A distinct buzzing made him jump. It took a moment for him to realize it was his cell phone. The one with the dead battery. Hand shaking furiously, he pulled the device from his pocket and checked the screen, finding a text from Joe.
Both vics are related to RH admin. Looking for more.
Corbin knew where to find more. He just had to get there. And for reasons he preferred not to evaluate, he had his phone. For now. He tapped the screen, relief blazing through him when his flashlight app filled the corridor with light.
Relief was short lived. Dust motes scattered in the face of discovery. The broken concrete and rust-stained walls were better left to the dark, and the bright light made the shadows sinister and sharp. But he could now easily follow the tracks he and Ashley had made. In mere minutes, he’d retraced his path to the plaque near the administration area.
Corbin hadn’t seen a soul, which surprised him. He wasn’t far from the main entrance. His light should have drawn plenty of attention from whoever was on duty, but the entire realm lay silent and deathly still. He had a sudden, fierce urge in the face of such vulnerability to kill the light.
Instead, he turned to the plaque.
At least fifty names held residence, but he focused first on the top. It only took a second to spot a name matching that of the second victim. He scanned the rest, looking for anything familiar. Although Corbin didn’t know everyone in the small town, he had lived there his whole life. With any luck, he might recognize another name.
His first scan proved fruitless. Then a small light—perhaps a reflection—glimmered just above eye level, drawing his attention toward the top of the plaque, where one name was bigger than all the rest. He aimed his light there.
SIDNEY J. P—
The remaining letters were obscured by dust, but he was overcome by a need to see them. Corbin ran his hand over the name, pressing hard but unable to dislodge years of muck sealed in by humidity lasting a good nine months of the year. He spit on his fingers and rubbed with only slight success, but progress was progress. Encouraged, he repeated the action until finally, the letters gave up their secret.
PEARCE.
Ashley’s last name. It had to be a relative.
Ashley understands me.
Both female victims had ties to Ruby Hill. So did Cash. So do you. But Corbin didn’t care. Ruby Hill’s monster—whatever it was—could have Corbin’s last breath, but he’d be damned if he’d let the bastard get to Ashley.
He felt it in his bones. Ashley was next.
But not if Corbin got to her first.
Chapter Six
The room Joe had assigned Ashley’s team appeared terribly insignificant. It was an interior room—four walls, no windows—and had long been stripped of most of its contents. All that was left was a metal desk in various shades of rust and a number of questionable chairs, one of which snapped under the weight of one of her team members, sending him barreling to the floor.
Laughter erupted from the other two teammates.
Ashley looked from her digital voice recorder where she had been listening to audio files, searching for evidence of spirit voices. Her heart wasn’t in the job.
Tall, impossibly thin, and spectacled, Gary Hart scowled from his seat on the floor. “This is stupid,” he said.
Ashley sighed. “You’re right. Next time choose a chair that’s not broken. They last longer.”
“No, I meant being stuck in this room. How can we investigate from here?”
“We were asked to investigate from here. That’s how.” She didn’t elaborate on the details of the case. They’d all heard various accounts of the deaths at Ruby Hill from the media reports, but somehow talking about it now felt like a betrayal of Corbin’s confidence. Ashley didn’t know if she could keep emotion from choking her voice, and she didn’t want to go into the details of her past if her tone roused questions.
Gary looked her in the eye—not something he usually did. He was more of the fumbling, mumbling type. He’d shocked her when he’d refused to let Corbin in. “It’s just not like you,” Gary said. “This feels fake.”
Something in his words struck a nerve. This was fake. The whole idea of a murderous ghost was ridiculous. Worse, she’d discredited her own beliefs by being a part of this so-called investigation. She knew the set-up. The murders had been in the other wing of the enormous asylum, far from where they’d been stationed. Joe had assured her cops were everywhere. There’d be no murderer there that night, living or otherwise. They were making a fool of her.
She’d signed a release, but not a contract.
“You’re right. Pack it up,” she said.
