"Fifty words for murder

And I'm every one of them." Panic! At the Disco

Ryder knew heart ache better than most.

But the way he felt now, as he slowly regained consciousness and remembered the little girl he had killed, was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Each heartbeat sent a wave of pain through his entire body. He lay still, refusing to open his eyes, scared that he would see her again.

He knew she had been a vision, brought on by the effects of the serum, but that changed nothing. She had appeared for a reason, showing him that redemption was always going to be out of his reach. He had pushed it even further away by killing her yet again, even if it was only his imagination.

He was ruthless. Disgusting. Evil. He hated himself for it.

What would Kayla think?

The sound of weeping reached his ears, causing his eyes to finally fly open. He didn't even care anymore if the little girl was still there. He knew that sound, he had heard it a million times before. If Kayla was in trouble, he had to get to her, he needed to comfort her and talk her through the effects of the serum.

The room slowly swam into focus. Aaron and Savannah's blurry figures were by the door, speaking in hushed whispers that he couldn't quite hear. He turned his head to the side, desperate to find Kayla. Instead, he was confronted with the harsh reality of what had happened while he was passed out.

Crimson blood was spilled across the floor, brushing his fingertips. A body lay close to where he was, still and unmoving. The head was covered with a piece of cloth, but Ryder immediately recognised the shirt that Noah had been wearing. Kayla was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth and sobbing softly.

Noah? What the fuck happened?

Panic began to fill his veins, expanding through his body until he was sure he would explode. He inched forward on his stomach, his hand reaching out to touch Noah. It couldn't be real. It had to be another one of those fucking visions.

Kayla looked up as he moved and he tried to find his voice to ask her what happened. But as her eyes locked on his, he saw the disgust written in them. The sheer and utter revulsion she felt for him was as clear as day, marked across her face as though it had been drawn with permanent marker.

She knows. She knows about Poppy Cartwright.

He struggled to his feet, his legs wobbling like jelly and attempted to move towards her. But she shrank away, scooting backwards as though she was desperate to put as much space between them as possible. The look in her eyes shifted from disgust to fear, and Ryder stopped himself from reaching out to her, horrified that his own sister would be scared of him.

"Ryder," Savannah's voice called from behind him. He tore his gaze from Kayla and turned to the girl that had shared this dark secret with him.

Aaron and Savannah were approaching him cautiously, as though they were worried he would erupt at any moment. The look of terror on their faces mirrored Kayla's. Something began to click into place in his mind, like puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

The girl. The blood. The final way her head split open. Noah's body. The look of fear on the other's faces. The fact that his hands and shirt were tainted with red and grey.

Fuck!

It had been real. It had all been real. Only, instead of the girl, it had been Noah's head he had smashed against the concrete floor.

No. No. No. Fuck please no. Please it can't be true.

Ryder sank back to the floor, his fingers clutching his hair so tightly it hurt. But the pain was nothing compared to the way he felt inside. He wanted to rip his skin off with his bare hands and expose the person he really was.

The little girl had been right. He was a murderer.

Damon Hillhurst pulled up to the front of the Retirement Village and pressed the button on his remote. The wrought iron gate swung open slowly, creaking on its hinges, and he tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

He sped through the entrance and parked haphazardly, taking up two spaces. He exited the car quickly, slamming the door closed behind him.

He ignored the lady behind the reception desk and stalked straight through to his father's room. The old man was lying in bed, his head turned towards the television. He looked even worse than he had a week ago. Tubes trailed from his nose to assist with his breathing, patches of scalp peeked through the white hair on his head from where it had fallen out and the wrinkles that were etched into his skin seemed to have multiplied.

"Dad," Damon called to get the man's attention.

"Son," his father rasped, turning his glassy brown eyes in Damon's direction. "This is an unexpected surprise."

Damon took note of the fact that his father didn't seem too pleased by this. In fact, he acted as though it was an imposition for his son to visit him.

"I need to talk to you."

Damon Senior gestured to the chair that was placed by the bed. Even now, as sick as he was, he never lost his business-like manner. He clasped his wrinkled hands together and waited patiently for his son to speak.

"Anna invented something. A serum called Phobia." Damon spoke quickly, hoping to get the entire story out before his father could berate him. "She needed money to secure a location where she could test it out on people. I gave it to her."

His father opened his mouth to speak but Damon continued before he could get a word out. The story tumbled out of him, desperate to be told.

"But it's gone too far. She sent a letter to Michael Stevens basically claiming all the credit for what she had done. We kidnapped five kids to use as test subjects, which would have been fine but now one of them is dead. I've just seen the detectives that questioned me about her heading out towards the farmhouse where we have been keeping them. Which means they know, she's probably been arrested by now."

His father was quiet for a long moment, so long that Damon began to think he wouldn't speak at all. The room seemed to grow colder by the second as he was trapped under his father's scrutiny.

"You stupid child!" The words were harsh but the tone with which he said them, even worse. "I introduce to your sister and this is what you do? Do you have any idea how elated I was when I found her? You have ruined everything. You will both go to jail for this!"

"I won't," Damon interrupted his father's rant. "She wrote the letter, but she didn't mention my name. I have her phone with me, so there's no way they can trace her recent calls. They will never make the connection." He was so glad she had asked him to take her phone to charge it, it seemed to be the only stroke of luck he had had in the last few days.

"You think they won't find you?" His father's normally pale face had turned a deep shade of crimson. "I didn't raise you to be this ignorant. You will go down for this, even if I have to turn you in myself."

"You would turn in your own son?"

"Just as you would turn in your own sister," the old man countered, slowly reaching for the remote to press the button to call in the nurse.

Damon saw where his father's hand was going and stretched over to move it out the way. "I can't let you do that dad."

"You are no child of mine," his father snapped. "You're a murderer. An innocent child is dead because of you, Damon! Either turn yourself in, or I will."

"I can't let you do that." Damon repeated, his eyes glazing over as he slowly got to his feet and picked up the cushion from the chair. "I'm sorry."

"Damon, what are you-" but his father's words were cut off as the cushion was pressed against his face. His old, weathered hands struggled to pull off Damon's, scratching his skin.

Damon held on tight, pushing the cushion down with all his strength as the old man clawed at him, his arms beginning to shake with the effort. Until, finally his father went limp.

Damon removed the cushion and looked down at his father's still body, feeling only a tinge of remorse for the man. He couldn't let his own father send him to jail; he had to find a way to stop him from telling someone.

And now, the man had been silenced forever, taking Damon's secret with him to the grave.