The attack is happening whether you like it or not. We don't have a choice anymore."

He extended his hand. "Where's the key to the security gate? Give it to me."

Garrick gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand despite the searing pain. His face twisted in disbelief. "You… you sold us out. You're working with them?"

Elliot didn't even flinch. "You did this to yourself, Garrick. You wasted our food on those useless old bastards. Do you have any idea how much they've been hoarding this whole time? While we starved, they sat on piles of supplies. The key. Now."

"I'd rather die than give it to you."

Elliot sighed, shaking his head. "Garrick, in our next life, I'll still be your friend."

Then, without another word, he pulled out the butcher knife he'd been hiding.

The moment the blade gleamed under the dim light, the fight exploded.

Flesh and bone collided.

Furniture overturned.

The sound of bodies slamming against the walls filled the apartment.

From the bedroom, Shana and Maggie cowered beneath the bed, frozen in fear.

Shana's breath hitched. "I need to check on Garrick."

Maggie clutched her wrist, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't. If Garrick wins, he'll come get us."

Shana swallowed hard. "And if Elliot is the one who opens that door? If he finds me, fine. But he'll find you too."

Maggie's breath stilled.

Outside, the struggle raged on. The clash of bodies. The grunts of pain. The sickening thud of something—someone—hitting the floor.

Then… silence.

Too much silence.

Shana's fingers dug into the wooden floor beneath her. "Maggie… if something happens to me, find my sister."

Before Maggie could respond, the bedroom door creaked open.

Maggie instinctively covered her mouth, her heart hammering in her chest.

The first thing she saw wasn't Garrick's boots.

It was a pair of bloodstained shoes.

Her stomach dropped.

Elliot.

Drenched in blood. His shirt soaked in it. His face splattered with crimson.

Shana's eyes darted past him. She barely choked back a scream.

Garrick lay sprawled on the floor of the living room, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

Still. Motionless.

Elliot grinned—a horrific, blood-soaked smile, like a demon wearing a human mask.

"Shana," he murmured, voice disturbingly soft. "Garrick told me you know where the key is."

Shana trembled, her body numb with terror.

Slowly, her hand lifted.

She pointed at the vanity beside the bed.

Elliot rummaged through the vanity, searching for the key.

Behind him, Shana murmured, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with disbelief.

"She was giving birth… Garrick called the hospital for you. You had no job… Garrick found you one. You had no time for your kid… I took care of them for you…"

Her words barely seemed to reach him.

With a triumphant smirk, Elliot pulled the key from a drawer, holding it up.

He turned back to Shana, smiling as if nothing had happened. "Shana, you and Garrick have done so much for me. I'll make it up to you… in my next life."

Shana's breath hitched. Her vision blurred with rage.

Then, with a scream, she lunged at him, fists pounding against his chest, his arms, his face—anywhere she could reach.

"HOW COULD YOU?! YOU MONSTER! YOU GODDAMN BASTARD!"

Elliot didn't stop her.

Didn't even flinch.

He just stood there, letting her fists rain down on him. His only movement was the slow rise and fall of his bloodstained hand—the butcher knife still dripping crimson onto the floor.

Then, as if caught in some trance, his lips parted, and he muttered softly.

"Shana… I know how much you loved Garrick."

He exhaled, almost wistful.

"Now that he's dead, he must be lonely."

His grip on the knife tightened.

"Why don't you keep him company?"

Shana froze.

Her eyes widened in horror.

"No—"

"It's better this way." Elliot's voice was eerily calm, almost gentle. "The world's about to go to hell, anyway. Better I do this than let those animals tear you apart. Garrick would thank me for this. Yeah… he definitely would."

And with that, he lifted the butcher knife high—

And swung.

The blade cracked into Shana's forehead with a sickening crunch.

Her skull caved in on impact.

Her body shuddered, her eyes still wide, unblinking.

Then, slowly, she collapsed to the floor.