Asylum (Asylum, #1)(47)

“I’ll make a note of it.” The cop gave Jordan a long, cold look. “Look, I’ve lived in Camford all my life. We know about the Sculptor, okay? You couldn’t grow up here and not hear about all the crazies who were sent here. Especially that man. Dennis Heimline. That’s a name I won’t forget.” He tugged down the edge of his uniform and leaned closer to Dan. “He died in ’72, the same year this place got shut down.”

Dead? Had Sal Weathers gotten his wires crossed? Dan wasn’t sure who he trusted less, a crazy self-defined historian or a local cop. But it would make sense that the police would have kept tabs on Heimline.

“It could be a copycat,” Dan suggested. “It’s not hard to find out about the Sculptor online, anyone could look it up and mimic the crimes.”

The cop sighed, waving him off. “Look, kid, we got our man from last night in custody. This thing tonight? It was an accident. Boy slipped, fell, what have you. So this?” He gestured at them. “What you’re doing, is scared talk. You should go see one of the counselors, and stop chasing ghosts.”





The next day, classes were canceled, leaving Dan to spend most of the day in the quad watching the students who were leaving the program. Abby had several friends who had chosen to go, and she wanted Dan and Jordan there with her for the farewells. He hadn’t expected such a simple task to end up exhausting him, but standing there while person after person gave him frightened or pitying looks really ground down his nerves. They wore their thoughts plainly: they thought he was insane to stick with the program.

Felix chose to stay. Dan welcomed his companionship. He couldn’t fathom sleeping there alone.

Drained as he was from the long day, Dan should have fallen right to sleep that night. But even though his body was tired, his mind was restless. He kept going in and out of sleep in half-hour stretches.

Finally, the clock on Dan’s nightstand read 2:57. Felix snored in the neighboring bed. The open window let in a chill breeze that blew the curtains around. Realizing he’d never get to sleep at this rate, Dan decided to get a snack from the vending machines. Careful not to make a sound, he slid out of bed, pulled on a flannel shirt, and grabbed his phone and his wallet. He decided not to change his sweatpants, reasoning that if a cop saw him it would seem less suspicious if he looked fresh out of bed. He could always claim to be a sleepwalker.

He shut the door softly and moved down the hall. No cops in sight. On tiptoes, he crept silently down the stairs to the first floor, willing himself not to think about Yi and Joe. He peered down the corridor, but again, no cops. Where were they all? He had just reached the vending machines and reached in his pocket for change when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He turned quickly, and let out a gust of a sigh. It was only Jordan.

“You scared the crap out of me, Jordan.” And that was an understatement. Dan pressed his palm against his chest, feeling the hammer of his pulse.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to. I thought you’d know it was me. Anyway, what’d you want to see me for?” he whispered.

“What are you talking about?” Dan was confused.

“You invited me here . . . ?” Jordan sounded irritated. “I thought it was important.”

“No, I definitely didn’t . . .”

“It’s three in the goddamn morning. I don’t feel like messing around,” Jordan muttered. “At least come up to my room, so the cops don’t catch us.”

When they were safely back upstairs, Jordan took out his phone. He flipped it open and showed Dan his message in-box. Sure enough, there was a text sent from Dan’s number asking Jordan to meet him at the vending machines at three o’clock to discuss something urgent.

“Satisfied?” Jordan asked.

What could he say? Dan blinked at the message, his heart sinking. He had absolutely no memory of sending that text; in fact, he hadn’t even considered asking Jordan—or anyone—to meet him. He’d decided to get a snack only a few minutes ago. How could he have possibly planned for this?

“I swear, Jordan, I didn’t send that.” He sounded like he was pleading.

“Check your phone.”

“What?”

“Check it. Now. I want to see your sent messages.” He held open his hand, waiting for Dan to produce the phone.

“I don’t know what this proves,” Dan muttered. But he remembered the strange emails that had shown up on his phone, so he wasn’t even surprised when he saw the message in his Sent folder. It didn’t matter because he hadn’t sent it. He was sure. But Jordan wouldn’t believe him.

“This is bullshit, Dan,” Jordan hissed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I really can’t deal with whatever you’re up to right now, whatever game you’re playing. Yi is in the hospital, I’m sleeping all alone in this creepy freaking dump, and now you’re doing . . . whatever this is!” Jordan rubbed his head. “I think you should leave now. I need some sleep.”

Suddenly making his friend believe him was more important to Dan than anything. He needed someone to tell him he wasn’t losing his mind.

“Jordan, you have to trust me. I didn’t send this. I don’t know who did, but—” Dan looked again at his phone, and Jordan’s, which may as well have been surgically grafted to his palm since he was never without it. Could he be behind all the unexplained messages?