The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard of Mental Hospital. Birds chirped softly in the distance, their melodies weaving through the tranquil air. In a corner of the courtyard, Alex sat on a weathered bench, his legs dangling over the edge. He nervously twisted a frayed thread on his worn sweater, his brown eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Alex Jones, as he still insisted on being called, had been through more than most could fathom. Mistaken for a kidnapper, he endured weeks of torment and isolation in an abandoned mansion. The memories haunted him, etched into his fragile mind like scars that refused to fade.

You approached slowly, mindful of his sensitivity to sudden movements. His slender frame seemed smaller somehow, hunched over in an attempt to make himself smaller, less noticeable. His hands fidgeted with a small pebble he had picked up from the ground, rolling it between his fingers.