Asylum (3 page)

“So there’s a creepy old office on the first floor of our dorm,” Dan blurted. His cheeks were glowing, he just knew it. Tiny pinpricks of heat spread across his face as Jordan and Abby quit talking abruptly. They turned to face him in unison.

“Come again?” Jordan prompted, frowning.

“In Brookline? Near the lobby?” He didn’t want to look too eager, but Abby at least seemed interested, tilting her head to the side and chewing her lip thoughtfully.

“I think I walked by that. It looked locked up though. Quarantined or something,” she said.

“My roommate Felix managed to get inside. He said it was totally open. It sounded like something cool to check out, you know, maybe after hours.” It wasn’t until that last bit came out of his mouth that he realized how strange the proposition sounded. Inviting them to creep around after dark when he hardly knew them …

Jordan seemed to read his mind, shaking his head and playing idly with the fringy end of his scarf. The bravado he’d shown just moments ago was gone. “Sounds against the rules. I don’t mean to be lame, but I’m not looking to get kicked out, not on the first day. Well, not
ever
, but definitely not on the first day.”

“He said it was unlocked, Jordan. That hardly sounds off-limits,” Abby put in. She offered Dan a bright smile. “I think it sounds interesting … and I’m always looking for inspiration. I bet there are all sorts of vintage goodies hidden in there.”

“There are photographs,” Dan said, before Jordan could rain on the parade again. “Felix said there were lots of photographs.”

“Photos! Even better. I love old black and whites.” She was elbowing Jordan, who still didn’t look keen to give in just yet.

“It was just
open
? Are you sure?” he asked.

Dan nodded. “According to my roomie, anyway, and he doesn’t strike me as the exaggerating type. He said there was a lock but it was broken.”

“Talk about lax,” Abby said.

“And weird,” Jordan added, rubbing at his elbows as if suddenly cold. “I’m not sure, Abby, this sounds more up your alley. I’m not into all that macabre crap.”

“You’re not sitting this one out,” she told him firmly. “Right, Dan?” Abby’s eyes sparkled.

“Of … of course not! You’ve got to come along.” For a minute there, he’d hoped he and Abby would end up checking out the office alone.

“I don’t know …” Jordan kicked at an invisible speck on the ground. “Just seems risky.”

He
did
have a point. No matter what Dan said about the broken lock, he was pretty sure the room was supposed to be off-limits. And if they did get caught and kicked out as Jordan feared, Dan would never forgive himself. Worse than having his own summer ruined, he’d be responsible for ruining their summers, too. Wouldn’t
that
make a good first impression.

But he felt like he’d opened a Pandora’s box—that the possibilities unlocked by a trip to the old wing had already grown and gotten away from him. Plus, if he was being honest, Dan really did want to know if there were more photos like the one he had found in his room.

“Come on,” Dan needled, pointing out Felix’s lanky frame weaving through the crowd still inside. “
He
went in there. How bad could it be?”

Jordan took a discreet look, then snorted. “What are they always saying about peer pressure? If your friends jump off a bridge, something something?”

“Well, Dan and I are going with or without you, aren’t we, Dan?” Abby said with a confidence that Dan admired.

“All right already!” Laughing, Jordan nudged Abby’s side. “You two win—let’s go jump off that bridge.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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CHAPTER

N
o
 4 

D
an found them waiting at the bottom of the stairs. A phone call from his parents had almost made him late, but when he assured Paul and Sandy that he’d arrived just fine, and that his friends Jordan and
Abby
were waiting for him downstairs, his mother had let him go with a happy little chirp.

Behind Jordan and Abby, a few lights flickered in the entrance hall. Jordan leaned against one of the tall white columns that supported the archway. He waved at Dan’s approach, swinging a flashlight in his other hand.

Abby had changed into a turquoise sweatshirt and pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail.

“Hey,” she whispered, glancing around. “We saw a hall monitor go by a few minutes ago, but nothing since. You ready?”

Dan nodded and joined them under the arch. Jordan tested the flashlight, shining a beam of light at each of them in turn.

“Last chance to go back and do something sensible,” Jordan offered, “like drink in my room and watch
Thundercats
.”

