Chapter 7: The Words He Cannot Speak

The next morning, Elliott awoke to the sound of metal clanking against the floor just outside his cell. The asylum was never truly quiet—muffled screams echoed through the halls, doors creaked open and slammed shut, and the ever-present sound of rain against the windows filled the silence in between. But this sound was different.

He pushed himself upright, his body still aching from weeks of confinement, his throat raw and sore. The stiffness in his limbs was becoming unbearable. His body felt weaker with each passing day.

Footsteps.

The familiar click of heels and the soft padding of boots against the cold floor. He knew who it was before he even saw them.

The door to his cell creaked open, and Lily and Maggie entered, carrying a small wooden tray. Atop it sat a simple notebook and a sharpened pencil.

Lily was smiling as always, a bright contrast to the cold, dreary asylum. “Good morning, Elliott,” she greeted cheerfully. “We brought you something.”

Maggie, as usual, was more subdued. “I hope you actually use it,” she remarked, setting the tray down on the small table beside his cot. “Otherwise, it’s a waste of perfectly good paper.”

Elliott’s eyes flickered to the notebook.

His hand twitched slightly at the thought. It had been so long since he had written anything—so long since he had even thought of it.

Lily must have noticed his hesitation because she knelt beside him, tilting her head with curiosity. “Do you like it?”

Elliott hesitated, then nodded.

Lily’s smile widened. “Good! This way, if there’s anything you want to say, you don’t have to struggle.”

Maggie crossed her arms. “If you’re willing to use it, that is.”

Elliott reached forward slowly, his fingers brushing against the rough cover of the notebook. He flipped it open to the first blank page, staring at the empty space before him.

For the first time in weeks, he had a way to express himself.

His heart pounded as he picked up the pencil. His hand trembled slightly, the weight of this moment pressing down on him.

What could he even say?

Where would he start?

His mind was a storm of words, of thoughts and confessions trapped inside him, but as he stared at the blank page, he realized something terrifying.

He had no idea how to begin.

Lily and Maggie waited patiently, watching him with quiet encouragement.

Finally, with a shaky breath, Elliott pressed the pencil to the page and wrote:

“Thank you.”

Simple. Small. But it was something.

Lily beamed. “You’re welcome, Elliott.”

Maggie peered at the words, nodding in approval. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Elliott wasn’t sure how to feel. Writing the words felt foreign, almost unnatural. But at the same time, it was the first time since losing his voice that he had spoken.

And it made something stir deep within him.

Lily leaned forward slightly. “Would it be okay if I asked you some questions? You can just write down your answers.”

Elliott hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much he was willing to tell them. But after a moment, he gave a small nod.

Lily’s expression softened. “Okay… I guess I should start with the obvious one.” She folded her hands in her lap. “What happened to your voice?”

Elliott’s breath hitched.

His fingers tightened around the pencil, his entire body going rigid.

Maggie gave Lily a sharp look. “Lily.”

“What?” Lily blinked, looking between the two. “He’s obviously not mute by birth. And he wants to talk. So what happened?”

Elliott lowered his gaze to the notebook, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Could he tell them?

Could he trust them?

For weeks, he had been trapped in silence, drowning in the truth that no one would ever believe. His father had stolen his voice, had stolen his freedom, had sent him to this place to rot in obscurity.

And now, these two nurses—two people who had been nothing but kind to him—were offering him something dangerous.

A chance.

A chance to be heard.

His hands trembled as he wrote, his breath shallow. Each letter felt like a battle, every stroke of the pencil a struggle against the fear in his chest.

Finally, when he was done, he turned the notebook around for them to see.

“My father took it.”

Lily’s eyes widened. Maggie’s face twisted into something unreadable.

Lily looked back at him. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Elliott swallowed hard, his throat aching with the phantom pain of what had been done to him. Slowly, carefully, he wrote again.

“Surgery.”

The silence in the room became suffocating.

Lily stared at the word, her mouth slightly open. Maggie’s jaw clenched, her hands gripping the fabric of her uniform tightly.

“He—” Lily faltered, looking as if she didn’t want to finish the sentence. “He did this to you?”

Elliott nodded, his fingers tightening around the pencil.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Maggie exhaled sharply. “That bastard.”

Lily shot her a warning look, but she didn’t take back the words.

Elliott’s heart pounded. His eyes darted between them, searching for any sign of doubt. Any sign that they didn’t believe him.

But there was none.

They believed him.

For the first time since waking up on that cold metal table, someone believed him.

Lily swallowed, her voice shaky. “Elliott… why would he do this to you?”

Elliott’s fingers hovered over the page.

How could he even explain it? How could he make them understand what kind of monster his father was?

Slowly, he wrote:

“My mother.”

Lily frowned. “Your mother?”

Elliott’s throat burned at the thought of her.

The image of her lifeless body on that table flashed through his mind, the empty stare, the careful incisions, the methodical dismantling of the woman who had once been his entire world.

His hands trembled violently as he wrote:

“She’s dead.”

Lily covered her mouth, her eyes filled with horror.

Maggie’s expression darkened. “And your father… he…?”

Elliott’s stomach twisted as he wrote the final word.

“Killed.”

A cold shudder ran through both women. The weight of his words settled over the room like a suffocating fog.

Lily’s hands shook slightly as she gripped her clipboard. “Elliott… does anyone else know about this?”

Elliott hesitated.

Dyllan.

The butler had been there. He had helped his father. He had apologized before sending Elliott down those stairs, before condemning him to this place.

But no one else knew.

Slowly, he shook his head.

Maggie exhaled sharply, running a hand through her graying hair. “This is…” she trailed off, glancing toward the door as if expecting someone to be listening in.

Lily, however, leaned forward. “Elliott,” she whispered, “I don’t know how, but we’re going to get you out of here.”

His breath caught in his throat.

He hadn’t expected those words.

He hadn’t expected anything but pity, or fear, or dismissal.

But Lily’s gaze was fierce. Determined.

And for the first time in weeks, Elliott felt something stir in his chest.

Something he had thought was long dead.

Hope.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***