Red Vineyard
The dim light filtered through Jahnny’s eyelids, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he stirred with clarity. A jolt of pain shot through his limbs as he shifted, but it was a sharp, tangible pain—a reminder that he could feel again. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his vision adjusting to the surroundings. The chains were gone. The sterile machines and cold steel table had vanished. He was lying on a threadbare mattress in the corner of the room, surrounded by scattered papers and tools, as if James had simply wandered off mid-project.
Jahnny sat up, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest. He inspected his arms and legs, now crisscrossed with scars and bruises, but intact. He flexed his fingers, relief flooding through him as they obeyed. For a moment, he just sat there, his breathing shallow and quick, his heart pounding like a drumbeat. He was alive—and alone.
A quick scan of the room revealed no sign of James. The familiar hum of machines was absent, replaced by an eerie stillness. His gaze fell on the door, slightly ajar, and his instincts screamed at him to move.
Barefoot and cautious, Jahnny crept to the door. His steps were quiet, but the rough wooden floor groaned under his weight. Beyond the door was a hallway, dimly lit and lined with peeling wallpaper. The air smelled of mildew and something metallic—blood, perhaps. He hesitated, his mind a whirlwind of fear and determination. Then, with a deep breath, he bolted.
The hallway stretched longer than it should have, and Jahnny’s bare feet slapped against the mud as he sprinted. He passed rooms filled with strange contraptions, shelves stacked with jars of unidentifiable substances, and walls adorned with incomprehensible scribbles. It all blurred together as he focused on the end of the corridor, where faint daylight seeped through a crack in the barn doors.
He shoved the doors open with all his might, and the blinding sunlight made him stumble. His eyes adjusted to reveal something unexpected—a sprawling garden of blood-red roses, their thorny vines twisting like serpents. The ground beneath him was soft and uneven, a mix of soil and overgrown roots.
Jahnny took a step, his foot sinking into the loose earth. Then he noticed the thorns. They glistened with a cruel sharpness, catching the sunlight like shards of glass. His next step sent a vine curling around his ankle, its barbs slicing into his skin. He let out a cry, falling forward into the roses, their razor-like thorns tearing at his arms and legs. He thrashed against the vines, but the more he struggled, the deeper they seemed to grip.
“Well, well, well,” came a familiar voice, sing-song and smug. “I had a hunch you’d try to make a run for it. And here you are, right on cue.”
Jahnny twisted his head to see James standing at the edge of the garden, a cigarette balanced between his lips and his red-tinted aviators glinting in the sunlight. He looked both amused and exasperated, like a parent catching their child stealing cookies before dinner.
“Do you have any idea how much work went into you?!” James gestured grandly, his hands sweeping toward Jahnny like he was presenting a work of art. “I mean, I understand. Really, I do. But running off? Into my Red Vineyard of all places? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Jahnny growled, struggling to free himself from the thorny vines. His arms were slick with blood, the crimson liquid pooling at his fingertips.
“Oh, those roses,” James said, smirking. “They’ve got a personality, don’t they? Like a good wine, full-bodied and sharp. I call this little patch my Red Vineyard. Fitting, don’t you think?”
Jahnny didn’t answer. He glared at James, defiance burning in his eyes despite his exhaustion.
James crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet as he stared at Jahnny through his tinted glasses. “I’m not mad, you know. Disappointed, sure, but not mad. I knew you’d do this. You’ve got that fire, that bite. A scrappy little underdog. That’s why I picked you.”
“Picked me?” Jahnny spat, his voice trembling. “You stole me.”
James shrugged, unbothered by the accusation. “Details, kid. Details. The point is, you’re special. And special things need special care.”
He stood, his lanky frame towering over Jahnny. “But if you’re determined to leave, I won’t stop you.” He gestured at the roses with a sweeping hand. “Go ahead. Fight your way out. Let’s see how far you get.”
Jahnny froze, his mind racing. Was this another test? A trap? Or was James genuinely letting him go? He looked down at the vines still coiled around his legs, their thorns biting into his flesh.
James sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you a hand.” He snapped his fingers, and the vines began to retract, slowly unwinding from Jahnny’s limbs. “There. Better?”
Jahnny scrambled to his feet, his legs shaky but functional. He stared at James, his heart pounding.
“Now, kid,” James said, his tone almost fatherly. “You’ve got a choice. Run, fight, do whatever you think you need to. But remember this—you owe me. And one day, you’ll pay that debt.”
Jahnny didn’t wait for another word. He turned and bolted, his feet pounding against the dirt path as he fled the barn, the roses, and the man who had turned his life into a waking nightmare. Behind him, James’s laughter echoed through the air, chilling and triumphant.
His legs burning with every desperate step. His breath came in heavy and winded, each inhalation filled with the metallic tang of blood and sweat.
But then, something changed.
A deafening roar tore through the air, followed by the rhythmic thumping of helicopter blades. Jahnny stumbled, his legs trembling under him as the sound grew closer. The earth beneath him vibrated, and before he could make sense of what was happening, the ground erupted in chaos. Boots pounded against the dirt, figures clad in dark tactical gear rushing past him in a blur.
“On the ground! Secure the area!” voices barked, sharp and authoritative.
Jahnny’s legs gave out, and he collapsed into the dirt. Dust filled his lungs as he tried to crawl forward, his fingers clawing at the ground. He could hear James in the distance, his tone shifting from casual arrogance to something unhinged.
