Asylum

by Madeleine Roux

  “Oh my God, you actually found her? Did you talk to her?” Jordan blurted out.

  “No, I didn’t quite find her. Not yet, anyway.”

  “This is a lot to take in,” said Dan. “I mean … you’re sure it’s her? You’re sure it’s your aunt?”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind,” Abby replied. “The name … the location … the timing … Do you know what Occam’s razor means? It means if there are lots of possible explanations, the simplest one is probably right.”

  “Who are you and what you have done with Abby?” Jordan said, and Dan laughed before he could stop himself. But when Abby just continued to stare at them, Jordan finally threw up his arms in a shrug. “Oh, what the hell. After everything that’s happened, I’m pretty much willing to believe anything at this point.”

  Dan agreed. They were way beyond coincidences. And maybe now that they were all being so honest, Abby and Jordan could help him put his own puzzle pieces into place.

  “Look, guys, there’s something I need to tell you, too. I—” He faltered. He’d never be as bold or open as Abby. “I did some online research on Brookline.” He took a deep, centering breath. “Yi told me that when Felix found Joe he was propped up in a weird position. And then tonight, when I found Yi in the stairwell, he was posed strangely, too. It wouldn’t matter, but there’s mention of this guy on the page that I found.… He was one of the patients here who was a murderer. A serial killer. He would kill people and then set them up in these tableaux, posed like statues.…”

  Reportedly, the victims posed to dance looked remarkably convincing.

  “Dan, what are you saying?” Abby asked.

  “He was called the Sculptor, and he was here, at Brookline. I … also found a card about him in the old wing. That time when Joe caught us. According to the card he was cured, but according to the website no one knows what happened to him. What if he’s still around? I mean, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? Just like you said about Lucy: Why go far when he could just use his old home as a hunting ground?” Dan wished he hadn’t phrased it that way. The thought of being hunted by that monster … God, could the Sculptor be his stalker? Did he somehow find out a kid was coming here who had the same name as the warden, the man who had performed bizarre experiments on him?

  “You have to go to the police with this,” Jordan said.

  “And tell them what? That a man who was treated here years ago is back for revenge?” It sounded absurd coming out of his mouth. “Why would they believe me?”

  “I don’t care if they believe you!” Jordan shouted. He stormed to the door, throwing it open. “Yi was attacked. My roommate was attacked. Joe was killed. Anything you know, anything that might help … We owe it to them to tell the cops.”

  “Jordan’s right,” Abby said. She gave Dan a sympathetic smile. “You don’t need to mention the old wing at all.” It was like she’d read his mind. He felt a little guilty that she knew the real reason he was apprehensive to approach the cops.

  Dan finally nodded. “You’re right. I could just point them to the stuff I found online.”

  Not to me. Not to Daniel Crawford.

  “It’s something, at least,” Abby agreed. “Let’s find an officer now and get it out of the way.”

  In the hall, it didn’t take long to track down a roaming policeman. Jordan and Abby flanked Dan as he approached, as if they were worried he might retreat.

  “Excuse me,” Dan said, a bit sheepishly. Police always made him nervous, even when he hadn’t done anything wrong. The cop turned. The name stitched on his uniform was “Teague.” He was short, broad through the shoulders, and had a brown mustache that was just beginning to turn gray. “Excuse me? Hi. I’m a student at the program here.… I just wanted to bring some information to your attention, Officer.”

  “Oh. And what would that be?” the cop said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Well … It’s just that I was doing some reading about Brookline online. Out of curiosity, you know, to learn more about the school and so on.”

  “A serial killer lived at the asylum,” Jordan burst out. No turning back now …

  “Go on,” Teague said with a nod.

  But Dan could already tell this was pointless. The officer had that look on his face, the skeptical one where a smile wasn’t a smile but a subtle hint that, while he might be listening, he wasn’t the least bit interested in taking a bunch of freaked-out kids seriously.