Three voices came at her at once. “What?”
“Pack it up. We’re done. I’ll go let them know.” Before anyone could argue or tell her not to go out alone, she left the room, slamming the door on the soft glow of a battery powered tap light. Let them think she was done—the real hunt had yet to begin. She’d investigate on her own terms…if not that night, then as soon as the cops cleared out.
The dark outside blinded her. She palmed her penlight, hesitating only slightly before clicking it on. She had nothing to hide. No one to hide from. The sooner one of the officers found her, the sooner she’d be free of this ruse of an investigation.
She took quick strides down the empty hall, the weak light bouncing unevenly over her path. When at first it seemed to morph, she thought it was a shift in her own perception. Then the soft light grew sharp. Demanding. Undeniable.
Ashley’s steps faltered.
“He—hello?”
Sounds—the slightest whispers of noise—crept down the graffiti-drenched corridor from the central administration building where the main door waited. Tiny pinpoints of light danced far ahead.
For a split second, she thought she saw Cash. She crept closer, stunned when the apparition held its ground. Sharp points of suspicion grated her skin. They always flee. Cash wouldn’t have stayed here. He didn’t suffer within these walls in life, so they would not trap him in death. But—she drew closer—it was Cash. He wore the same jeans and blue flannel shirt he’d worn the night he died. The memory was so vivid tears pricked her eyes. Every instinct she owned begged her to run, but Ashley had spent her entire life fascinated with ghosts. There was no way she was walking away from this one.
Though her stride quickened, the distance between her and Cash didn’t seem to change. He was leading her, but where? They were nearly to Ruby Hill’s towering center when Cash disappeared through a closed doorway.
Ashley forced opened the heavy door and her heart sank. No sign of Cash. Just a stairwell—one she hadn’t been aware was there. Could it lead to the second floor offices? The only stairs she’d found near the main entrance were the ones in the lobby, and they were in far too poor of shape for her to risk climbing them. Curious, Ashley toed a step, then another. When she reached the top, she found the door ajar. Her internal alarm sang, but she’d wanted to get up here far too long to miss this chance.
Her great-grandfather had founded Ruby Hill. Though he’d had successors to his position as head of the asylum, she hoped she’d find a connection in his old office. A piece of history—something to know and understand about this man whose dream of helping so many fell victim to overcrowding and neglect under his fingertips.
The asylum sat eerily quiet. None of the promised officers were in sight, and there was no trace of Corbin. Ashley had a distant view of the main floor a story and a half below, but no direct connection to the building’s massive wings. That was to prevent the patients from having direct access to the staff, or so she was told. She’d assumed the central staircase to be the only one. Years of sneaking into the property and still it held secrets.
Ashley aimed her penlight, taking in her surroundings. Here, the bleak concrete-and-metal décor gave way to threadbare carpeting nearly hidden under decades of dust. Sconces listed from the wood-paneled walls. Planters suggested greenery had once decorated the space. And in th
e distance, a strange light wavered.
“Ashley!”
Corbin. She glanced over the broken railing, finding him far below. But down the nearby hall, in the opposite direction, Cash had appeared. Waiting.
Ashley chose him.
It wasn’t until she neared the backmost office—her great grandfather’s, no doubt—that she noticed Cash’s eyes now glowed a deep red. And he’d grown large. Larger than life, now deep, dark, and cold.
“Ashley!”
Corbin. His name stuck in her throat. Hard footfalls rattled the decrepit wooden stairs. No. They’ll fall. You’ll be hurt.
Cash was unrecognizable now—a formless dark cloud of oppression spewing hate. And from that cloud stepped a man. Wiry gray hair erupted from his head, but he was otherwise unremarkable. He wore a hospital gown. A dark band resembling a tattoo circled his forearm.
Nurse Pearce.
The words brought her attention to an aged, scarred face. Her heart galloped. In her panic, she wondered if he’d actually spoken or if she’d imagined it. Goosebumps turned her arms to sandpaper. “I’m not—”
Remember me, Nurse Pearce?
