Asylum (Asylum, #1)(29)

They both shook their heads. Dan was dismayed. He hadn’t realized how much he was counting on this being a bad joke. Rubbing his temples, he said, “I think it could be from Joe. I don’t know who else would leave something like this, or even be able to get into the room. But I was sure he’d have left them for you guys, too.” Dan pushed his macaroni into a little hill. “I don’t like feeling singled out.”

“So what are you going to do?” Abby asked, giving the card back to him.

Dan shrugged. He knew it would be impossible to explain to anyone else why this bothered him so much. He wasn’t even sure he fully understood it himself.

“Just ignore it,” Jordan said. “Joe’s trying to rile you up, that’s all. That’s what bullies do. Trust me, I know. It’s better if you let it slide off your back.”

They were silent for a moment. Then Abby said, “There’s something else. Your note . . . It’s important and all, but I wanted to tell you both something, too. It’s what I was going to bring up at breakfast, before I got so . . . well, mad.”

She paused. “I’m not quite sure how to say this,” she said, twisting her hands around each other. “So I’ll just go for simple. Simple is probably best, if anything about this is simple.”

As she talked, Dan noticed that her entire demeanor changed. Her shoulders sagged, and the light went out of her eyes.

She took a deep breath. “My aunt. My father’s sister. She was a patient here.”

There was silence. Dan and Jordan looked at each other.

“Um . . . how do you know?” asked Dan.

“Here, look what I found last night.” Abby pulled an index card out from her raincoat. It was from the card catalog in the warden’s office and looked just like the one for Dennis Heimline. So Abby had taken something, too.

Hands shaking, Abby turned the card around so that both Jordan and Dan could read it. There were just four lines, typed.

Valdez, Lucy Abigail.

Born: 7.15.1960

DOA: 2.12.1968

Recovered: N





For a moment Dan didn’t understand. The words didn’t make any sense. Then they slowly came into focus.

Lucy. Abigail. Valdez.

Abby Valdez.

“It’s a common-enough last name,” Dan said at last, stammering a little. “Right?” He looked up into Abby’s wide eyes. “Right?”

She shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. “That’s my aunt. Aunt Lucy. I was named after her.”

“Come on, Abby,” Jordan said. “That’s not your aunt, that’s just not possible.”

Dan sat back, silent, waiting for a reasonable explanation. If one existed.

“I’m afraid it is possible.” A gust of wind hit the windows, rattling the glass. The rain slapped down on the glass like a shower of pebbles. Abby looked out the window and then back again. She was clearly trying to keep from crying. “My grandparents were really strict on my pops when he was growing up. His sister Lucy never got along with them, from the time she was a little girl. She never listened, she’d talk back, scream, break things, stuff like that. One day there was a huge fight. My pops doesn’t know what it was about, he was only five, but he remembers that Lucy ran out the door and slammed it behind her. That night, he woke up from a nightmare and Lucy wasn’t in her bed. Seven years old, and she was gone. Just . . . gone. My grandparents acted like everything was normal, and when my pops would ask, they’d get really angry and tell him he wasn’t allowed to say her name any more.”

Dan was at a loss. The story lined up, but what were the odds? “Maybe it’s just a coincidence, the name,” he said, not really believing that himself. He just wanted so badly for it to be true.

“A coincidence is you and me both picking pie for dessert,” Jordan said. He gestured to the patient card with his cup. “What Abby is suggesting is flat-out strange.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Abby said. Her voice sounded like she was kidding at first, waiting for Jordan to contradict her. But he didn’t. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

“Can you really blame me? I mean, what are the chances you just randomly wind up here for the summer, at the place where your aunt used to be a mental patient?” Jordan sat back, arms crossed. “I think there’s something you’re not telling us. Or you’re just not telling us the truth.”

Dan could see Abby’s shoulders beginning to shake as she tried and failed to control her breathing. It was too late to intervene, and he couldn’t think of a damn thing to contribute anyway. Jordan had a point about how impossible the coincidence was, but Abby wasn’t the sort to mess with them for kicks. Or was she? a little voice whispered in his mind. How well did he really know her, after all? Her mood in the last twenty-four hours had certainly been unpredictable. He stopped himself. She wouldn’t make a joke out of something like this. She just wouldn’t.

“Fine,” Abby finally said, composing herself. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I guess we’re a little past this now.”

Dan shared a nervous glance with Jordan.

Abby picked up her spoon and dragged it softly across her bowl as she began to speak. “When I was little, I used to go through my mom’s clothes looking for hats and skirts and scarves and stuff to play dress up. She and my pops shared dressers, and one time I found this . . . this box.” She inhaled deeply, then pressed on. “I didn’t know what it was, but when I opened it and saw a bunch of papers, I—I started reading them. They were all letters. From my grandpapa. He was already dead by then, and my pops never talked about him, except to say what a mean man he’d been. . . . But these letters . . . Grandpapa just kept apologizing. He kept saying he was sorry for sending his little Lucy away. Away to that place.”