  Careful to leave out anything he had learned from his trips to the basement, Dan told the cop everything he knew about the Sculptor. He mentioned the similarity between the murders back in the sixties and what had happened to Joe, and now Yi.

  “I’ll make a note of it,” Teague said when Dan finished.

  “You didn’t even write anything down,” Jordan pointed out tartly.

  “I’ll make a note of it.” The cop gave Jordan a long, cold look. “Look, I’ve lived in Camford all my life. We know about the Sculptor, okay? You couldn’t grow up here and not hear about all the crazies who were sent here. Especially that man. Dennis Heimline. That’s a name I won’t forget.” He tugged down the edge of his uniform and leaned closer to Dan. “He died in ’72, the same year this place got shut down.”

  Dead? Had Sal Weathers gotten his wires crossed? Dan wasn’t sure who he trusted less, a crazy self-defined historian or a local cop. But it would make sense that the police would have kept tabs on Heimline.

  “It could be a copycat,” Dan suggested. “It’s not hard to find out about the Sculptor online, anyone could look it up and mimic the crimes.”

  The cop sighed, waving him off. “Look, kid, we got our man from last night in custody. This thing tonight? It was an accident. Boy slipped, fell, what have you. So this?” He gestured at them. “What you’re doing, is scared talk. You should go see one of the counselors, and stop chasing ghosts.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  .....................................................................

  CHAPTER

  No 29

  The next day, classes were canceled, leaving Dan to spend most of the day in the quad watching the students who were leaving the program. Abby had several friends who had chosen to go, and she wanted Dan and Jordan there with her for the farewells. He hadn’t expected such a simple task to end up exhausting him, but standing there while person after person gave him frightened or pitying looks really ground down his nerves. They wore their thoughts plainly: they thought he was insane to stick with the program.

  Felix chose to stay. Dan welcomed his companionship. He couldn’t fathom sleeping there alone.

  Drained as he was from the long day, Dan should have fallen right to sleep that night. But even though his body was tired, his mind was restless. He kept going in and out of sleep in half-hour stretches.

  Finally, the clock on Dan’s nightstand read 2:57. Felix snored in the neighboring bed. The open window let in a chill breeze that blew the curtains around. Realizing he’d never get to sleep at this rate, Dan decided to get a snack from the vending machines. Careful not to make a sound, he slid out of bed and pulled on a flannel shirt. He decided not to change his sweatpants, reasoning that if a cop saw him it would seem less suspicious if he looked fresh out of bed. He could always claim to be a sleepwalker.

  He shut the door softly and moved down the hall. No cops in sight. On tiptoes, he crept silently down the stairs to the first floor, willing himself not to think about Yi and Joe. He peered down the corridor, but again, no cops. Where were they all? He had just reached the vending machines and reached in his pocket for change when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He turned quickly, and let out a gust of a sigh. It was only Jordan.

  “You scared the crap out of me, Jordan.” And that was an understatement. Dan pressed his palm against his chest, feeling the hammer of his pulse.

  “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to. I thought you’d know it was me. Anyway, what�
��d you want to see me for?” he whispered.

  “What are you talking about?” Dan was confused.

  “You invited me here … ?” Jordan sounded irritated. “I thought it was important.”

  “No, I definitely didn’t …”

  “It’s three in the Goddamn morning. I don’t feel like messing around,” Jordan muttered. “At least come up to my room, so the cops don’t catch us.”

  When they were safely back upstairs, Jordan took out his phone. He flipped it open and showed Dan his message in-box. Sure enough, there was a text sent from Dan’s number asking Jordan to meet him at the vending machines at three o’clock to discuss something urgent.

  “Satisfied?” Jordan asked.

  What could he say? Dan blinked at the message, his heart sinking. He had absolutely no memory of sending that text; in fact, he hadn’t even considered asking Jordan—or anyone—to meet him. He’d decided to get a snack only a few minutes ago. How could he have possibly planned for this?

  “I swear, Jordan, I didn’t send that.” He sounded like he was pleading.