Remember him? She could scarcely see him, or better put, she saw through him. Ashley sucked in a raw breath. This. This was her ghost. She almost reached for him in her shock, but he moved forward and froze her in place.
Nurse Pearce. Can you hear me? Yer gonna die.
Ashley forced herself to blink. Cash hadn’t been real. He had been a manifestation of a demon or poltergeist, though the latter was believed to attach to people, not places. Had this one latched onto Ruby Hill’s descendants?
The air grew impossibly damp and cold. She coughed, but breath eluded her. Her heart sped until she could no longer distinguish one beat from another. The sensation splintered and grew to agonizing pain. Can’t breathe. She clutched her chest and stumbled backward, doubling over. Falling.
Ashley!
The stale, musty odor of damp wood filled her nostrils even after the world went dark. For several long seconds, she lingered.
Then, after a long, wrenching breath, it was over.
Chapter Seven
The moment Corbin lost sight of Ashley was the longest of his life. He didn’t spare the broken wooden staircase a second glance as he tore his way to the top. There, he found Ashley in a heap on the floor. Corbin stared in disbelief, praying what he saw was another figment of his overactive imagination. But in his heart, he knew otherwise. Corbin dropped to his knees, yelling for paramedics. No pulse. Dammit, Ashley. He bent over her and began CPR.
A man stood idly in the corner—the same man Corbin had seen from the floor. Why don’t you run, you bastard? He hadn’t touched Ashley—he hadn’t been out of Corbin’s sight long enough to hurt her. But he didn’t flee. Corbin focused on chest compressions, his ire growing more intent with every attempt to bring Ashley back to life. Who did this bastard think he was? He just stood, watching, a slow smirk spreading over his face.
C’mon, Ash. One…two…three….
Corbin’s subconscious racked up details. Ratty pajamas. Gray hair. Scraggly and wild-eyed, the man looked every bit the resident of Ruby Hill Lunatic Asylum. Only the hospital had shed its patients years ago.
If this guy was here acting on a grudge, it had deep roots.
One…two…three….
The paramedics were taking too long. Ashley wasn’t responding. Corbin was caught between saving her and beating the shit out of the man who had somehow done this, but there was no real contest.
There was no way to win.
She was deathly pale. Her lips were blue. Crimson stained her shirt where his hand had started bleeding again.
He was losing her.
“I need the paramedics!” he yelled again, praying someone was there to hear him.
No reply. No shouts from below. No slamming doors. Nothing.
One fat droplet fell on her ashen face, then another. Tears. He choked them back. But inexplicably, the knot in his chest eased.
She’ll be okay.
Corbin looked up. Into the eyes of his brother, who stood just a foot away. He appeared exactly as he had the day he died.
“Malone!” The shout came from the entry floor below. Joe. Finally.
“Up here!”
Cash. Cash was in front of him.
One…two…three….
“How the hell did you get up there, Malone?” A breathless Joe.
“The stairs.”
A profane onslaught of words suggested Joe didn’t intend to test the stairs. “Paramedics are on their way. Can you get her down here?”
“Negative. Get your ass up here, Joe. Your perp is waiting for bracelets.”
Another tirade of profanity beat Joe up the stairs. A paramedic followed close behind.
Ashley took a slow, shuddering breath.
She was alive.
Only then did Corbin realize Cash was gone.
…
While the paramedics tended to Ashley—who was fully awake and insisting she was fine—Corbin stood watch over the patrol car with its passenger cuffed in the back. Now, out of the moment, the man looked as normal as any filthy, bedraggled fellow had a right to look. But Corbin couldn’t equate this with an everyday arrest.
Hugging a paper cup of coffee, Joe approached the front of the car, looking as if he hadn’t slept in days. He set his drink on the hood and rubbed his face with both hands. “We ID’d that print,” he said.
