Ten Days In A Madhouse Book Novels & Stories

IT JUST FOCUS MORE ON JESSICA REVENGE) THANKS CHAPTER 1: BLOOD AND BETRAYAL ~ JESSICA POV ~ The motel room reeks of cigarettes and broken dreams. I stand outside unit 47, rain dripping from my hood onto cracked pavement that's seen better decades. My heart hammers against my ribs—not from fear, but from anticipation. *Ten years, Miller. Ten fucking years.* I slide the master key I lifted from the distracted desk clerk into the lock. The door creaks open like a coffin lid.

He always lets me in whether I come invited or uninvited. Something must really be wrong somewhere. Madison's POV: **DARKNESS** I was brought back to my cold cell, and chained up as usual. Why do I always have to be locked up? The other slaves I saw outside wasn't really locked up just like I am. They don't have any special cell too. I laid on the chilly group peering into the dark because the cell was dark. Suddenly I heard footsteps, and I managed to sit up immediately. The chains clanked as the door was unlocked. A torchlight was flashed straight into my eyes.

The crazy part of it was when she pretended to have accepted the new faith of getting called ‘mad’, the moment she got a chance and wasn’t being monitored, she would attempt a move and be caught red handed again. The third time, she was chained up and flogged. Later, she was taken to the special unit cell built in a certain way for stubborn crazy people. It’s all dark with a tiny window so high one would think it’s close to the ceiling. There is a small hole like a pit toilet for shitting and peeing. In that room, a lot had died from losing control of their fear. There were scary writings on the wall and some done with blood.

I would have enjoyed mercy when I found one. The cell had a disgusting smell. It looked like a dungeon but had no iron bars. It was a room. A room in the mansion where no one would ever dream to suspect. Mr Leo would often ask his security men to throw his workers who didn't stick to instructions in there. No one had any idea of what goes on down there. The housekeepers were always so scared of breaking the rules and being thrown in there. It could look like a rehabilitation center. I figured it was designed specifically for those who are willing to right their wrongs. A board/marker, tons of books on character development, and sticky notes to write down one’s feelings were placed there. The

… After they were thrown out of the apartment, Zachary and Amelia were forced to settle for a dilapidated, 80-dollar-a-night motel. The room reeked of mold, and the wallpaper was peeling off in strips. Amelia's three children had been spoiled rotten their entire lives. The moment they stepped inside, they pinched their noses and started throwing a fit. "Mom, it stinks in here! I don't want to stay here!"

Jade's POV The safehouse didn't smell like the future. It smelled of old newsprint, wet wool, and the faint, sour tang of the linoleum floor that had been scrubbed with too much ammonia. We had spent forty-eight hours in the back of a delivery truck, tucked behind crates of industrial detergent, before we finally reached the row house in Canaryville. This was Adam’s territory.

Selena’s POV Ten days. That’s how long I’d been rotting in this filthy cell, listening to the endless dripping of water from the broken pipe above my bed and the low, guttural laughter of the inmates around me. Ten days of surviving on watery porridge and stale bread. Ten days of trying not to lose my mind. And if I had to count another hour, I might just strangle someone. I sat on the rusted bed frame, my back against the cold, damp wall, tracing the faded scratches carved there by those who’d come before me. Names, numbers, curses—all ghosts of those who never made it out.

My lip curled as I fought back the annoyance threatening to rise. “Sticking gum on the wall? You know what they say about hygiene in my space, right?” “‘My’ space? You feel like you own this cell, don’t you, genius?” That’s it. With a smooth jump from the top bunk, I landed on my feet—one hand gripping the middle page of Leviathan by Hobbes, the other clenched into a fist. “Built like a tank but runs on toddler logic. For someone who’s been in and out of prison, you’d think you’d have at least a basic culture of cleanliness.”