Pure dread rose in the back of Waylon’s throat, stifling any words he may have wanted to say. He dug his fingers into the countertop he had unconsciously moved towards, knuckles protesting at the pressure.
The patient motioned the woman forward. “Go on. Why don’t you take a seat on that couch? Your bones must ache!”
The programmer winced. Terrify her and insult her within the span of two minutes, real nice. But she did as he said, her wary eyes finding Waylon, staring at him with just as much distrust, suspicion, and fear. He didn’t think being struck in the asylum hurt as much as that.
Eddie reached down and picked up the old man by the collar of his shirt, lifting and choking him as he dragged him to a chair.
“Eddie,” Waylon croaked, voice found. “…I told you people lived here.” Using the countertop for balance he stepped closer to the situation. “We don’t have to hurt him, let’s just leave.”