  “Check your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Check it. Now. I want to see your sent messages.” He held open his hand, waiting for Dan to produce the phone.

  “I don’t know what this proves,” Dan muttered. But he remembered the strange emails that had shown up on his phone, so he wasn’t even surprised when he saw the message in his Sent folder. It didn’t matter because he hadn’t sent it. He was sure. But Jordan wouldn’t believe him.

  “This is bullshit, Dan,” Jordan hissed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I really can’t deal with whatever you’re up to right now, whatever game you’re playing. Yi is in the hospital, I’m sleeping all alone in this creepy freaking dump, and now you’re doing … whatever this is!” Jordan rubbed his head. “I think you should leave now. I need some sleep.”

  Suddenly making his friend believe him was more important to Dan than anything. He needed someone to tell him he wasn’t losing his mind.

  “Jordan, you have to trust me. I didn’t send this. I don’t know who did, but—” Dan looked again at his phone, and Jordan’s, which may as well have been surgically grafted to his palm since he was never without it. Could he be behind all the unexplained messages?

  No, it was a ridiculous idea. Impossible. Dan was just grasping at straws now and looking for anyone to blame. Anyone other than yourself.

  “But it’s in your phone so you’re clearly full of it. Why are you even bothering to deny it?” Jordan was asking. “What’s the point?”

  “Look … This is stupid. I didn’t send you that text. I’m going back to bed.”

  “Yeah, run away, Dan. Real mature.”

  Dan left in a frustrated huff. The dorm was empty as he returned to his room, no sign of cops or hall monitors. When he unlocked his door and stepped in, he knew right away that something was wrong.

  No Felix.

  Before he had time to process this, the phone in his hand leapt to life, vibrating and lighting up. He nearly chucked it across the room in surprise. He looked at the screen, hoping the message was from Jordan or Abby. Instead it was from an unknown number. Dan’s hand trembled as he opened the message.

  You can be one of them, too. You can be immortal. Bend you, pose you, with a smirk or a frown. I’m waiting on the fifth floor, Daniel, to sculpt you.

  “No way,” Dan whispered. He held the cell phone close to his face, as if reading it from a different angle would change the words somehow.

  You’re not going, of course. You’re going to do the smart thing and show this to the cops. Someone is trying to screw with you.

  His mind jumped back to Felix. Where was he? Dan had a sinking feeling. Felix must have woken up, found him missing, and gone looking for him. But what if he’d accidentally found the Sculptor instead? Could he be on the fifth floor? Dan had to find him—before it was too late.

  His mind was made up. But he wasn’t stupid; he’d get a cop to go with him, even though the cops thought the Sculptor was dead. He had proof now that the Sculptor was alive and well—and out to get him.

  Anyone could have written that message, a pesky voice reminded him. Even you said there could be a copycat.…

  Either way, Dan thought, this was the person responsible for Joe and Yi. Real deal or copycat, he’d find out who was behind it all.

  But when Dan left the room for the second time that night, he discovered that there were still no cops. He checked the second floor and then the first, backtracking all the way to the vending machines. There must have been an emergency in town or something. The Camford police force wasn’t exactly huge. Dan took one last lap of the first floor, but it was silent. There was no more time. He would have to go alone, or risk Felix becoming the next victim.

  Dan raced up the stairs, actually hoping to make enough noise to rouse someone. Maybe the cops were on the fifth floor already. But when he reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner, Dan knew that was just a foolish hope. The floor was silent, and someone had cut the lights.

  Dan groped along the wall for a panel of switches but could only find one.

  The wind outside howled, and the overhead eaves, old and probably rotting, groaned in answer. Dan passed one door on his right, clenching his fists to fight the nerves tingling at the base of his spine. He had just enough light to see that the room was empty. The next room was empty, too, and the next, and the next. But suddenly, Dan heard a voice in that last room, and he moved stealthily toward it.

  “Please … P-please don’t hurt me.”

  Felix.

  He quickened his pace.

