A Night at the Asylum (15 page)

It was almost impossible to place the blanket
over his face, that solemn gesture reserved most exclusively for
the dead. I wiped away another tear. “I’m sorry, Emmett,” I
whispered.

As I pulled away from him my arm brushed
against a lump in his pocket. It was then that I remembered the gun
he carried. I reached into his jacket and pulled the gun out,
jamming it into the waistband of my pants. I let my hand linger on
his chest for one more long moment. His heartbeat had evened itself
out again, growing slower and slower against his ribcage. His face
was peaceful, sleeping his oblivion soundlessly. He wasn't going to
need the gun anymore.

And what was I going to do with it, besides
shoot myself in the leg? I grabbed my messenger bag and shoved the
gun into the zippered side pouch instead.

The wrecking crew was scheduled to start the
demolition at noon. I still had time, but not much. I closed the
car door carefully, still very reluctant to leave Emmett alone, but
it had to be done. I had to get inside the asylum before anyone
could stop me. I had to find the evidence Emmett had told me about
and get to Jamie. I had no clue how I was going to do it, or even
where to begin, but I had to try. It was the only way.

Darting around the cars, slinking back and
forth and crouch-crawling through the parking lot, I was able to
get into the woods that ran alongside the building. Here I could
make a run for it without being seen, or at least if I was I had
enough of a head start that it wouldn’t matter.

The monstrous, decaying thing looked no less
ominous in the light of day. I trudged over fallen branches,
through the brambles and dead leaves of the woods. The closer I
came to the yawning iron-framed doors, the more my head pounded and
my heart revolted. I looked up at the tall, arched broken windows,
the moldering concrete, the shards of paint curling toward the air
like peeling skin. I could see the length of the back of the
building and the overgrown grounds, once well-manicured and
beautiful, now littered and overrun with weeds. Hours earlier this
place had beckoned to me, and I had resisted. Now I was exactly
where it wanted me, where I was supposed to be. The culmination of
the entire night’s insanity was this. The last few dominoes were
now poised to fall.

I was flooded with memories of the place as I
walked. I could almost hear my brother's teasing voice as I scaled
around the side where we always got in. There were people scattered
here and there on the lawn but none of them paid any attention to
me, and not even the cops had come this close. I headed toward a
bush around the back of the building, an evergreen that concealed a
window entrance. No one else knew about it or cared, but it was
hard to believe no one noticed me. It seemed too easy. I crouched
down to prepare for the awkward planking position I was going to
have to contort myself into and heard a rustling sound right beside
me that was distinctly human. Someone grabbed my arm and I whirled
with a gasp, expecting to see Brad’s skeletal mug. Instead I was
greeted by a huge familiar smile and liquid brown eyes.

Raymond.

“Don’t do that! Jesus! Why has everybody been
doing that lately?!” I screamed.

Immediately his grin gave my distress a
complete work-over and I relaxed against the cold cement of the
shadowy hospital wall. I realized then how much he resembled his
brother – the dark skin, bright-white teeth, the T-shirt that clung
to his biceps like he was some sort of overdressed Speedo model.
Both of them had such big hearts, full of affection and happiness.
It was this that had drawn me so close to Raymond in the months
following my brother’s death. The world could be collapsing around
you and this guy…this guy was like a ray of sunlight in the hellish
dark.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughed.
“But the whole ninja thing…it wasn’t working.”

“What?” I said, looking around in alarm. “Did
anyone else see me?”

“No, calm down.” He laughed again. “Just
me.”

I blew out my breath. “Have you been inside
yet?” I asked him. “Have you seen Jamie?”

“No, but I got a weird text from Cole a few
minutes ago—”

I rolled my eyes. “Save it. I’ve got to get
up to them as fast as I can.”

“Okay. I’ll lead the way. I know exactly
where they are.”

“Alright…” This was no time to balk at his
help, I quickly decided.

There was no turning back now. I held the
bush out of the way as he wriggled his body through the window,
then slid through the tiny hole myself and felt broken glass snag
my sweater. Wonderful. I’d gained some weight since last time I was
here.

