Chapter 3: Payback in the Gilded Cage

We drove slowly into the nursing home. Savannah strode inside in her heels, and I followed.

Her heels clicked against the linoleum, echoing down the hallway. The place smelled of lemon cleaner and wilted carnations.

From a distance, I saw my brother pinned against the wall by several people.

He looked nothing like the smug kid from this morning. His white coat was filthy, hair a mess, face scratched and bleeding.

“You little punk! You can’t even carry a bedpan without spilling it?”

A burly old man jabbed my brother’s chest with his cane, while a group of other elders watched, their eyes twisted with excitement.

The old man’s voice boomed through the hall, drawing a crowd of onlookers. The other residents looked positively gleeful, like this was the day’s entertainment.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis, I’ll be more careful next time…”

My brother’s voice trembled, on the verge of tears, his eyes full of fear.

His hands shook as he tried to wipe the mess from his coat. I’d never seen him look so small.

“Next time? You think there’ll be a next time?”

Mr. Lewis sneered, then suddenly raised his cane and smashed it down on my brother’s hand.

The crack echoed off the walls. My brother screamed, dropping to his knees.

The old men laughed and whistled.

Their laughter was sharp, almost cruel. I felt a flicker of pity, quickly smothered by old resentment.

Then, a frail old woman shuffled over, her fingernails nearly three inches long, a sickly blue-black.

She moved with eerie slowness, her eyes fixed on my brother like a cat eyeing a mouse.

She stroked my brother’s face, her nails leaving fresh scratches as she muttered,

“Such smooth, tender skin… how lovely.”

Her voice was a raspy whisper, sending a chill down my spine. My brother tried to pull away, but the old men held him tight.

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He whimpered, eyes darting to the door, searching for an escape that wasn’t coming.

Savannah frowned and called out,

Her voice cut through the chaos. "Uncle Ray, what’s going on here?"

A middle-aged man in a suit—the director—hurried over, his face plastered with a nervous smile.

He looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. "Miss Whitlock, the new guy just doesn’t know the rules. The residents are just playing with him. What brings you here today?"

Savannah glanced at my brother, expressionless.

She sized him up with a cold detachment, like she was already bored with the whole scene.

“Just checking on my dad’s business. As long as everyone’s happy. How much does he make a month?”

She didn’t bother to hide her indifference, already glancing at her phone.

She glanced at my brother again.

Her eyes lingered on his bruised hands, but she didn’t seem moved.

The director whispered, “Two-fifty a month.”

He said it like he was embarrassed, as if the number itself might offend her.

“Pay him more. If you scare everyone off, no one will want to work here.”

She replied coolly.

Her tone left no room for argument. The director nodded, scribbling a note in his planner.

It hit me—this nursing home was an investment by Savannah’s family.

Suddenly, a lot of things made sense—the fancy furniture, the expensive art on the walls, the air of quiet menace that hung over the place.

No wonder everyone here was rich or powerful.

It wasn’t just a coincidence. This was a playground for the old and wealthy—a place where favors were traded and grudges settled.

After all, wealthy people tend to have wealthy friends. Maybe this place was built just for her family’s business partners.

It was a private club, masquerading as a care facility. Only the chosen few got through the doors.

As for why the residents were all so… twisted?

Money does strange things to people. Power, even more so. The longer you have it, the more it warps you.

It made sense when you thought about it. Who else but the mentally unstable relatives of the rich would end up here?

They couldn’t be left out in the world, but they couldn’t be locked away, either. So they ended up here, ruling their own little kingdom.

This was basically a private asylum for the wealthy.

A gilded cage, with velvet bars and gold-plated locks.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. I didn’t want to remember how I’d escaped this place in my last life, or how I’d managed to change my fate.

Some memories are better left buried. But I couldn’t help glancing at my brother, wondering if he’d survive the week.

“Kevin! Kevin!”

Suddenly, my brother lunged at me, wild-eyed.

He looked desperate, clinging to me like I was his last lifeline.

He grabbed my shirt, eyes full of despair and rage, voice shaking.

“What’s going on here? What is this place?!”

His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the fear in it was unmistakable.

The director quickly yanked him away, glaring as he ordered him back to work.

He barked at him to get back to cleaning, but my brother dug in his heels, refusing to budge.

But my brother wouldn’t let up. Right in front of Savannah, he started airing my dirty laundry:

He shouted, "Miss Whitlock, he’s got terrible foot odor—take off his shoes and you’ll pass out! He grinds his teeth and snores so loud no one can sleep! And he never flushes the toilet—there’s always yellow stains in the bowl!"

He laughed maniacally, blood flecking his lips.

His laughter echoed down the hallway, sharp and brittle. I felt my cheeks burn, but I kept my cool.

Savannah was a neat freak on top of her princess attitude.

