Chaos started to sing as I showered.

  The portable propane heater kept the water hot enough.

  My fists clenched at my sides as he sang.

  It reminded me of Jack.

  “Shut up.”

  Not loud.

  Quiet.

  Dangerous quiet.

  So we’re talking now? he asked.

  “We’re not talking. I’m telling you to stop singing.”

  I couldn’t think about my son right now.

  And why should I? Chaos asked

  I drew a slow breath and looked up at the ceiling.

  The bare bulbs flickered.

  Truth.

  He deserved that… I guess.

  “Because I’m about to break if you keep it up.”

  The singing stopped.

  For the first time since he’d appeared in my head, Chaos went quiet.

  When he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t teasing.

  Not amused.

  Not smug.

  Just… gentle.

  ‘Carl,’ he said softly,

  ‘you don’t have to break alone.’

  The words hit harder than the venom ever had.

  I closed my eyes.

  Water beat down on my shoulders like it was trying to wash something out of me.

  I gripped the wall instead.

  Chaos didn’t push.

  Didn’t pry.

  Didn’t fill the silence.

  He just stayed.

  Quiet.

  Present.

  Unsettlingly patient.

  It was somehow worse.

  And somehow—

  not.

  “Go find someone stronger.”

  I shut off the water.

  What if I don’t want someone strong?

  “I can’t even leave my own property to try and find my son,” I whispered.

  “You picked someone beyond repair.”

  Broken things can be mended, Chaos said softly.

  “I’m not some vessel for you to reshape like a potter.”

  My fist slammed against the wall.

  Interesting choice of word, he chuckled.

  I let out a heavy sigh and stepped out of the shower.

  Grabbed my towel.

  Dried off thoroughly.

  No drips on the floor.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Then dried the floor itself.

  Routine.

  Order.

  Control.

  The shower needed cleaned after every use.

  Things taken apart.

  Put back just right.

  My head bowed under the weight of it.

  “You need someone not bound by their routines,” I muttered.

  You keep telling me what I want, Chaos said,

  but refuse to get to know me.

  “You’re Chaos.”

  I said it like the word should explain everything.

  He was silent as I dug through the trunk for clean, dry clothes.

  All the jeans were the same.

  All the T-shirts were brown—to hide dirt.

  Red flannel shirts. Identical.

  Socks, all matching. Folded neatly.

  Underwear too.

  My boots sat by the door to dry.

  Spare pair under the bed. Same brand. Same size. Same everything.

  “I can’t even wear different clothes,” I muttered as I got dressed.

  “Chaos means flexible,” I added. “Not rigid to the point of snapping in half.”

  But you’re aware of how you are, Chaos purred.

  “Of course I’m aware.”

  I stomped my foot into my boot.

  “I couldn’t raise Jack to live in my cage.”

  And who is Jack? Chaos asked, his voice gentle.

  I bit my lip.

  I looked away.

  “Doesn’t matter to a prisoner,” I muttered, finishing getting dressed.

  I took the shower apart and cleaned it.

  Chaos left me to it in silence.

  I gathered freeze-dried ingredients and made a soup to eat with some shelf-stable crackers.

  Tasteless, but they lasted forever.

  The propane from the camp stove did its job, heating the water as the dried meat and vegetables softened and simmered.

  Nutritious, but bland.

  Is Jack not worth fighting for? Chaos asked as I methodically stirred the soup.

  I froze.

  “Psychology won’t work,” I sighed.

  “Tried that after—”

  I shut up.

  After what? he asked gently.

  I shook my head.

  My hand trembled.

  Breathe, Carl, Chaos murmured.

  You’re safe. The food is cooking. Smell it. See it.

  I let out a shuddering breath.

  The smell was… bland, but grounding.

  I wasn’t there.

  It didn’t look appetizing either, but it was fuel.

  I let go of the spoon and braced both hands on the table,

  head hanging toward my chest.

  “I don’t like being like this,” I whispered.

  “I really hate it.”

  Silence.

  “Kathy tried to help,” I said quietly.

  “But her death just made it worse.”

  She would be proud you raised Jack like you did, Chaos murmured.

  “She probably would’ve been stricter than me.”

  I shrugged.

  Something wet gathered around my eyes.

  Not tears.

  Couldn’t be tears.

  Tears were weak.

  Eat your soup and get some sleep, Chaos said.

  I don’t think the venom is done yet, and you need your strength.

  “Is that why I’m—”

  Nope.

  Didn’t want to say it.

  Liquid leaking from your tear ducts? Chaos offered, sounding amused.

  “Bastard,” I muttered—

  then chuckled.

  You have no idea, he laughed.

  Food.

  Rest.

  Per Dr. Chaos.

  Worst doctor name ever.

  I finished making the soup and poured it carefully into a bowl.

  No spills.

  I pulled out a folding chair and sat at the table.

  Real spoons.

  No sporks for me.

  Yup. Soup was as bland as could be.

  I had some ready-made meals I could rehydrate that tasted better,

  but why bother?

  Food was only fuel.

  Food is so much more than fuel, Chaos said.

  I particularly love pancakes with maple syrup.

  I sighed.

  “I don’t deserve comfort.”

  The words slipped out—

  and I froze.

  Chaos didn’t push.

  I really hoped he couldn’t see my night terrors when I finally slept.

  I finished eating just as exhaustion hit again,

  like a sledgehammer.

  I fought it long enough to wash my dish.

  No leftovers.

  A single portion.

  Rest, Chaos urged as I mechanically washed and dried the bowl.

  “Can’t.”

  My chest ached with how badly I needed to.

  “Has to be done.”

  Chaos let out a weary sigh.

  They’ll be there when you wake up.

  I slammed my hands down into the bin I used as a sink.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  Go to bed and see how it goes, he said softly.

  A slightly panicked laugh slipped out of me.

  No.

  Dishes always had to be washed, dried, and put away in their correct spots before anything else.

  He didn’t understand.

  My breath went shallow.

  My heart started pounding.

  I shouted, my voice cracking.

  “Why am I like this?!”

  The shadows in the room shifted—gentle, not threatening.

  ‘Because you were never meant to hold everything alone,’ Chaos said.

  His tone held a strange gravity.

  ‘Let me carry some of it now.’

  I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles bleached white.

  “I’m the man,” I ground out.

  “We don’t share burdens.”

  I turned away from the sink.

  The dishes were still there, and I was shaking with exhaustion.

  Someone lied to you about strength, Chaos said.

  I glanced back at the bowl and the pot.

  The bowl was cleaned and dried.

  The pot was half-cleaned.

  I rubbed both hands over my face.

  Leave the dishes, Carl. Rest.

  A broken sound escaped me—too small to be a sob, too raw to be anything else.

  I dragged myself to the bed and hurled my body onto it, facing the wall so I wouldn’t see the sink.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “I really hate my cage, Chaos,” I whispered.

  No prisoner loves their cage, he said softly,

  as exhaustion finally pulled me under.

  Chaos scowls. “I want to have some fun.”

  Order: You’re helping a man become functional. That’s more important.

  Chaos: How does any of this lead to Halloween?

  Order: You have to be patient to find out.

  Chaos: He’s still in a bunker. Emberflame!

  Lady Emberflame appears. “Yes, Chaos?”

  Chaos: Does he actually leave the property?

  Lady Emberflame sighs. “I made you so much more patient in the story. You know that, right?”