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Stitches

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Chapter 17: The Watchful Eye

Three months passed.

Three months of careful planning.

Three months of waiting.

The asylum had changed. Or maybe, it was just how they looked at him that had.

The female nurses wouldn’t go near him anymore.

Not after Marie.

Not after the whispers had settled into something deeper—fear.

They called him cursed. Said that anyone who got too close to him vanished.

So now, he had been assigned someone new.

A male nurse named David.

David was different from the others.

He wasn’t soft like Gwen. He wasn’t warm like Lily or Maggie. He wasn’t careful like Marie.

He was quiet, detached, never speaking unless necessary.

And Elliott preferred it that way.

The less attention he drew, the better.

He barely interacted with David. Never acknowledged him unless absolutely needed.

Not because David was cruel, or dangerous—but because Elliott couldn’t afford to care.

Not again.

Not after what his father had done to the others.

If he let his guard down, if he let himself get used to David’s presence, then Samuel Delacroix would take him too.

And Elliott wasn’t willing to let another body pile up at his feet.

So, he remained distant. Silent. Unmoving.

But he didn’t remain weak.

For the past three months, Elliott had been preparing.

Every night, after the asylum had fallen into silence—after the nurses had made their rounds and David had locked his door—he trained.

His body had been neglected for too long.

He had spent years wasting away, too focused on surviving to focus on strength.

But now, it was time to fix that.

At first, it was difficult.

His body was weak, too thin, too untrained. His muscles burned at even the smallest effort.

But he pushed through it.

Every night, he forced himself through silent repetitions—push-ups, sit-ups, planks, anything he could do in the confined space of his room.

He trained his grip, using whatever he could to strengthen his hands, his fingers.

He needed to be stronger.

Faster.

Because when the time came—when he finally faced his father—he wouldn’t hesitate.

He wouldn’t be the helpless boy on that table ever again.

And as the weeks passed, his body changed.

The thin, fragile frame that had once belonged to a boy who had been broken apart was shifting into something else.

Something stronger.

Something capable of killing a monster.

And every night, when he looked at his reflection in the small, cracked mirror across the room—he didn’t see a victim anymore.

He saw a weapon waiting to be used.

---

The door to Elliott’s cell creaked open, the dim overhead light casting a long shadow across the floor.

David stepped inside, his expression unreadable as always, clipboard tucked under one arm. He was tall, built like someone who had spent years doing real work—not just caring for patients, but containing them.

Elliott had noticed that about him from the beginning.

David wasn’t like the others.

He wasn’t scared of him, not like the female nurses had been.

He was watching him.

Studying him.

Elliott didn’t know if that made him dangerous or just another pawn in his father’s game.

David shut the door behind him and leaned casually against the wall, flipping through his clipboard. “Vitals look good,” he muttered. “Weight’s up, muscle mass has increased a bit…” He glanced up, his sharp brown eyes settling on Elliott. “Been eating better?”

Elliott just shrugged.

He had been eating more—because he had to.

Because training on an empty stomach would do nothing but make him weaker.

David let out a small hum, his gaze lingering for a moment before looking back at his notes. “You’ve been in here a long time, haven’t you?”

Elliott didn’t respond.

David didn’t seem to mind.

“Over a year now,” he continued. “I was reading through your files. You don’t have much on record.”

Elliott tensed slightly, but forced himself to stay still.

David flipped through a few pages, his brows furrowing. “No history of mental illness. No prior incidents before you were admitted. No legal records. And then, out of nowhere—you’re sent here.”

Elliott kept his expression blank.

David wasn’t the first person to wonder about that.

But he was the first person to say it out loud.

The nurses before him—Lily, Maggie, Gwen, even Marie—they had all felt that something was off.

But David?

David was looking for answers.

And that was dangerous.

Elliott lifted his hands and signed, “I don’t belong here.”

David smirked. “Yeah? That what you tell yourself?”

Elliott just shrugged again.

It didn’t matter what David believed.

Because he was right.

He didn’t belong here.

He wasn’t crazy.

He wasn’t broken.

He was waiting.

David exhaled and closed the clipboard, tucking it under his arm. He studied Elliott for a long moment before leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“And then there’s your father,” he said.

Elliott’s hands stilled.

His breath hitched, just slightly—so small that most people wouldn’t have noticed.

But David wasn’t most people.

“There’s not much on him, either,” David continued, watching Elliott’s reaction closely. “Which is weird, considering how much influence he has around here. There’s no medical record, no personal history. Even his credentials are vague.”

Elliott remained perfectly still.

His father had made sure of that.

Samuel Delacroix didn’t leave paper trails.

He left bodies.

David narrowed his eyes. “Who is he, Elliott?”

Elliott lifted his hands slowly. “A doctor.”

David let out a short laugh. “Yeah. I figured that much.”

He leaned back again, watching Elliott carefully. “You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

Elliott shrugged again, his shoulders loose, casual—hiding the slow-burning fire beneath his skin.

Because talking about his father?

That would only put David in the grave next.

David clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against the clipboard. Then, as if testing him, he asked, “And the nurses?”