She was notorious for firing housekeepers over a stray hair on the sink. My heart thudded in my chest as she turned to me.

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Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed. I braced myself for the worst.

“Fire him! He’s not fit to be your driver!” my brother shouted gleefully.

He looked triumphant, certain he’d ruined my chances.

But the next second, Savannah slapped him across the face.

The sound was sharp, echoing off the tile. My brother staggered back, stunned.

“Buy better shoes, problem solved. My house is detached—snoring won’t bother anyone. And I have three housekeepers. You really think I care about toilets?”

Her words were icy, dismissive. She barely spared him a glance as she turned away.

My brother was stunned, mumbling to himself,

He stared at the floor, muttering, “Then why did you see nothing but faults in me? I even threw myself at you, and you didn’t want me!”

That was the last straw for Savannah. The director was furious too—my brother had just insulted her reputation.

Savannah snapped,

Her voice was cold as steel. "He’s not fit to serve anyone else. Let him take care of Old Man Barker!"

Old Man Barker.

The name sent a ripple of fear through the room. Even the director paled, sweat beading on his brow.

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He stammered a promise to follow her orders, voice barely above a whisper.

My own heart clenched, remembering the nightmare that was Old Man Barker.

Images flashed through my mind—dark hallways, the smell of blood and smoke, the sound of chains rattling in the night.

His room always reeked of rotten herbs. He kept chains and belts by his bed.

The stench clung to your clothes, seeping into your skin. No one dared go near his door after dark.

Every time a new volunteer went in, they’d come out limping, pants stained with dried blood.

Rumors flew among the staff, whispered in the break room. No one lasted long in that room.

I remembered my first night there—woken by strange noises from his room. Peeking through the door, I saw a volunteer hanging from the rafters by chains, his back covered in belt marks, a twisted letter branded on his chest.

The image still haunted my dreams. I’d never felt so helpless—or so terrified.

Old Man Barker was pressing a red-hot cigarette to the wounds, bloodshot eyes gleaming as he snarled,

His voice was guttural, animal. "Call me daddy! Louder!"

The volunteer, broken, could only whimper, “Daddy, daddy!”

His voice was barely a whisper, but the pain in it was unmistakable.

The next day, he took his money and left.

He didn’t even say goodbye—just stuffed his cash in his pocket and vanished.

After that, I did everything I could to please the other residents, hoping to find a protector and keep myself safe.

I ran errands, fetched pills, listened to stories I’d heard a hundred times. Anything to avoid Barker’s attention.

But every night, Old Man Barker would stand outside my door, laughing creepily.

His laughter seeped through the cracks, keeping me awake until dawn.

I slept in my clothes, never daring to drift off.

I’d wedge a chair under the door handle, clutching a flashlight in one hand, praying for morning.

Luckily, my obedience eventually won me the favor of Mr. Han, the wealthiest resident. That’s how I finally escaped Old Man Barker’s clutches.

Mr. Han was sharp as a tack, and he took a liking to me. With his protection, Barker kept his distance—for a while, at least.

And now, my brother was being sent straight to him?

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Sensing Savannah’s icy glare, my brother finally realized he’d messed with the wrong person. He turned on me, panicked.

His eyes darted to me, pleading. "Who was it that took you in as a godson? Tell me! Kevin, you jerk, why didn’t you warn me this place was a nightmare?!"

He completely lost it, and the director called security to drag him away.

He kicked and screamed, but they hauled him off, his protests echoing down the hall.

After he was gone, the director asked Savannah nervously, “Are you sure about Old Man Barker?”

He twisted his hands, voice trembling. Even he was afraid of what might happen.

She was still fuming.

Her jaw was set, eyes blazing. "Do as I said. He insulted me—this is his punishment!"

“Doctor! Doctor, come quick—Old Man Barker fainted!”

A staff member yelled, and soon doctors rushed into Old Man Barker’s room.

The commotion drew everyone’s attention. I felt a strange mix of relief and dread.

The director ran to check, then came back, wiping sweat from his brow.

He looked shaken, but tried to play it cool. "Low blood sugar, nothing serious. But he won’t be able to punish the kid for a few days."

Savannah rolled her eyes and waved me over.

She waved a dismissive hand. “Keep tabs on it. Once Old Man Barker recovers, send him in. That jerk!”

I nodded, exchanging a glance with the director.

He looked at me like he was hoping I’d find a way out for my brother. I just shrugged.

He looked anxious, almost pleading with me.

I could see the fear in his eyes. No one wanted to cross Savannah, but no one wanted to face Barker, either.

Honestly, I wanted to cut my brother some slack.

A part of me remembered the kid he used to be—the one who shared his Halloween candy and cried when our dog died.

But the problem was, he had no intention of letting me off the hook.

He’d made his choice, and he wasn’t about to stop until he dragged me down with him.