Raymond’s strong hands took hold of my waist
and set me down carefully on the cement floor. My sneakers crunched
over broken glass and the stench of mildew filled my nose. The
basement was dark and cold and I reached out and clasped his arm,
in spite of myself. I didn’t want to need him right now, but I was
too scared to let go.

A highly allegorical realization? Or
something much more literal? I blinked when Raymond flicked on a
flashlight, and cursed when I remembered that this room’s
broken-window entrance was most avoided by everyone else because
this was the goddamned morgue.

It was very easy for my hand to revert to old
habits and close around Raymond’s. It felt familiar and safe. But
at that moment I discovered I did not have the misery, the pain I
thought I would. That anguish from knowing he had left me was gone,
and I marveled at my own emotional strength. Over the course of the
night, with all the things I’d seen and done, the need for him to
make me feel like everything would be alright simply wasn’t there.
I loved him, but I could go on without him. It was a revelation I
never expected to have, especially not so soon.

Raymond’s flashlight swept the room, stopping
briefly on my face and then swinging back to the grimy walls. “Are
you okay?” he asked, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could
see his brow creased in worry as he stared at me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Come on. We have to
hurry.” I dragged him behind me in the blackness, feeling my way
along the slimy, gritty tiling, following the small yellow circle
from the flashlight. There was a long row of open square holes off
to the right, where long ago, dead bodies had been stored in metal
drawers. I wanted to go past those gaping wooden holes as quickly
as possible, but Raymond pulled me to a stop.

“Wait,” he said softly. “We need to
talk.”

No. Not here. Not now. He clearly did not
understand the urgency of the situation. “Raymond—”

“I know you didn’t deserve what I did to you.
And it’s my fault. Not yours. I was just…I was really
confused.”

“Please, Raymond...” I wanted to know the
truth,
needed
to know. In fact, I was pretty sure I already
did
know. But there’d been so many revelations in the last
few hours I was doubtful I could process it. I didn’t know if
hearing him admit he was in love with Bonita Taylor would finally
destroy me completely or set me free. I broke away from him,
scampering forward despite the black abyss in front of me. I hit
the heavy oak door that led to the rest of the basement and pushed
it open. It groaned under the pressure. “Let’s just go to Jamie and
we can talk about this later,” I called back to him. “I promise. We
will sit down, and we will—”

“Sara, I’m gay.”

For a second his words just rang in the dank
air, refusing to enter my brain. An odd sensation spread over my
body, not unlike being zapped with electricity. Then suddenly, a
peal of laughter burst out of me that I didn’t know was coming and
therefore could not hold back. Was he joking? I replayed the words
again in my mind but this was not a joke. That settled it; I really
just could not read people at all. How could I have missed this?
Weren’t there signs, signals? How long had he known this?

As I stood there, my giggles bouncing off the
cement walls, Raymond started to laugh too. We cackled out of pure
relief, for our own reasons. It was idiotic. In this gloomy
basement, where the walls oozed with decay and there were reminders
of death all around us, we were both shrieking with laughter.
Eventually it tapered off, and our echoes died down, and we just
stared at each other.

I cleared my throat. It was stupid, but I
still had to ask. That’s how much I had disillusioned myself. “So
this means you’re not in love with Bonita?”

“What?” Raymond seemed completely shocked
that I would come to this conclusion. “Am I—what? No. I am not.
What the hell would make you think that?”

Now I felt silly. But it was a light kind of
silly, something I could easily forgive myself for. “She’s been at
your house for like a week straight. She’s been staying with
you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen her, Raymond. Everyone has.”

“Aww, jeez. I’m sorry.” He came toward me and
reached for me, and I hesitated. But I was okay. I let him embrace
me. He squeezed me against his hard chest and I hugged him tightly,
reveling in his warm familiarity. Four years came back to me then,
good times and bad, but honestly mostly good. I let the memories
wash over me without questioning or judging them. Snuggling on the
couch, watching movies together…staring down at the Grand Canyon
where he’d told me he loved me for the first time. And yes, sex.
Maybe not as much as there should have been, but it had still
happened. I had never gotten the impression that anything was
strange or false about any of it, because it wasn’t. I loved him,
and he loved me. I remembered that. And I did not suffer. I was
going to be alright.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whimpered against
his neck.

