Asylum (Asylum, #1)(51)
Dan appreciated that Abby was determined to find the silver lining in everything that morning; he needed a dose of her optimism in his life. They split up when they reached the academic buildings, Jordan heading to one of his math classes while Abby walked off to the art building.
Dan wasn’t prepared for the humiliation of attending class with an armed escort. Officer Coates waited outside his classroom, but even so, he felt the burn of accusing eyes on him. The remaining students pointed and whispered with zero subtlety. Dan could do nothing but put his head down, take notes, and try not to burst into flames from the embarrassment of it all. It didn’t help when he got passed a note that said, “Go home psycho.”
Halfway through the lecture, Dan lost all ability to concentrate. He listened, not really understanding the words, and his hand continued to move, but he had no idea what he was writing.
When class was over, Dan looked down at his notes and bit back the urge to shout. The last few sentences weren’t in his normal script, but he recognized the looping penmanship immediately. The warden’s. It wasn’t enough that the warden was in his head; now he was in his body, too. He collected his things at lightning speed and ran out the door. If he didn’t get some fresh air, he was going to be sick.
Officer Coates stood in the sunshine waiting, and two other officers, including Teague, stood with her. Chatting with the police were the last two people on earth he expected to see.
“Mom? Dad?” Dan hugged his backpack to his chest.
“Sweetheart!” His mother ran over and wrapped him in her arms. He was surprised by how good the hug felt, and he actually had a hard time letting go. Part of him wanted to cry.
“You’re okay,” Sandy said, hugging him harder. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”
“It’s good to see you, Mom,” he said.
“Let’s take this inside.” Teague motioned toward the admissions building down the path. “We should have this conversation in private.”
This was the moment Dan had been dreading since last night. His parents walked him north up the hill, the officers following a few steps in their wake. Dan couldn’t seem to stop shaking. It didn’t matter that he believed his own innocence, it would be impossible to convince anyone else once they found out how messed up he was. . . .
“You just tell us if we need to call a lawyer, kiddo,” his father whispered to him. They were right outside the admissions building now.
Dan frowned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Inside, please, if you’ll follow me,” Teague said, charging ahead.
Dan hadn’t been inside the admissions building before. It had that venerated old college feeling, with a high ceiling and slender windows and wood paneling on everything. In the front hall was a leather couch and an antique chair. Dan imagined anxious students waiting here, hoping that their college interviews went well. College seemed like a petty concern at the moment.
The police escorted them past the waiting area to a small room on the right. Teague and his parents went first, with Dan bringing up the rear. Officer Coates and another cop waited outside the door.
He was now shaking so bad he could hardly sit down without knocking over the chair.
“Okay, let’s have a chat about last night. Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Teague prompted.
His parents and the officer sat on one side of a conference table, all facing Dan. It felt like an inquisition.
Dan told the story about his searching for Felix and finding the man with the crowbar. When he described the man pinning him to the ground, he thought his mother was going to faint. Finally, he got to the part where the cops had barged in and started accusing him of the worst.
“The thing is, I really don’t remember sending those messages. I know they’re in my phone, I know that, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but I swear: I didn’t write those texts.”
His parents shared a worried look, and his father cleared his throat.
“Officer, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” his father began gravely, “but what you have to understand is, Dan has always had, shall we say, difficulties. He came to us from the foster system after he’d already lived in a few other places. He’s been a great kid since then, I don’t want you to misunderstand me, but, well, he’s always needed a little extra attention. A few trips to a psychologist . . .”
“Therapist,” his mother corrected.
“Therapist,” his father agreed.
The officer nodded along with the story. Dan hated talking about this stuff with his parents at all, but in the presence of someone else, a cop? It was embarrassing, frankly, and in this case, incriminating. Teague glanced at him from time to time, and he could swear he saw the officer’s jaw setting by degrees, getting stiffer as Dan’s guilt solidified in his mind.
“His therapist tells us he has some issues with memory—”
“Mild dissociative disorder,” Sandy cut in.
“But that they don’t pose any problem for him having a normal, healthy life. He’s not a dangerous kid, Officer. If he sent some text message to his buddy and then forgot about it, I’m sure it was meant to be totally harmless.”
Dan gripped the chair, struggling to look calm. How bad would it be if he blacked out right then and there?
That unreliable memory of his . . . How could he tell his parents that it had gotten much, much worse, in just a matter of weeks? That maybe he wasn’t completely harmless?