Asylum (Asylum, #1)(34)

“Speakerphone?” he asked with a chuckle. “Really?”

“Your dad wants to say hello, too. No big deal. So how is it going? Do you still love college?”

Her enthusiasm was always infectious, and Dan found himself smiling despite his bad mood. “It’s not really college, you know that.”

“I know, I know, but still . . .”

“Is that Dan? Hi, Danny boy!”

“Hi, Dad.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing from one end of his bed to the other. “So yeah, I’m doing fine, guys. Everyone is supernice, and the classes are great.”

“How is Abby?” his mother asked. Of course that’d be the first place her mind went.

“She’s fine, really an amazing artist. And it turns out Jordan’s like, a math prodigy.”

“Oh, good!” More than happy, Sandy sounded relieved. “Well, just wanted to call and let you know we sent a package with some goodies. I think it should have gotten there already, but I didn’t know what the mail situation was like where you are. There’s enough in there to share with Abby and Jordan, too, if they like Little Debbies and candy as much as you do.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I hope you’re not studying all the time,” his father said. “You enjoy yourself this summer, all right?”

“I will,” Dan said, meaning it. He glanced around for his coat. “But listen, I should get going and look for that package, it’s pretty dark out already.”

“Okay, Danny, and let me know when you get it. We miss you! We miss you every day.”

“Thanks, guys. I miss you, too.”

Hanging up, Dan pulled on his jacket and left the dorm for the first time all day. The evening was pleasantly cool. He walked through the quad, where Yi and his orchestra friends were out playing music on the grass. Dan took a moment to stop and listen. For the first time in days, he felt his mood lifting.

He made good on his promise to his parents and set off toward the academic side. It would be nice to have something from home, and plus Dan was hungry enough to eat a whole box of Little Debbies himself.

Out on the lawn in front of Wilfurd Commons, a resident advisor led a group of students through yoga poses in the grass. Dan skirted around them and walked to the side entrance of the building. A convenience store–student union next to the cafeteria housed post office boxes for each student.

Dan found his box in the middle cluster, number 3808. Crouching, he peered into the tiny glass window and was surprised that it was actually quite full. He used a little key he’d been given on move-in day and opened the door to pull everything out. Sure enough, there was a green piece of paper telling him he could pick up his package at the mail desk. There were also some flyers from the school, mostly information for students interested in applying to the college proper. There was a sketch Abby had done on the back of an assignment. He remembered seeing her doodle it during class. It showed the three of them in full suits of armor, standing on top of a fallen mound of books with “SCHOLASTIC VICTORY, HUZZAH!” written boldly across the top. Dan tucked the drawing away with a smile. He didn’t know when she had put it in his box, but maybe it was a sign that she was ready to be friends again. He decided he would call her when he got back to the dorm.

Finally, there was an envelope that simply had “3808” written on the front in thick black ink.

Oh no, not again.





Dan almost threw the envelope away. Who knew what threat it contained? But in the end he had to know. With a feeling of dread, he opened the flap.

Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.



The spidery calligraphic handwriting was the same as the hydra note. This time it wasn’t fear but anger that shot through Dan. Someone was trying to freak him out, and it was working.

Dan glanced around. Nobody was there, but he couldn’t escape the prickly feeling that someone was watching. He threw the school papers in the trash and put the note in his jacket pocket. He retrieved his package from the store clerk with a shaky hand, then practically sprinted out of the building.

Once he was back in his room, he grabbed the note out of his pocket and sat down at his desk. He Googled the sentences. It sounded like a quote, not something off-the-cuff. His suspicions proved right. The top few results showed that the line was Ray Bradbury’s—from some radio play he’d written.

So now what? He’d assumed finding the source of the quote would be helpful, but it wasn’t. Whoever had put it in his mailbox had already left one ominous note on his desk. They’d been in his room. . . .



Dan spun around in his seat. Of course no one was there.

Think. Think! You’re missing something, something right in front of your stupid face.

Rummaging through his desk drawer, Dan unearthed the first note. He held the two of them side by side. He looked at the spidery handwriting, the paper, the ink—everything matched up perfectly. Other than that, he couldn’t tell much. He couldn’t even say for sure whether the notes had been written by a man or woman.

So, to sum up everything he knew—a nameless, genderless stalker with a fondness for Ray Bradbury was out to terrorize him.

He thought about calling Abby or Jordan but decided not to. The notes were for him, not Abby or Jordan. Someone was trying to get at him.