“Sure, why not. Meanwhile, I’ve gotta make sure I grab a spot in life drawing. Do you want me to sign you up?”
“Me? Oh, that’s right. You’ve never seen me draw. It’s worse than stick figures. Is there something worse? Whatever it is, that’s my skill level.” Dan shook his head, imagining the look on the instructor’s face when he turned in his scribbles.
“There will be naked giiiirls,” Abby said, drawing out the last word teasingly.
“And naked guys,” he replied.
“Good point. Ooh! Maybe Jordan will sign up with me.”
They passed through the quad and the path divided into two, one leading to the admin building where they were going to register for classes, and the other to the sports center. Up ahead, Dan spied Felix coming from the gym, pale and upright, walking to registration on his own. Dan thought about calling out to him, and really felt that he should. But to be perfectly honest, he was having a good time just being alone with Abby.
“Hey, losers! Wait up!”
So much for being alone. Jordan ran up the path, a sleek-looking leather satchel slung diagonally across his chest. A key chain with a twenty-sided die hung from the satchel’s zipper. Jordan looked like he had just rolled out of bed and thrown on whatever was at hand, yet somehow he made Dan feel like the sloppy one.
“Where were you?” Abby asked, slipping her arm through Jordan’s. “We missed you at breakfast.”
“Overslept. How was the food? Gross, probably.” Jordan walked quickly and they had to trot a bit to keep up.
“It wasn’t bad, actually,” Dan answered, although he wasn’t sure Jordan really cared about the answer. Jordan was hard to read, he thought. One minute he was up, and the next he was acting all snide. And then there was the Jordan who was so afraid of getting kicked out and going home. “Although Abby’s coffee was a diabetic’s nightmare.”
“Dan’s just grumpy because his roommate shamed him over his class choices this morning.”
“Shamed? What the hell? How is it any of his business?” Jordan laughed. “You lost the roommate lottery, Danny boy. Me? I won it. Yi is good stuff. He played the cello for me this morning.” Jordan waved to a tall, disheveled guy who was setting up his cello on the grass. “He’s getting together a chamber music group to play outside on the lawn. Can you imagine? I mean, can we hurry up and get to college for real, please? I want cello every morning. I want this.” He swept his hand out in front of him. “It sure beats living under the Talibans. I’m so ready for it.”
“You shouldn’t wish away your life,” Abby said smugly. “You only get it once.”
“Not if you’re a Buddhist. Or a ghost. But you’re right, who wants to get old? Not me. I’ll be handsome, of course, distinguished, but still … Wrinkles? Back pain? No, thanks.” He tweaked Abby’s nose. “At least you’ll be gorgeous forever.”
Dan couldn’t argue with that.
“Dan, on the other hand, already looks middle-aged,” Jordan continued, chuckling again. “In a good way! Don’t hit me—in a good way! Look at you over there, all quiet and earnest and crap. Wise beyond your years, man, like a hot, skinny Buddha.”
“Uh, thanks?” Dan looked at his feet, his face growing warm. He didn’t particularly want anybody, especially Abby, thinking of Buddha when they looked at him.
“Is he blushing? I think he’s blushing.” Jordan cackled and sped up, tugging Abby swiftly along the sidewalk, forcing Dan to hurry to keep pace.
“Leave him alone, Jordan.” She turned to Dan with an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, you don’t look middle-aged to me. He’s just trying to rile you up.”
“From the state of his face I’d say it’s working,” Jordan said.
“You’re awfully chipper this morning,” Abby said. “No bad dreams after last night?”
Jordan shook his curly head. “Me? No, I slept the sleep of the innocent. It’s probably from being away from home.”
Dan thought of his own night and the sleep he definitely hadn’t gotten. He seemed to be the only one whom the basement had really affected. He was also the only one who had dug deeper into the asylum’s history. He didn’t want Abby and Jordan to think he’d gone all obsessive, and was glad he hadn’t said anything to Abby. It was time to change the subject before he said something he’d regret later. “So, Jordan, Abby and I were just talking about what classes we want to take.”
“Okay … ?”
“Well, we were just thinking of some we might take together. You interested?”
“Sure,” Jordan said, although he took out his phone and began texting at light speed with only his thumb, turning away slightly to shield the screen from them. Dan didn’t give it a second thought; who Jordan texted was his own business.
Talk of courses carried them the remaining distance to registration. Dan’s mood lifted with every step. Abby and he agreed on two classes together, but while Abby and Jordan were taking Life Drawing, Dan would be in History of Psychiatry. He probably knew a lot of the subject matter already, but he knew classes at NHCP were designed to push even the smartest kids.
Posted on a wooden pillar off to the side of the admin building were flyers for a harp concert, an L.A.R.P. demonstration, and a casual bocce ball match. The morning mist had yet to burn off, and the students milling around looked almost like ghosts in a dream. A good dream.
“Can you imagine doing this every day?” Dan said.
