Visions (Cainsville #2)(88)

“Hey,” Ricky said softly behind me.

I silenced my phone.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “I just want to find her and get out of here.”

He gave my hand a squeeze. I relaxed against his shoulder—a brief moment of rest before I looked around.

“It’s hide-and-go-seek now,” I said.

“Are you sure it’s not a wild-goose chase?”

“No, but he suggested he’s put her someplace where she can’t escape. Meaning she’ll be there until someone else finds her. Which isn’t likely to happen soon enough.”

“Shit.” He exhaled. “We don’t have much choice, then.”

“I think that’s the point. Oh, and Gabriel’s on the way.” I explained what had happened.

“Well, that’s not a bad thing,” Ricky said. “Three of us can cover more ground.”

—

We searched the main building methodically, starting at one end and moving through every room, checking any items big enough to hide someone. We were nearly at the end of the first floor when I stepped into what seemed to be a closet. I was about to leave when I noticed rungs, beginning six feet from the floor and extending into the darkness.

I was gaping up when Ricky joined me.

“Huh,” he said, shining a light up. “Looks like the bottom rungs are missing. Not exactly an easy climb.”

My gaze stayed fixed on those rungs.

“Your gut says she’s up there.”

“No, I . . .” I swallowed the denial. “We should take a look.”

“Let me give you a boost.”

He lifted me to the bottom rung, telling me to test it first. It seemed solid enough, so I pulled myself up and checked each rung as I climbed. Ricky swung up below me, which took some serious upper-body strength, but he managed it with only a few grunts. At the top was a hatch. With some effort, I heaved it open and lifted my flashlight through to—

Something creaked in the room above. My flashlight beam landed on a chair, rocking. It stopped as soon as the light hit it. I lifted the light higher and saw that the “rocking chair” had thick leather restraint straps across the base and the back, and two smaller ones on the arms.

That was the only thing in the tiny room. A rocking restraint chair.

“Liv?” Ricky whispered below me.

I continued up. Once I was standing in the room, I instinctively moved away from the chair, but I kept my gaze on it. That’s when I noticed the writing on the ceiling.

We are imprisoned by the truth we dare not see.

We are imprisoned by the questions we dare not ask.

At another movement, my gaze moved down. A dark-haired woman in a straitjacket sat in the chair, strapped down, her eyes covered in bloody bandages. She rocked forward violently, gripping the wooden arms. Her mouth opened, but she made only a garbled croak, like a raven’s caw. Flecks of blood flew from her mouth, and when she opened it, all I could see was a bloody, cavernous hole with no tongue. She kept making that noise, that terrible noise, and I was stumbling back—

Ricky caught me. He’d scrambled up and grabbed me from behind, and as soon as he touched me, the woman vanished.

Ricky held me for a moment. The warmth of his chest and his arms tight around me felt so damned good, the beating of his heart, solid and steady.

“Sorry,” I said. “The chair was rocking. Gave me a start.”

“Opening that hatch probably set it going. Change of air pressure.”

“Which doesn’t make that any less creepy.” I pointed at the words on the ceiling.

He squinted up. I shone my light. The words were plain as could be, but he kept his gaze searching.

“I, uh, I thought I saw something up there.” I rubbed my eyes. “Clearly this place is getting to me.”

“I don’t blame you. Spooky as hell.” He gestured at the chair. “That gives me the creeps, for sure.”

We headed out. The room led into a long hall lined with doors, all closed. I called for Macy. I’d been doing that since we’d started searching, and there’d been no answer. There wasn’t now, either, but Ricky stood in the middle of the hall, listening and looking. His gaze traveled one way and then the other. Then, without a word, he started for the door at the end.

He eased the door open, switchblade in hand, me at his shoulder. After a quick look inside, he walked through.

It was a room with a half-dozen cribs. I stood in the doorway thinking, There are babies in mental hospitals? Then I realized the cribs weren’t for children.

Like regular cribs, they were made of wood, with an elevated bed and spindles. Except these ones were adult sized, with lids that could be fastened using thick leather straps. Cribs to restrain patients. To hold them there, lying on their backs, unable to move—

A bump sounded, and I jumped, remembering the woman in the rocker. But Ricky heard this one and moved toward the noise, his switchblade in one hand, cell phone flashlight in the other. Another bump. Then the sound of muffled cries. I hurried forward to see a dark-haired woman in the last box.

I stopped short. I’d seen two hallucinations of dark-haired women already, but Ricky quickly unfastened the straps and pulled off the lid, and it was indeed a woman inside. She was a couple of years younger than me, blindfolded and gagged.