Ethan woke up strapped to a bed. His eyes blinking slower than he wanted to. He felt like death. His body ached. He'd been sneaking his way around this God-forsaken house for only God knows how long.

The lights were dim. He didn't recognize this room. His bed was fit for a child. The room was brighter than the rest. More colorful. But decayed and molded. Broken. It was murky. It's stench was the same as every where else. The only thing that made this room better than any other room he'd explored was that it looked harmless. It was free.

He pulled at the belts around his wrists. It hurt. The worn out leather was sturdy and chafed against his skin. Nothing he couldn't handle but he didn't want to be agitating his reattached, severed hand. He looked down hoping maybe his legs had better luck. His ankles sported bungee ropes. He kept hiking his legs up but the ropes wouldn't budge. He didn't want to cause any more commotion. But he needed to free himself. He thought, maybe if he motivated himself to reach for that glimmering trophy across the room he'd be able to. He just kept focusing on that one thing. He ignored all the pain threatening its way to tear him apart and kept reaching for the trophy. But his struggling just worsened the pain he was under. Without thinking he screamed.

He paused and looked around. He hadn't meant to scream. He didn't want to alert anybody. But it came out. He rested his head on the single pillow nestled under his neck and swallowed hard.

The door opened. Ethan closed his eyes. He's been able to free himself of the chair but this was proving more difficult. He steadied his breathing as best he could, not taking a peek.

A part of the bed sank near his legs. He'd rather it be Marguerite than Jack. Marguerite at least was still pretending to be a mother. All she'd do was torture him until he gave in to being a submissive son of hers. Jack wanted the same of course. But was more assertive about the way he went about it.

A firm grip found its way to his shin and he tensed. His body was so stiff his breathing became erratic again. His heart was racing faster than he wanted. He didn't want to show fear. It would just egg them on. But the grip stayed in place.

"Relax," soothed Lucas, "ain't nothing gonna to happen to you now."

"Bullshit," Ethan spat. He knew that voice. He didn't want it soothing him down.

"You know, I like you, hand cut off. Wife desperate to kill you. Don't you understand the repercussions of your actions here?"

Ethan opened his eyes. Lucas released his hand and sat forward. Before Ethan could respond Lucas stood up and walked over to his trophy, "This ain't even mine."

"Fuck do I care?" Ethan yelled.

"It makes me feel accomplished," Lucas picked one up and admired it's rusted, peeling beauty. It had definitely seen better days. It wasn't made of gold. Not even bronze. It was purely plastic. Cheaply painted over to offer recognition in order to motivate the young achiever, "I did win it, though."

"Can we just get on to the savage part so I can get the fuck out of here?"

"People think I'm dumb. But I still won this trophy."

"I don't want a sob story. I don't want to sympathize with you."

Lucas laughed real hard. Harder than he had in the last few years experimenting with his victims, "Who said anything about that? I'm just saying you can relax."

Ethan kept wriggling his wrists. Bringing his legs into the picture. But nothing would budge. He was straining himself, he was whimpering, and he didn't like that. Especially not here. Not in front of this atrocity.

"Let me go, and I'll let you go. How about that?"

"You just want to save your pretty little wife," Lucas cooed.

"Of course," Ethan added, "I want nothing to do with whatever is going on here. Whatever you've done to my wife. I'm going to fix it. I'm going to get us out of here. And if you let me go, I promise I'll leave you alone."

"I can't trust you on that," Lucas placed the trophy back and faced Ethan, "not because of you. But your wife isn't what she says—"

"I don't care what she's doing here. I'm getting her out of here!" Ethan screamed.

"See, I can't let you do that, Ethan. Letting you go means saving your wife. Saving your wife means trouble around here." Lucas walked over to the bed. Ethan fidgeted and edged himself back as Lucas sat down in the same spot. Lucas smiled at him only a way a creeper could, "I haven't left in years. I can only rearrange these puzzles so much."

"Then leave here," Ethan spat.

Lucas laughed maniacally, "Sure, I'll just get in my car and drive off."

"I don't see what's stopping you."

Lucas' smile faded and he looked around the room, "This used to be my room."

Ethan bit back a laugh, "This is your room?"

Lucas stood up and punched Ethan in the gut. The other man yelped in pain, "Fuck you! You wanna know what happened in the attic up there?"

Ethan swallowed hard and shook his head, "I really don't care."

Lucas walked away, pacing in front of Ethan, hands up against his scalp. He scratched at his head furiously. He stopped and pivoted to face Ethan directly, "Got some fucking God-damn nerve, you know that?"

Ethan lurched forward in the bed, "Me? What do you call this? A sleepover?"

"If you want it to be!"

"What the fuck—" Ethan was cut off.

"Just got to sleep. I told them I'd take care of you for the time being."

Ethan leaned back in anger and confusion, "I don't want any of you people taking care of me."

"Well, you're shit out of luck, buddy, you got me," Lucas stated.

Realizing nothing inherently violent was going to happen any time soon, Ethan relaxed. He looked everywhere but Lucas. Silence passed between them. Lucas stayed at the foot of the bed and Ethan kept scanning the environment.

"I'm getting bored," Lucas waltzed over and sat at the same place, Ethan tried to scoot away, "of the silence. Calm the fuck down, pretty boy."

Ethan laughed. Lucas smiled. Ethan's smile was replaced by a look of disgust. Lucas got pissed, "What the fuck is wrong with you?

"What is wrong with you?" Ethan practically begged.

The sounds of creaking started to fill the air. A door slamming. The sound of two people arguing.

Lucas shoved his way closer to Ethan, who absentmindedly closed the distance between them. Lucas faced Ethan, "They'll be looking for you soon."

"I thought you were taking care of me?" Ethan asked, pushing himself away a little.

Lucas grinned and put a finger to his lips, "Don't get wet, but I'm gonna undo your restraints and then you'll have about 5 minutes to get the fuck out of here."

"How?" Ethan asked impatiently.

The other man grinned wider and shrugged, "That's up to you."

Another door slamming drew both men's attentions. Marguerite could be heard. Voice shrill and freaking out. Jack's heavy feet echoed through the house.

"Quick—" Ethan was cut off with a kiss on the lips. Out of shock, he waited a moment before peeling himself back, "What the fuck was that?"

"No time," Lucas undid the belts around his wrists. Then he reached for the ropes around Ethan's legs, "This will go faster if you help."

Ethan wasted no time in agreeing, freeing himself as fast as he could. Once he was released from his ties, he jumped off the bed.

"Drawer," was all Lucas said before he bolted out of the room.

Ethan turned and open the single drawer attached to the end table. It held his pistol, a first aid bottle, his pocket knife, and some of those weird psychostimulants. He grabbed them all hurriedly and stowed them away. He looked back to find the door closed and the sound of yelling. Lucas's voice clashed with his mother's and father's so loudly that Ethan had lots of time to find an escape.

He walked around, not even a minute long, and found the button attached to the trophy opening up the attic staircase.