“Oh, you think you can box me in? You think you’re clever?!” James’s voice rang out, high-pitched and manic. “Come on, then! Let’s see if you’ve got the guts!”
Gunfire erupted, shattering the tense air. Jahnny froze, his body pressed against the dirt as the cacophony unfolded around him. He didn’t dare look back, but the screams and explosions painted a vivid picture in his mind. James’s voice rose above it all, a chaotic symphony of rage and defiance.
“You want me? You’ll have to tear me apart piece by piece!”
Another explosion rattled the ground, and Jahnny flinched. His vision blurred with tears, his instincts screaming at him to run. But his body was done. He lay there, helpless, as the noise swirled into a distorted mess of chaos and terror.
Jahnny stumbled through the quiet field, his legs wobbling with every step. Each movement was a struggle, his body begging him to lie back down and give in to the pain. But the sight of Brassvale’s skyline—faint but undeniable in the distance—drove him forward. Home. He had to get home.
The field gave way to a cracked and uneven dirt road, lined by overgrown grass and weeds. The occasional rusted-out car or broken fence post punctuated the landscape, remnants of life long abandoned. Jahnny’s feet dragged, his toes stubbing against jagged rocks, sending fresh waves of pain shooting up his legs. His stomach growled loudly, a sharp reminder of how long it had been since he’d eaten.
As he neared the outskirts of the city, the faint hum of life began to stir around him—distant car horns, the murmur of voices, the metallic clang of machinery. It was comforting in its familiarity, but it also felt impossibly far away, as though he were watching the world through a foggy window.
The first real sign of civilization came in the form of a small market on the edge of a rundown neighborhood. Stalls were set up haphazardly, selling everything from fresh produce to cheap electronics. The air smelled of grilled meat and exhaust fumes, making Jahnny’s stomach clench with longing. He scanned the market, his eyes locking onto a cart loaded with apples, oranges, and bananas.
The vendor, a middle-aged man with a graying beard and a stained apron, was engrossed in conversation with a customer. Jahnny’s mouth watered as he edged closer to the cart, his heartbeat quickening. He glanced around nervously. No one was watching.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of an apple—and suddenly, it was in his hand. Not just in his hand; it had jumped into his grasp, as if pulled by a magnet. Jahnny stared at it, wide-eyed, his breath catching in his throat.
“What the…?” he whispered, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. But the vendor and his customer were still chatting, oblivious.
He didn’t waste another second. Stuffing the apple into his pocket, Jahnny turned and hurried away, his heart pounding. As he put distance between himself and the market, he pulled out the apple and took a large bite. The sweetness exploded in his mouth, a temporary balm for his exhaustion.
But the question lingered in his mind: What just happened?
Further down the road, Jahnny found himself in a quiet alley behind an old apartment complex. Laundry lines crisscrossed above him, clothes swaying gently in the breeze. His tattered, blood-stained shirt hung on his frame like a ghost, barely clinging to his thin body. He needed something clean. Something dry.
His eyes landed on a white T-shirt, oversized but clean, hanging near the edge of one line. He hesitated for a moment, guilt prickling at him, but desperation won out. He reached up, plucking the shirt from the line. It felt light, almost weightless in his hands.
As he pulled it over his head, the fabric seemed to lift on its own, resisting him. The hem floated upward, as if caught in an invisible breeze. Jahnny grabbed at it, tugging it back down, his movements frantic.
“Stay down,” he muttered, wrestling the shirt into place. Finally, it settled, though it felt oddly loose, as if it might float away again at any moment.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Jahnny continued deeper into the city. The streets grew busier, filled with people hurrying home or heading out for the night. Jahnny stuck to the shadows, his small frame easily blending into the background. His bare feet ached with every step, the pavement rough and unforgiving.
Near a dumpster behind a closed convenience store, he spotted a pair of sneakers. They were old and worn, the laces frayed, but they were better than nothing. Jahnny crouched down, reaching for them—and stopped.
The shoes moved.
At first, it was subtle, a barely noticeable shift. But then they slid closer to him, as though pulled by an unseen force. Jahnny’s hand froze, his heart racing. He looked around, half expecting to see someone with a string, playing a prank. But the alley was empty.
Tentatively, he grabbed the shoes and slipped them onto his feet. They fit well enough, though the soles were thin and offered little protection. As he tightened the laces, small pebbles near his feet began to roll toward him. A larger rock wobbled, then tipped over, drawn to him like iron to a magnet.
Jahnny scrambled back, his breath hitching. “What the hell is going on?” he whispered.
By the time night fell, Jahnny was back on the main streets of Brassvale, weaving through the crowds. The city was alive with neon signs and the hum of activity, but Jahnny felt disconnected from it all, like a ghost wandering among the living. His body ached with exhaustion, his mind racing with questions.
The strange occurrences—food flying into his hand, the shirt floating, the rocks gravitating toward him—played over and over in his head. He couldn’t make sense of it. Was he imagining things? Was it some aftereffect of James’s experiments?
A streetlight flickered above him, casting his shadow in strange, distorted shapes. Jahnny glanced up, his eyes narrowing. The light seemed to pulse faintly, its glow almost reaching out toward him. He stepped back, and the sensation faded.
Shaking his head, Jahnny pressed on. The streets grew quieter as he moved closer to his neighborhood, the familiar sights and sounds tugging at something deep inside him. Home. He was almost home.