  “P-please …” It was Felix again. Dan had never heard anyone whimper like that, a young man reduced to a frightened little child.

  Dan stepped as softly as he could. If anything was going to give him away, it would be his labored breathing. His throat had tightened so much, each suck of air came in with a wheeze.

  Pressing against the wall, he inched his head around the corner, dreading what he would find. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t a man who was six foot three and carrying a crowbar. He was standing over the slumped body of Felix.

  Dan must have made a sound because the man turned to look at him, passing his crowbar from hand to hand. He was wearing black gloves. Dan couldn’t stop looking at them. Murderers wore black gloves.

  Do something.

  Dan had never been a hero or an athlete, but an instinct he didn’t recognize, one that came from a deep well of anger, drove him into the lounge. He charged, shouting, looking Rambo in his head but probably drunken buffalo in reality. It didn’t matter. The man with the crowbar staggered back in surprise, falling to the floor when Dan crashed into him, hard. Dan heard a loud crack and hoped he’d busted one of the guy’s ribs. He brought his knee up, aiming to connect with the man where he knew it would really hurt. But the man parried Dan’s blow with a kick of his own. Hands as tough as steel wrapped around Dan’s forearms and pulled them apart. Dan was no longer pinning the man down. The man rolled over and shoved him to the floor.

  “You little shit,” he hissed.

  “Help!” Dan screamed as loudly as he could. But the man’s hands were pressed so heavily on his chest that it sounded like a whisper.

  Dan’s head smacked the carpet, paper-thin padding over concrete judging by how much it hurt.

  His vision swam, blacks and blues and purples all meshing together, inseparable. This was it. He was going to die. Time seemed to slow; moments stretched apart like tufts of cotton being pulled farther and farther until he heard shouts and the sound of feet pounding down the hall.

  “Damn it!” said the man. Jumping up, he ran to an open window and disappeared through it just moments before two cops barreled into the lounge, guns drawn.

  Their voices bounced, muted, as if his skull had become an empty echo chamber. Dan tried to sit up, but his head just hurt too damn much. He fel
l back to the floor.

  “Can you hear me? Hey! Are you all right? Did you hit your head?”

  He stared up at the officer. Teague.

  “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

  That remained to be seen. At least his vision was starting to piece itself back together. Dan tried to nod. Ow. Bad idea.

  “The window,” he slurred, trying to point the cops to where the man had escaped.

  “Call an ambulance,” an officer was saying to his partner. He was kneeling at Felix’s side. “This one needs to get to the hospital. He’s been hit.” A blanket appeared from somewhere and the cop draped it over Felix. “Can’t have him going into shock.” Another blanket was wrapped around Dan’s shoulders.

  “Mm fine,” Dan insisted. “The man … through the window.” A moment later, Teague helped him to his feet. The cops let him regain his balance, and the ache in his head gradually subsided as they waited for the paramedics.

  The ambulance came, and they put Felix on a stretcher. He was stirring as they left the room, and trying to sit up. Soon Dan heard the sound of an ambulance moving away.

  Dan stood on wobbly legs while they took his name and room number, and contact information for his parents.

  “The guy is getting away,” he said desperately. “You can still catch him if you go now—he’s probably still on the roof.”

  One of the cops ran over to the window and checked around outside. Finally, he turned back to them with a shrug.

  “There’s no one out there,” he said. “And it’s a good fifty foot drop down to the ground.”

  “He’s out there!” Dan shouted.

  “Whoa, whoa, calm down, buddy,” Teague said. “Start at the beginning. What are you doing up here in the first place?” Teague took out a notepad and pencil.

  Dan wanted to cry.

  “I got up to go to the bathroom,” he said, not wanting to touch the thing with Jordan and the mysterious text message. “When I got back to my room Felix was gone. He’s been frazzled lately. He was the one who found Joe in the stairs.… The Sculptor sent me this weird poem thing and told me he would sculpt me if I met him on the fifth floor. I was scared Felix was with him, so I went looking. I didn’t want him wandering alone at night.”