The infirmary smelt of stale blood and cleaning solution. All Keith could do as he lied on his stomach in bed was stare at the wall. The stitches in his back still tingled in pain. He had stayed silent since his traumatic experience in the interrogation room, but thankfully, those women had decided to have mercy on him.

If only he hadn't wandered so far from home while walking the dog. . . .

Suddenly, the door opened, and Keith flinched instinctively. Entering the room was a tall, middle-aged woman with long brown hair, wearing a brown sweatshirt with fur that lined the hood. She had a look of awkward sympathy on her face. As the woman approached Keith's bed, he looked up at her with a nervous frown. To his surprise, she looked just as nervous.

Rouge cleared her throat.

"You're Keith Brahms, right?" she asked.

Keith felt as though his brain had been struck by lightning. How did these people know his legal name?

"Harrison," he corrected her in a snappy tone.

"R-right, Harrison," Rouge said. "My name is Heather Marshall, but I go by Rouge. It's, um . . . it's nice to meet you."

Keith was thouroughly confused.

"With all due respect, who the fuck are you?" he demanded, the anger in his voice loud and clear. "I got kidnapped last week, and just yesterday, I got tortured by two bitches with a machete. I've no idea what's going on."

Rouge heaved a sigh. She didn't blame him for this type of reaction. After knowing Keith's history with Jeff, she hadn't wanted to interact with him, but her pity for his situation rendered her with no choice. Besides, with the importance of the situation, she felt obligated to introduce herself.

"Look, I know you don't know me," she said. "But I have history with your family."

Keith's expression turned from one of outrage to one of surprised curiosity.

"W-what're you talking about?" he asked.

Rouge squatted down next to the bed so she and Keith were on eye level with each other. Their eyes met.

"When I was a kid," she explained, "I, of course, had a babysitter. Her name was Odessa Ivanchenko - your mother."

Keith's face dropped immediately. His skin turned the color of sour milk.

"M-my mother?" he inquired. "My mother?" he repeated.

Rouge nodded solemnly. She noticed that Keith's hands were shaking. She tried to reach out to hold his hand, but he yanked it away.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Rouge said with another sigh. "For everything that happened to you, and for what's been going on as of late."

Keith shook his head as he glared at her. His eyes were brimming with tears.

"You don't know me," he spat, his shaking voice barely above a whisper.

Keith turned away from Rouge so he wouldn't have to see the pitying look on her face. It made him sick to his stomach. The way his shirt had been forcibly taken off while he was being tortured was enough of a reminder of the woman who had made his childhood a living nightmare. He was so shocked that he didn't even think to ask Rouge how she knew who his mother was in the first place.

Rouge swallowed. Maybe she shouldn't have approached him in the first place. So she simply patted Keith's shoulder, wished him a speedy recovery, and left the infirmary before leaving the cabin altogether.

As Rouge was leaving the main cabin, a man in his late twenties watched her closely through a pair of binoculars. He was lying down on his stomach as he hid among some bushes on a ridge that overlooked the clearing, and he had been stationed there for quite a while. He needed to return home soon, but the timing was perfect: after staking out this place for a few days, he had all the information he needed.

"Is the bitch gone?"

Randy jumped, startled by the sudden whisper. He had almost forgotten about the teenager lying on her stomach next to him. Her piercing turquoise eyes searched his face for an answer.

"Yes, she's gone." Randy snapped back through gritted teeth. Why did I take her with me? he thought. Then again, he couldn't have possibly tracked down his kidnapped husband without the help of seventeen-year-old Christine Myers.

"Should we attack now?" Chris asked eagerly. She had a bit of a taste for chaos. "Just say the word and I'll blow up that shithole."

Randy groaned and rolled his eyes. This girl annoyed him, but she kind of reminded him of himself when he was a teenager.

"I told you we have to do it during the night." he reminded her. "Are you dumb? If we do it during the day, they won't be caught off guard like at night. We gotta leave 'em disoriented."

"Right, right," Chris responded. A giddy smile appeared on her face. "I love this. It's like we're in an action movie, y'know?"

Randy sighed, but he had to admit that this experience was exhilirating. Still, all he could think of was Keith, cold and afraid, tied up and locked away in some tiny room.

Sit tight, babe, Randy thought, as if to send his lover a telepathic signal. We're getting you outta there.

~

"You sure you don't wanna clock in for the night, Pop?" Maude asked.

Tim did his best to stifle a yawn. It was getting late, but he couldn't leave his office yet. He still had more work to do.

"I'll be back soon enough," he reassured his newly adopted daughter. "I promise. Tell your dad to keep the bed warm for me till then, okay?"

Maude sighed and spat some of her tight black curls away from her face. She had been found by Brian lost in the forest a couple of months before, and as she had already been infected by Slenderman's influence, Tim and Brian decided to take her in.

"You're married to your work," Maude grumbled, and she left the office.

Tim rested his head on his arms. He just needed to close his eyes for a bit. . . .