“Picking classes? No, it’s exhausting.” Abby slipped her course catalog back into her patchwork messenger bag.
“No, I mean this. Walking around campus on a nice day with kids who actually want to be here, going to classes you actually want to take.”
“Amen,” said Jordan.
“Amen too,” said Abby and she linked arms with Jordan and Dan.
Dan was content with himself for once. He had two new friends and classes he was actually excited to attend. One day in, the summer was looking up.
After registration, the students were split into a few smaller, more manageable groups and funneled into rooms off the main floor of Wilfurd Commons. The director of the program was there to help guide the flow of traffic, waving and joking with a few of the professors who idled out in the hall. Inside their designated room, the friends were greeted by a professor and a red-headed guy who was handing out information on the various services available to them, emergency numbers, and maps of campus. The guy seemed to recognize Jordan, greeting him with a friendly “What’s up” before moving on to the next kid in line.
“Haven’t we heard all this a thousand times already?” Jordan groused as they took their seats. A dozen or so rows of chairs had been set up in front of a pull-down screen. They sat at the end of the third row, backpacks tucked under their feet. “I mean, I know I read this somewhere already. The pamphlets, the website …”
“Some of these kids have never been away from home before,” Dan replied. Abby sat between him and Jordan, perusing a neon-green handout.
“Have you?” Abby asked. It was a friendly, conversational question, but Dan froze, not sure how to answer. He didn’t like to talk about the foster homes he’d been in before lucking out with Paul and Sandy.
He was glad when the professor motioned for everyone to be quiet, waiting by the projector until the students had stopped talking.
“That’s Joe,” Jordan said, nodding toward the stocky, red-headed student. “He’s a hall monitor on my floor.”
“Kinda cute.”
“A hall monitor? No way, Abs, that’s forbidden fruit. Ha ha, fruit, get it?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Abby muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Ahhh, I crack me up,” Jordan added, wiping away a nonexistent tear.
“That makes one of us.”
The dark-haired girl sitting ahead of them turned and glared, silencing Abby and Jordan with a look. Behind her back, Jordan stuck out his tongue as the professor finally started talking.
“This is Joe McMullan, and I’m Profe
ssor Reyes. I know you’re all probably very bored with orientation stuff, but this will be quick and painless, I promise.”
Her name sounded familiar. Dan reached quietly into his pocket and pulled out his schedule. Scanning the list, he found that she was his History of Psychiatry professor. He tucked the schedule away, fixing his attention to the front of the room again. She was shorter than Joe by at least a head, and looked approachable enough, with ruddy cheeks and a gap in her teeth. She wore all black accented by a chunky necklace of turquoise stones.
“First, a few words on dorm safety …”
Dan let his eyes wander around the room. A few seats down he saw Felix sitting bolt upright in his chair. He sighed, thinking he really ought to include his roommate more, and maybe see if an hour or two kicking back as a group would bring Felix out of his shell. But he genuinely liked what he had going with Abby and Jordan, and if Felix made things weird, Dan would be blamed for forcing him into the dynamic.
“Brookline has a rich and complex past,” Professor Reyes was saying. “So if you have any questions, ask anytime! History is nothing to be afraid of.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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CHAPTER
No 7
It was wrong, all wrong. Dan was in the wrong place. There must have been some mistake. He didn’t deserve to be here. He wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t. So why was he chained to the wall? He struggled until there was blood on his wrists from where the shackles held him.
“Help!” he screamed, but his voice came out in a whisper.
The room changed. Now Dan was lying on a table in a robe. A key clicked in the door and a waiter wearing glasses and a white serving uniform came in, rolling a tray in front of him. There was a big silver dome on the tray, and Dan could hear something under it tinkling and rattling like silverware. “Your dinner, sir,” the waiter said, removing the dome. Underneath were surgical instruments: a scalpel, a clamp, and a hypodermic needle.
Dan looked up, and the waiter’s face had changed. Now he was wearing a white doctor’s coat and a surgical mask. Worst of all, where his eyes had been there were only black sockets, as if his eyes had been scratched out.
As he reached for the instruments, the doctor said in a gentle voice, “Don’t worry, Daniel Crawford. I’m here to take care of you.”
Dan startled awake. Sweat was pouring down his face, and he had grabbed the sheet so tightly that his fingers were cramping. He was still muttering, “No, no, don’t hurt me!”
Heart pounding, he sat up. His eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly. He was in his room. There was no waiter, no doctor. There was only Felix, stock-still, standing beside the bed watching him.
“Ah!” He sank down into the pillows again and yanked the sheet up to his chin. “What … what are you doing?”
“You were speaking in your sleep, Daniel,” Felix replied calmly. He took a tiny step away from the bed. “Are you feeling all right? The noise was … Well, it woke me, as you can see.…”
“S-sorry,” Dan mumbled. “Just a nightmare. I’m … I’m fine, really.”
But I’d be better if you backed the hell away.
“I need some air,” he added, rolling out of bed. The sheets were damp with sweat.
