Asylum (Asylum, #1)(56)

“Oh my God, oh my God.”

He moved to cut the ropes with his scissors, but then stopped himself. This was a crime scene, and he’d better not disturb it.

At this proximity, Dan could finally make out the details of the man’s face. He recognized this man.

Sal Weathers.





Dan ran headlong through the rain, no longer caring that he was soaked to the bone. He needed to get back. He needed the safety of other people. He needed to tell the police what he’d found.

But they’ll suspect you. You know they will.

Dan pulled up short, a final sprint away from the front doors of Brookline.

It was true. They would. They would think he did it.

Hadn’t Mr. Bittle just told him that Sal Weathers was spreading news around town of his little visit? And wouldn’t Officer Teague find it more than coincidental that once again Dan was the first at the scene of a crime? It hardly mattered that Dan hadn’t blacked out or anything at all this time; the circumstantial evidence would be more than enough.

Play it cool, Crawford. No one knows where you were.

Oh God, in his panic, he’d dropped his scissors back in the forest. Should he go back and get them? No, too late.

He waited for his pulse to slow as much as it possibly could, barely even noticing the rain by now. With a last deep breath, he jogged through the front doors at exactly the pace any other student might run in from the rain.

Second floor. Third floor. 3808.

Dan opened the door to his room as calmly as he could, then slammed it closed when he realized Felix wasn’t home. Thank God.

You’re fine, you’re fine, everything’s going to be fine.

Dan dried himself with a towel, still shaking violently, then slapped his face with both hands, trying to think of what to do next.

Where did you go? What’s your alibi? Will anyone think to ask Mr. Bittle if he saw you?

Mr. Bittle.

Relative of a murderer. Could he have been the copycat all this time? What was he doing at the church tonight with the doors locked anyway? Why had he wanted to keep Dan out of the sanctuary?

Oh God, Dan thought he was going to be sick.

A sudden pounding at the door nearly gave him a heart attack.

“Who is it?” he shouted, his voice cracking on the last word.

“It’s me,” Jordan said. “Open up.”

With one final glance in the mirror, Dan fixed his hair and tried to look something like normal.

Out in the hall, Jordan was no better, a flustered ball of energy, scarf, and spectacles.

“Come quick,” Jordan said breathily. “Abby’s a total wreck.”

Abby? A wreck? Of course. The phone call. Her father. Lucy.

“I take it the call didn’t go as planned?” Dan said, following Jordan out into the hall.

“Not even a little bit. Hey, why are you all wet?”

Tell him you were in the shower.

“I was outside.”

Why were you outside?

“I went to scrounge for food. I was still hungry after the pie.”

Nice save, Dan.

“Bring an umbrella next time, doofus.”

They found Abby sitting on her bed, knees tucked up to her chest. Dan noticed the portrait of the girl that had once hung over Abby’s bed was gone.

“Hey, hey,” Jordan said, rushing in and taking the spot beside her. He put one arm over her shoulders. She was shaking uncontrollably as a fresh wave of sobs hit her. “Calm down, Abs, and tell Dan what happened.”

“I c-called him . . . I called him and . . . Dan, he was so mad! I’ve never heard him yell like that. He was yelling and yelling, and then he got so quiet, which was worse.” She paused, out of breath, and then sniffled, her sobs slowing for the moment. “Maybe I got it all wrong.” Abby peered up at him, brown eyes glossy with fresh tears. “Should I have just kept my mouth shut?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure, Abby, really. I don’t know your dad.”

Abby stopped crying just long enough to stare at him. Jordan gave him a look like he had lost it. If only he knew.

“All I know is that you had the best intentions, and you can’t get mad at yourself for that.”

“Exactly,” Jordan chimed in. “Your dad will come around eventually.”

“P-pops’s refusing to talk about it again. Understandably, I guess. I mean, I tried to explain but he s-said I was sick. Delusional for even bringing it up . . .” Jordan pointed to the box of tissues on her desk and Dan retrieved them. “He doesn’t understand! I didn’t do it to be m-mean. It’s his sister. . . . I thought he would be happy.”

Abby took a tissue and started shredding it.

“You tried,” Jordan said gently. “You tried and that’s all that matters. He probably just needs some time to think it over.”

“Jordan’s right, it’s— What the hell was that?” Dan had gone to sit on Abby’s desk, but he stopped, hearing a rustling outside the door.

“Shh-hh.” Dan pressed his finger to his lips.

A tiny square of paper appeared under the door.

“That’s not possible,” he babbled.

You were the one writing the notes. No one else. It was you all along. Who the hell is this?

Dan threw open the door, but he was a second too late. The corridor outside lay empty. He bent down and picked up the note, unfolding it with a familiar sick feeling in his stomach. At least the handwriting on this note wasn’t the spidery script of the warden. Dan hadn’t completely lost it.