“I didn’t understand it all. I had to sort it
out. It wasn’t an easy realization for me. And I haven’t told
anyone else yet. I thought you deserved to know first.” He hugged
me tighter. “But I am not in love with Bonita.” He laughed. “I
promise you that.” We started to walk, his arm over my shoulders.
There was little sinister power in this basement with him here; it
was just a shadowy, mildewed pit.

“So what was she—?”

“She’s with Jon, Sara. She’s…” He seemed
reluctant to finish the sentence. Probably because of my brother.
“They’ve been together for a few months. I just found out.”

Understanding exploded in my brain. “Why
didn’t I see it before?” I mumbled.

“You only see what you want to see, I guess.”
Raymond was matter-of-fact as he gauged my reaction.

“That’s…” I realized I completely agreed with
those words. It was entirely true.

The ground was littered with moldering
linens, soiled garments, bunched into corners where they’d been
kicked out of the way. In front of us were painted double entrance
doors, their frosted glass yellowed with age, a tiny triangle
missing out of one side. A crinkled paper sign was taped to the
wall next to the doors. “Keep the Morgue Clean” it screamed out in
bubbled ink. And directly beyond those doors were the cement stairs
that led up to the first floor. I took a deep breath, shoving them
open. “Come on,” I said to Raymond. “Let’s get this over with.”

The stairs were passable, though they were
piled with debris. I hung on to the chipping bannister to ensure I
could maneuver my way up them, Raymond holding the flashlight
beside me. He flicked it off. There was enough light pouring
through a cracked window to see pretty well here now. Behind the
blurry glass I caught a stretch of sky. It was turning a gradual
but particular color of blue. The storm was almost here.

“I gotta say, you’re taking this a lot better
than I thought,” Raymond remarked as we walked.

I shrugged. “Now that I know you didn’t cheat
on me with that…bitch…that’s all that matters.”

“So you’re not upset that I’m attracted to
other people…as long as it isn’t another girl?”

“Specifically Bonita. But…basically yes.”

“Are girls really that territorial?”

“Yep.”

“You know…she’s not really a bitch.”

“Don’t even try to defend her to me. And did
you know she has a kid?”

For a moment Raymond didn’t answer. “You
know…maybe you should just call her back.”

“What?”

There was a clamor on the floor above us,
just beyond the double doors, and we forgot our conversation and
scrambled ahead. There was no way to hurry to where we needed to
go. With the papers, pieces of the walls, the chunks of wood and
wrecked furniture strewn about, we had to tread carefully. It took
some concerted effort to get up the staircase, but another set of
double doors at the top opened up to the first floor. I hadn’t been
here in years, and the state of it had worsened considerably. I
heard myself gasp.

The crescent-shaped nurses’ station desk was
corroded, paint blackened like burned skin. The ceiling was a holey
mess. The spray-painted Swan Song Angel was half-eaten by mold and
newer graffiti. Was nothing sacred to drunks and teenagers? A light
fixture had let loose, hanging by wires halfway to the floor. I
stepped gingerly away from it.

There were papers scattered across the
semi-circle desk, water-damaged and patterned with muddy
footprints. Behind the desk I heard giggling. A group of teenagers
were huddled in the dirt, smoking a joint. Apparently they had
knocked over a huge metal shelf previously rotting in a corner,
causing the commotion we’d heard. I scowled at them. “Jamie and
Cole are supposedly in the Men’s Ward,” Raymond told me as he led
me by my arm past the desk. “That was the last update anyway.” He
pulled out his phone, looked at it, and shoved it back into his
pocket with a sigh. “Of course, I can’t get a signal in this
hellhole, so I’m not sure.”

“Here on the first floor?” I asked him. There
were technically four wards for the men, one on each level,
including the basement. The basement is where they kept people who
weren’t white or rich, until that horror became illegal. Something
told me the underground wards were only a shade better back then
than they were today.