Chapter 110: Saving Grace

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A/N: TRIGGER WARNING:

This chapter contains scenery of death. Please refrain from reading if you are easily triggered by this nature. Thank you for reading!

River's POV:-

If I didn't feel nauseous before, I was now. Neither Larry, Travis or I knew how to react to the scene that stood before us. I knew we were all thinking the same thing, what sort of monster could do this to someone? What sort of person would allow this complete disregard of human rights to happen? The sweet, little old lady that Mrs Packerton portrayed herself to be - was a complete liar and a fraud. A monster and someone who deserved to rot for this. 

The room was pretty bare other than a large machine, replicating an old life support machine that beeped every couple of seconds, a bin filled with old, rotting diapers that was overfilled and spilling onto the shit stained carpet and finally, an unmade bed with the barely alive body of who I assumed to be Mr Packerton. I felt my eyes begin to glass over, this poor and frail man did not deserve to be treated this way. I couldn't begin to fathom how in Packerton's damn mind that this was the way to treat a human being - let alone her husband. I needed to see him, I needed to see if he was even alive in the first place. Each step I took was growing more and more unsteady. The smell within the room was so incredibly disgusting that breathing felt like a chore. As I came to his bedside, I saw she had chained him to the bed frame by his hands and feet. His skin was almost grey, barely showing resemblance to someone that will full of life and love. A shit filled diaper was wrapped around his tiny waist and his rib cage was protruding so much, I wondered when the last time he was fed properly. 

"Mr Packerton?" I spoke softly, his eye remaining fixed on the ceiling. "Mr Packerton, is that you?" I felt Larry and Travis come to my side, both of their faces visibly disgusted by the poor man on the bed. "If you're Mr Packerton, can you blink to communicate with me?" No movement, just silence. 

"My god..." Travis' voice broke. "I thought my punishments from my Dad were tough. This is just cruel and vicious..."

"Poor Mr Packerton..." Larry croaked. "Is he alive?"

"I haven't a clue.." I looked over to the machine. "He's got an oxygen mask on his face and it's linked to this machine. I think she's keeping him alive..."

"That's no way to fucking live..." the boys scoffed, turning their attention away from him. "Can he even speak?"

"I don't think he has any strength left in him. What do we do?" I felt a conflict in my chest. Part of me knew that turning off his life supporting machine was the right thing to do. There was no reason to keep this poor man suffering any longer - it was no way to live. The other part of me then realised that turning off this machine would end his life. I would essentially be killing this man, despite having no part in this wicked torture he must have been put through. 

"Wait a minute. I've got an idea..." Larry rushed off into the living room for a moment before returning with the gear boy. "When Sal first showed me Megan, the gear boy would blink and beep to see if there were any entities present. What if we try and see if Mr Packerton is floating within the two realms?" 

"That's brilliant!" Travis cheered. "We have to see if he knows anything!"

"I don't know..." I felt sick. "Do we really want to put this man through anything else?" 

"We need to know River... plus, if we are able to speak to him perhaps we can help him..."

I nodded, the boys were right. If Mr Packerton did have any intel on the cult, we needed to know however if there was a way to make any of this right for him, it was the least we could do. Larry flicked the switch on the gear boy, the screen beginning to glow green to notify us it was on. After a couple of seconds, it began to flick and beep incessantly at us. I could see Larry was hesitant to press the side buttons, knowing what happened to Sal the last time he did - but we prayed that Todd's corrections wouldn't cause him any pain. 

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