“That should help,” Felix said with a sad smile. “Fresh air always clears my thoughts. I hope it does the same for you.”
Dan grabbed his hoodie and raced out the door, wondering if he was fleeing his roommate, the room, or both. He tried to slow down his breathing. It was just a dream, that’s all it was. He wiped sweat from the bridge of his nose with one knuckle. The photographs had clearly disturbed him more than he’d realized. For the second night in a row, sleep was a lost cause. The hallway was dimly lit and quiet. No one was there, but Dan shivered. What was it about this place that made him feel like he was being watched?
It felt good to get downstairs. But when he got to the entrance hall, the main door was already propped open. Someone had gone out before him and was now sitting on the steps.
“Funny meeting you here,” he said.
Abby yelped, surprised. Dan only just managed to dodge the pebble she picked up and chucked in his direction. “Dan! Ugh. You scared me half to death.”
It probably didn’t help that his bad dream and sudden waking had left his voice hoarse. “Sorry,” he said, sitting down next to her. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.”
Abby sat with her knees drawn up and her phone in one hand, her arms wrapped tight around her shins. Little fat clouds with smiles decorated her pajama pants.
“You’re up late,” she said. Her voice sounded ragged, too.
“Couldn’t sleep. You?”
Abby looked at him, as if weighing how to respond. Finally, she said, “I got a text from my sister. Well, several texts. Things at home are … They could be better.” She paused. Dan might not have been a social wizard, but he knew that asking questions was not the right thing to do just now. So he waited for Abby to go on. “My parents don’t see eye to eye on much. Pops does corporate jingles and he hates it, but the money’s good. Mom thinks he should go back to making real music. His music. But it doesn’t pay.”
“No easy answers there.”
“They go back and forth, and every time I get so freaked out thinking that they’ll … Anyway, Jessy thinks it’s for real this time. She thinks they’ll really do it.” Abby sighed.
“What? Divorce?” Sensitive, Dan, real sensitive.
“Yeah.” She sighed again, and this time he heard a catch in her breath. He had no idea what to do if she started crying, and he hoped like hell it wouldn’t come to that, because he wouldn’t know the right way to handle it. “It would kill my sister. Sometimes I think it would kill me, too.”
“That really sucks. I’m sorry.” He was flubbing this. Epically. Not that it was an appropriate time to be acting all smooth and seductive or whatever, but surely something deeper was required here?
“I wish they could just keep it together for a few more years until Jessy and I are both in college.”
Dan sat in what he hoped came off as sympathetic silence.
“So what about you?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Me? What about me?”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“Oh.” Dan could feel that familiar instinct to shut down coming on. And he didn’t want to darken the mood even more with a detailed retelling of his dream. Still, Abby had shared something private with him, and her eyes looked so big and sad.… A fair trade seemed only right. “I had a nightmare.”
“Like falling or drowning?”
“Sort of.” No, not really. But he decided he couldn’t tell her about the dream after all. Not that dream, and not the ones he usually had either. She would think he was too strange, and her opinion mattered a lot to him. So all he said was “It was just the kind where you feel so … so …”
“Powerless?”
“Yeah.”
“I know the feeling. That’s how it is with my parents, too. Nothing I can do and it totally blows.” She took a breath and then said, “You know, weird as it sounds, I feel kind of better now. I don’t usually talk about this stuff.”
“What about Jordan? I thought you two were tight.”
“No. I mean yes. Well, sure, but I’m more his confidant. His situation is so screwed up.… I don’t want to burden him with my problems too much. It doesn’t seem right, piling more on top of him.”
They sat in companionable silence. The grass at the foot of the trees was tall, and pale tendrils of mist wove through the overgrown tufts before fanning out across the lawn. The darkness was lifting slowly as dawn came. “You’re a good listener, Dan. You’ve got this whole wise vibe going on.”
“Thank you.” Dan smiled. “Wait, this isn’t that Buddha stuff again, is it? Because that seriously did not feel like a compliment.”
“So,” she said. “You want to know my trick for getting to sleep?”
“Go for it.”
“So I close my eyes, right? I mean, that’s a given. But I close my eyes and relax, and I pretend I’m a tree—”
Dan snorted, shrugging away when Abby smacked him on his shoulder.
“A tree?”
“Shut up! It works!”
“Uh-huh. Sure it does …”
“Fine, smarty-pants. I’m not going to tell you my secret then.” Abby crossed her arms and made a hmph sound.
“No, please, continue. Come on, I want to know more about … about … being a tree.” Laughter bubbled up through his words no matter how hard he tried to clamp down on it.
“I’m not telling you now.”
“Abby, please …”
“Ugh. Okay, but only because I like you.”
Dan missed part of her next sentence, because she had said she liked him.
“ … you picture your individual roots, picture them moving down through the soil, going deeper and deeper, focusing on each one, one after another, down, down, cool and safe and surrounded …”
Asylum Page 4
