Author: WolfletteMoon PM
One mental patients thoughts on another, much more dangerous one.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror - Words: 924 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 2 - Published: 10-23-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2858282
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A/N It's been a while since I've done any of these. I've been meaning to finish this on for a while. It's done from Jake's point of view. Those of you who've read my other short stories should know who he is.
Of all things, the one thing people wanted to know most, after I recovered from my injuries and was brought back to the hospital, had nothing to do with me. They never asked how I was, or if my side was hurting me, or even how I had figured out how to get past the security. But what they did ask me, all the time, was, Where's Fox? What's he doing? What were his plans? Like he'd have told me. He wouldn't have told anybody those things. He wouldn't trust anybody. Nobody was good enough for that, not in his eyes. We weren't worthy. I wasn't worthy. But that didn't mean I didn't know. I could guess. I knew him better than anyone else, really. Better than any of the doctors and nurses, better than the guards. And I didn't give him any choice about trusting me. He had to trust me, after I gave him a way out. The only way out.
The one thing all of them, with the PhDs and years of experience, and their reputations, couldn't figure out, was him. how to work with him. How to work around him. Fox needed to be in control, the one winning the game, or he lost it. He was just as dangerous when he lost it, as when he's in control. They were so busy trying to break him, though, trying to make him co-operate, they never tried working around him. He'd have told them a lot more if he thought he was making the rules. He would have told them for the fun of it. I thought I was in control, just letting him think it was him in charge, but I wasn't. That was my biggest mistake. It was always him. Him calling the shots, him running the show.
When I ripped my side open on barbed wire, most people would have thought he'd just leave me to die, rather than dragging me to a hospital. Some days I wish he'd left me to die. But why would he do that, when letting the cops know he'd been in a hospital, just down the road from the institution, would taunt them so much. Isn't that what he's doing right now? Leading them on, letting them chase him, then leaving them in the dust. Because they really aren't that smart. And he always thought he was so smart, so much better than everyone else. Smarter, faster, stronger... Arrogant. He's one of those people, who, the more you're around them, the more you want to hate them. But the more you want to hate them, the more you find you can't. And the longer they're gone, the more you want to try to forget them. But then, you won't, because you can't. Fox Kennedy is not the sort of man you forget easily.
But I do have a pretty good idea where he'd be now. A very good idea of what he'd be doing. He told me all about his precautions for if he ever got caught. I didn't believe he'd even realised before his capture that he could have been caught. That it was possible. He rented a bunch of storage places and such, where he stored large amounts of money, weapons, fake IDs, all amongst random junk. Kept them there for if he ever needed them. He'd have got a car, under a false name; travel around a bit, maybe killed a few people... He'd enough money in various banks, under false names, that he wouldn't need to worry about that. He would just go back to what he was doing before, with a new identity, a new reputation. He wouldn't have dyed his hair, like police suspected, or had any sort of surgery. He liked his looks too much. Vanity. He wouldn't have left the country, either, he'd want to taunt to police, the doctors. He'd want to get back at them. Wrath. I could put him with any sin, and it would make sense. But it'd be a beautiful sin.
The problem, though, their biggest problem, is that they think - actually do think! - that he's as smart as he thinks he is. And he thinks he's so smart. He says he's the smartest, the fastest, the strongest, the best... Well, he's wrong. I could figure out where he is, what he's doing, and I could tell them. I could help them bring him back here. If I wanted to. But I'm not that petty. Although, I would want him to know that I could do that, that I figured him out. That would really get to him, the fact that I, I understand him. That if I wanted to, really wanted to, I could beat him. He's not as good as he thinks he is. Not as smart, as fast, or as strong. And he should know, he was never as complicated as people thought he was. Never as complicated as he thought.