Asylum (Asylum, #1)(35)

Dan ate microwave popcorn from his care package for dinner and then huddled under his blanket. He couldn’t stop shivering. His mind was going around in little circles.

He pulled out his phone and thumbed through his contacts, finally hovering over Dr. Oberst’s phone number. If anyone could hear him out without judging him, it would be her. And she had told him to call her any time this summer if things got bad.

But what would he even be calling to tell her? If he told her about how he’d imagined real rooms before he’d seen them, she’d probably ask for a therapy session—but the notes? How could those be his fault?

Dan had never doubted himself as much as he did in that second. What if he was the “twisted root” at the heart of everything that was going wrong?

He threw his covers off, jumped out of bed, and took the two notes from his desk. He ripped them in half, and then in half again. He refused to let someone else string him along like this. He refused to let someone else keep him caged in his room, in his mind.

He was going to go with his gut on this one. And his gut was telling him he would find answers in the basement.





Dan knew it was not his best idea, sneaking into the basement by himself. To start with, the door would be locked. One of the hall monitors might be standing guard. But he wasn’t going to overthink this. Thinking hadn’t gotten him anywhere.

Out in the hall, the lights were too bright. He longed for the cover of total darkness. At least nobody was around. They were probably all at dinner or out doing their own thing like Felix.

Still, Dan didn’t want to get careless. He sneaked over to where the vending machines were and was about to turn the corner to the warden’s office when he saw a dark silhouette appear at the end of the hall. Footsteps. Voices. For a terrifying instant, thoughts of the Sculptor or another of Brookline’s killers returning to stalk the halls made his body tighten up all over. He pressed himself against the wall, hoping he would blend into the shadows.

“They should just trade him and do everyone a favor,” said a male voice. Dan let out his breath, not even aware he’d been holding it. It wasn’t a ghost; it was Joe.

“Whatever, man.”

Dan didn’t recognize the second voice. Probably another hall monitor. Were they patrolling the halls, making sure no one went down to the basement? Dan stood there for what felt like forever, until, finally, he saw Joe and his buddy go out the front door. He waited a minute or two more just to be safe, and then he turned the corner to the old wing. Luck was on his side—the heavy door was not only unguarded, it was unlocked. Probably Joe hadn’t snapped the padlock shut all the way the other night, Dan convinced himself. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the door was ready and waiting for him.

Dan slipped inside and the stale air wrapped itself around him like a welcome. He had forgotten how dark it was down here. He clicked on his flashlight, but without anyone to break the silence, the darkness was exponentially scarier.

Dan plunged through the reception room and into the outer office, the one with the scratched-off letters on the glass. He retraced their steps from last time, pausing to check that the photos were still stacked neatly on the desk. From its frame on the wall, the photo of the struggling patient seemed to be taunting him. The Sculptor, patient 361.

Dan crouched behind the file cabinet and climbed through the secret passage. Without hesitating, he pointed his flashlight at the stairwell and hurried down, knowing that if he waited he might lose his courage and turn back. The lower hall was still a mess. He cautiously navigated the chairs and gurneys. The last thing he needed was to break his neck tripping over a piece of furniture. It’d be awhile before anyone found his body.

Dan moved past the empty cells. It felt like something might jump out of every one.

He moved quickly now, anxious to get to the pristine inner office. Apart from his thumping heartbeat and quick breaths, the hallway was eerily silent.

Steps away from the rotunda room and the office beyond, his foot collided with something small but heavy. It rolled noisily away into the darkness, and Dan focused his light on the floor, following the little trail whatever it was had left through the dust, across the floor, and into one of the open cells.

In the middle of the room, Dan reached up and risked pulling the old string attached to the ceiling light. A single, naked bulb clicked on, buzzing and flickering for a moment before bathing the cell in a faint, yellow glow. It was barely enough to see by, but it was better than his flashlight.

Dan looked around. This was one of the many cells he and Abby hadn’t explored. There was a table and a bed, but nothing else. He squinted, turning in a complete circle. What had he kicked and where had it gone?

Then a soft, high-pitched chime started up from under the bed. Dan stumbled toward the sound, as whatever it was crackled faintly and then began to sing.

No, not sing—play music . . . Dan crouched, the hairs on his forearms standing up as the broken, off-key tune of a music box filled the room. He didn’t recognize the melody. It sounded so old he wasn’t sure anyone alive would. Dan fished under the bed until his fingers ran over the ridged metal surface of the box. He nudged it out carefully, then picked it up to examine. There were two broken springs sticking out on either side. Standing on top was a little porcelain figurine, a ballerina. She was in a dancer’s pose, her arms curved gracefully above her head. Her fingers ended in dangerously sharp points, and the look on her face was eerily smug, as if she were relishing a secret.