Asylum (Asylum, #1)(57)
“What does it say?” Jordan asked from the bed.
Dan read the note.
It’s time for treatment. Come to the basement at midnight.
“Dan, this is ridiculous,” Abby whispered urgently. “Why are we going down to the basement if there’s someone dangerous down here?”
She and Jordan were trailing him on his warpath to the old wing.
“You and Jordan don’t have to come. In fact, you probably shouldn’t. But I have to do this. I have to confront him.”
“I, for one, am not going back down there,” Jordan said. “And for the record, I think you’re nuts for even considering it. Please . . . Can’t we just go to the cops with this?”
“No,” Dan growled, scaring all three of them. “No. I can’t. You have to let me go. I’m not asking you to join me.”
“And I’m not letting you go alone,” Abby said stubbornly. She shot Jordan a look, but he just put his arms up to say his hands were tied.
“Seriously, you guys, I love you both but I just can’t do it. I wish you’d listen to reason and stay out here with me.”
They’d reached the door to the warden’s office. It was unlocked, just as Dan expected. Whoever had sent him the note was already down there.
“It’s fine,” Dan said, pulling open the door and taking one step inside. “This isn’t your fight anyway, Jordan. It’s mine.”
Before following him inside, Abby darted after Jordan, giving him a squeeze and then a kick in the shin. This gesture seemed to sum up their trio nicely.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, butthead,” she whispered over her shoulder.
“You better,” Jordan called back.
Dan tugged Abby along, anxious to confront whatever was coming. One way or another they would find out who had been terrorizing them, be it ghost or copycat or what. Reception was, of course, deserted, silent and cold.
They walked the now familiar path to the warden’s office. Dan remembered the weird email he’d received during his date with Abby: “RE: Patient 361—question about Thursday’s session.” For two more hours, it was Thursday night.
“Dan?”
He looked up to find Abby staring at him, a tiny worried smile on her lips. He shouldn’t have been involving her in this. She should’ve been upstairs in bed, safe and warm, away from whatever madness lurked down here. But he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have at his side.
“Let’s go,” he said.
He shivered, convinced someone was just on their heels, breathing tendrils of hot air down his neck. Whenever he glanced behind there was no one there, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched and followed.
Dan and Abby ducked behind the filing cabinet and through the gap in the wall. The darkness was heavy, impenetrable, but Dan tiptoed ahead, turning to make sure she made it safely through the passage. He squinted into the shadows. There was nothing unusual about this room either—the alphabetized cabinets were all in their correct places, and the familiar moldy chill blustered up from the stairwell to the right.
Abby put her foot on the first stair, looking braver than Dan felt.
“Was it always this dark?” Dan wondered.
“Yes,” Abby replied wryly, tapping her cell phone against her head. “You just have to point your flashlight up instead of at the floor.”
“That doesn’t do much. . . .” Dan swung the beam of his light around to emphasize his point. “I still can’t see a damn thing.” Dan joined her on the stairwell, shining his light down into the bleak tunnel below. Abby grabbed his hand and they took one step at a time, stopping halfway to pause and listen. There was nothing to hear but the hushed sounds of their own breathing.
This was part of the killer’s plan, he thought, as they turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs and continued into the long hallway of empty cells. The descent was its own torment. He could feel his body wanting to go faster, rush, adrenaline flooding his senses, but he knew they could be ambushed at any moment. Vigilance might be their one line of defense.
They moved back to back down the row of abandoned cells, each of them casting their glances in every direction. This way, they could make sure they weren’t being followed and weren’t going to stumble over any of the gurneys and debris littering their path.
Dan peered into each room as they passed, taking mental stock of what should be in each one. Near the end of the row he stopped, staring at a floor that was empty but shouldn’t be. Not only did he distinctly remember an object of some sort, there was a spot in the dust where that object had been.
What is it? What’s missing?
Dan held his breath, a fragment of a memory—a delicate song—returning. The music box was no longer where he’d left it. He didn’t even see shards of porcelain. Someone has been here.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“What?” Abby whirled to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone was here,” he said. “Or someone is.”
No sooner had he spoken the last word than he heard a shrieking metallic scrape overhead. They froze, and for a long moment Dan wondered if it was a pipe bursting in the ceiling or else . . . Abby snapped into action, sprinting back the way they’d come. He followed, realizing a second later what must be happening. It was the file cabinet—someone was trying to trap them inside.