Corbin glanced to the back seat where the man sat in utter calm. “Who is he?”
“Floyd Stanley. I forget how many points matched up, but the prints were statistically identical. Clear as day.” Joe dropped a photo on the hood. The picture was old, but there was no denying the resemblance. It was a slightly younger version of the same man, or his twin. But the fingerprint spoke volumes.
So did Joe’s tone.
Corbin put his hands on his hips. “You don’t sound happy. What’s the problem?”
“Floyd Stanley was arrested in the 1950s for a series of murders. He played the crazy card and ended up here, in Ruby Hill. That’s why we have his prints on file.”
Corbin turned and took in the asylum, flashing blue in the light from a half dozen patrol cars. Why a former resident would want to return to that hellhole was anyone’s guess, although Corbin had pegged the guy as such. “You’re losing me, Joe. What’s the bad news?”
With a sigh, Joe planted both hands on the hood and leaned forward. “The bad news is there’s no way our buddy Floyd left fresh prints here.”
“Why not?”
“Because he died here over thirty years ago. Floyd Stanley is dead.”
Corbin waved his arm and turned toward the rear of the car. “That’s bullshit. He’s right—”
The backseat was empty. What the—? He threw open the front door and checked both seats, but Floyd Stanley was nowhere to be found. Only the handcuffs remained.
Joe scrubbed his face with his hand. “We’re going to try to secure the place. New locks on all the doors. Board up any windows without bars, for whatever that’s worth. We’ll keep a patrol here until the media gets bored and moves off to sensationalize something else.”
“We cuffed him, Joe. He was right there. You saw him.”
Joe said nothing. Just stood there looking tired as hell.
“We had him.” Corbin looked again to the asylum. It sat in dead calm. Waiting. And in its shadow, Ashley. For a second, he thought he saw a man in a hospital gown standing behind her, but in a flash, he was gone.
…
“I’m fine,” Ashley said for the umpteenth time. She’d been poked and prodded enough by the paramedics. She didn’t need her team on her. They milled around like someone had disturbed their ant hill, and she wished fervently Joe or someone would escort them from the property.
She would trade every one of the half-dozen people fussing over her for attention from one man.
Corbin.
He’d
been there. Surely he’d believe.
He stood across the tangled lawn, staring. She followed his gaze. Soft predawn light filtered Ruby Hill’s hard edges, but the asylum was no less imposing. No less evil. A shudder ripped through her, drawing the attention of a paramedic, but she shrugged him off.
When she looked again for Corbin, she found him close. He was covered in dirt from head to toe. He’d let them clean his hand upon their exit from the asylum, and now the stark white bandage nearly glowed relative to the rest of him.
“You should be on your way to the hospital by now,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
He frowned. “You nearly died in there. You’re going to the hospital.”
The paramedic watched the exchange with rapt attention. He probably hoped for victory by proxy.
“Beat it,” Corbin growled, earning a few steps of privacy. His glare bought a few more. To Ashley, he asked, “What did he say to you?”
“Who?”
Corbin hesitated. “Floyd Stanley. He’s a…former resident.”
“He referred to me as Nurse Pearce. I’m guessing that was my grandma.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“He asked if I remembered him.” She paused. Chewed her lip. Looked at the spot where Corbin’s hand settled on his hip. Braced herself. “He wasn’t real.”
“I know.”
The admission tore through her. “You know?”
“I saw Cash.”
“That wasn’t him. Evil can manifest in many ways—”
“No, this was different. It was Cash. You weren’t breathing.” He stopped. Took a shaky breath. “I want you to go to the hospital. I need to know you’re okay.”
“I will,” she said softly.
“Floyd Stanley isn’t leaving this place.”
“I know.”
“You can’t come back here.”
She didn’t want to go back there.
“You can’t because I don’t want to come back.” He turned. Lifted his shirt to show her his back.
Scratch marks. Three of them, and they’d drawn blood.
Ruby Hill (Entangled Ever After) Page 4
