**THE ILLUSION OF US**

The sedan’s tires squealed against the slick concrete as Mark threw the car backward. The side mirror clipped David’s shoulder, sending the older man spinning to the ground with a vicious curse. Mark didn't stop. He whipped the steering wheel around, shifted into drive, and gunned the engine toward the exit barrier, smashing through the wooden arm and speeding out into the rainy night.

"Dad! What's happening?!" Leo screamed from the backseat, curling into a tight ball, terror radiating from his small frame.

"Keep your head down, Leo! I've got you, I promise!" Mark yelled over the rushing wind pouring through the shattered passenger window.

He merged onto the highway, his heart hammering against his ribs. He needed a safe haven. He couldn't go to his sister's house—if David was alive, he probably knew where Sarah lived. He couldn't go to the police yet; a dead man attacking him in a parking garage sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, and David could easily disappear again.

Mark needed answers. He needed the origin point. St. Jude's.

It took an hour of white-knuckle driving to reach the outskirts of the city, pulling up to the rusted iron gates of St. Jude's Behavioral Health Center. The facility had been shut down three years ago, its towering brick facade now covered in ivy and graffiti. It was desolate, terrifying, and exactly where Mark needed to go.

He pulled the car around to the back, hiding it behind a row of overgrown oak trees.

"Leo, listen to me," Mark said, turning around in his seat to face his trembling son. "I need you to stay in the car. Keep the doors locked. If anyone besides me comes near this car, you honk the horn as loud as you can, okay?"

Leo nodded, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. "Please don't leave me, Dad."

"I will never leave you," Mark swore, pressing a kiss to the boy's forehead. "I'm just going to look inside. I'll be right back."

Mark grabbed a heavy flashlight from the trunk and pried open a rusted side door of the abandoned hospital. The air inside smelled of mildew and decay. He navigated the dark hallways, following the faded signs pointing toward the Archives. If Rachel was a patient here, there had to be a record left behind.

He found the file room on the basement level. Cabinets had been ransacked, papers strewn across the damp floor. Mark frantically searched the 'E' section. Nothing. He checked the 'R' section. Nothing.

Frustration boiled over, and he kicked a metal cabinet. It toppled over, sending a cascade of hidden boxes tumbling from the top shelf.

One box burst open, scattering personal effects—items confiscated from patients upon admission. Mark knelt, shining his light over the debris. A plastic comb. A broken mirror.

And a heavy, gold pocket watch.

Mark’s breath hitched. He knew that watch. It belonged to his father. It was an heirloom that was supposed to be passed down to Mark, but it had vanished the week his father died. Mark had always assumed it was stolen by a nurse.

He picked it up. The gold was tarnished, the glass face cracked. He clicked the latch open. Inside the cover, a piece of paper was tightly folded. Mark pulled it out and smoothed it open.

It was a handwritten confession, dated ten years ago, signed by Rachel.

I didn't want to do it. David forced me. He knows about the money. He knows about Lorena. If I don't give him Leo, he'll kill Mark.