Asylum (Asylum, #1)(41)

Chill out, Dan, it’s just your parents.

He picked up the phone, already knowing what was coming.

“Oh, Danny, we just got off the phone with your program director who tells us that a boy has been killed right in your very dorm, what is going on, do you need us to—” His mother’s voice came out in a panicked rush.

He jumped to interrupt her. “Hey, hey, listen—they caught the guy, okay?” He realized he was almost shouting and lowered his voice. “I’m fine. We’re all safe now. They’ve got counselors and stuff and they caught the guy who did it.”

“The director said they had a ‘suspect in custody,’” she said shrilly. “He didn’t sound nearly as sure as you do.”

Dan had to sound sure, not just for his mother, but for himself. It was hard to ignore that while he’d been out cold having a vision about the Sculptor, two floors up Joe was being, well, sculpted.

“If they really thought we were in danger, they’d shut down the program and send us home.” Dan spoke with as much authority as he could muster, desperately hoping Sandy would take him at his word.

“I suppose that’s true. I’m just . . . I’m just heartsick thinking of you there. You’re with your friends? You’re okay?”

“I’m okay. And Abby and Jordan are, too.” Sort of. “I promise.”

“Okay. Well, if you’re sure . . .”

“Hey, while I have you guys on the phone, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Danny. Let me just put you on speakerphone.” He heard a click and suddenly it got very loud on the other end.

“Hi, Dad.”

“What do you need, Danny?” Paul asked.

Where to start? “I just had a question about my . . . family history, I guess. I mean, the stuff before you guys. Stuff from when I was younger. I was looking up some of the history about this place—’cause you know, the dorm used to be a psych ward and all—and it turns out the warden here was also named Daniel Crawford.” Careful now . . . “I thought that was an, uh, interesting coincidence. Do you know if there’s any possible relation?”

“Dan,” his father said soothingly. “I mean, really, do you need us to come get you? We can get on a plane right now and come get you. It’s no problem.”

“What? No! That’s not what I—”

“I’m serious. The whole thing doesn’t feel right to me. You should come home, you’re not, you know, always so good with stuff like this,” his father said. It had been awhile since Dan had heard him sound so worried.

“Danny, sweetie, your father is just concerned, we both are,” his mom added. “Do we need to call Dr. Oberst? If you think this might trigger some sort of episode . . .”

“But I didn’t say anything about wanting to come home—”

“Psych wards and wardens and . . . What about you, Danny? It doesn’t sound like you’re taking care of yourself!” It was his dad again, and from the sound of it, he was working himself up into an angry froth.

“Calm down, Paul. Danny, we’re worried about you, that’s all. We’re just trying to tell you that if you want to leave, we think that would be a good, rational decision. We always knew that this might be too much for you—”

“Look, never mind. Don’t call Dr. Oberst. Don’t worry about me. I have to get going.” He hung up the phone over their protests.

Paul and Sandy had always told him that the most they could give him about his birth parents was “nonidentifying” information, like the fact that they’d been college educated and healthy and had no other kids. But apparently, all you had to do was check a little box saying you didn’t want to divulge your identity, and suddenly it took a good reason and a court order to get anywhere.

Frankly, Dan had never really cared to know who his good-for-nothing parents were. Paul and Sandy were more than great; they had come to feel like family.

But suddenly, finding out his history felt like the most important thing in the world. The missing piece in this maddening puzzle—the link between Dan and a ruthless killer. Of all the places he could have ended up this summer, it couldn’t be a mistake that he’d chosen this one.

Brookline was his destiny. It was in his blood.





Dan tore through his desk drawers, searching for the photo of Daniel Crawford. The scratched-out eyes were still burned in his mind, but the rest of the details had grown hazy, and he needed to give it a closer look. When he’d dumped out the entire contents of his drawers onto his bed and the picture still hadn’t surfaced, he started to feel a tightening in his chest. No matter how many times he sifted through the pile, he simply couldn’t find it.

The photo was gone.

He had seen the photograph, hadn’t he?

Yes, yes, he was absolutely sure. He had even questioned Felix about it, which was how he learned about the old wing in the first place.

Maybe Felix had taken the photograph for some reason. Dan couldn’t imagine why, but it was better than the alternative—someone sneaking around in his room, planting spooky pictures and taking them away. He reached under his bed where he had hidden the folder, half expecting it to be gone, too.

But no, there it was, exactly as he had left it.