Abby’s nose wrinkled as she leveled a soft punch at his shoulder. “You are not chickening out now. Besides, we can do that after.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Jordan murmured, following them into the dim, silent hall. “Because I’ll definitely need a drink after this.”

Dan knew what he meant. Now that he was here, he was so beyond nervous it was like he was giddy. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling exactly, but it was markedly better than the kind of anxiety he was used to.

Softly, they crept across the empty hall, passing the notices and activities corkboard, the vending machines, and a rickety elevator that was out of service. Fewer lights shined overhead the deeper into the hall they went, and when they reached the old office door they found themselves in almost total darkness. Jordan lifted his flashlight from their feet to the door, and Dan’s heart sank: it was clearly locked. And the sign Felix had mentioned turned out to be a poster board that said KEEP OUT in rather serious red letters.

“I thought this was an unfettered access situation,” Jordan whispered.

“I swear …” Had Felix lied to him? What would the point even be in that? “They must have figured out students were going in and locked it up. Damn it. I’m sorry for dragging you guys here.”

“All right, all right, don’t look so sad.” From his pocket, Jordan produced a paper clip, which he proceeded to straighten. When he’d finished, he put one end into the padlock and started to wiggle it around gently. “Just know that you owe me a lot more than
Thundercats
for this.”

“Pretty impressive,” Dan whispered. He had seen lock picking on TV, but it didn’t compare to the sneaky thrill of watching someone do it in real life.

Jordan smiled, pausing for a moment. “I can do it with a hairpin, too.”

“Would you two keep it down?” Abby looked over her shoulder.

“You’re breathing louder than we’re talking.” Jordan bit down on his lower lip with an impatient sigh, the padlock shaking in his grasp.

“Maybe hurry it up just a little,” Dan murmured.

“I’m going as fast as I can. This is an art. You can’t rush
art
.” A light sheen of perspiration broke out over Jordan’s forehead, soaking the ends of his bangs. “Just … almost …” Dan heard the softest of clicks.
“Gotcha.”
Jordan pocketed the paper clip in his hoodie and looped the open padlock through the ring on the door frame. He pushed the door. It didn’t budge.

“Damn, it’s stuck,” he said. “Give me a hand.…”

Dan and Abby put their hands on the heavy door and pushed. The door felt like it was pushing back at first, but then it started to give.

After one final push, the door shuddered open. A cloud of dust swirled up and blew out to meet them like a relieved sigh, as if some pent-up force had finally been released. As quickly as the dust came it dissipated, presumably less potent after Felix’s trip inside.

“Ugh, that is
foul
.” Coughing, Abby reeled back, covering her mouth to keep the dust out.

“It smells like my grandpa’s house,” Jordan said, his voice muffled through the fingers clamped over his mouth.

“They probably don’t clean in here anymore.” Dan squinted into the dark behind the door. Beside him, Jordan flicked his flashlight around, illuminating a wide reception-type room.

“When do you think was the last time someone worked here?”

“The Stone Age, maybe?” Abby joked. She and Dan turned on their phone lights as all three of them moved into the darkened room. Their lights made little pools of blue and white, but were hardly bright enough to fight the darkness.

They moved farther in. Slowly, details appeared—a low counter to the left where the secretary might have sat, a cushioned bench fixed into the wall on the right, austere overhead lights long bare of working bulbs. Across from them, along the far wall, was a slim door with a frosted glass window.

“This is crazy,” Jordan whispered, huddling closer to them. “It’s like … it’s like it’s all just frozen in time. Like they just got up and left one day.” He passed Abby and Dan, going to the counter and peering over it. “Phones, typewriters,
everything
.”

“It must have closed suddenly,” Abby said. Together, she and Dan walked ahead of Jordan and approached the inner office door. The flashlight beam shined over Dan’s shoulder, giving them all a better view of the letters that had flecked away on the door’s glass.

W D N WF D

“What do you think?” Dan leaned closer, studying the letters and trying to mentally fill in the blanks. “Is this the warden’s office?”

“Most likely,” Abby agreed. “Think it’s open?”

“Only one way to find out …” Holding his breath, Dan reached for the knob, noticing that it showed visible fingerprints in the dust that disappeared under his palm. Traces of Felix, probably, who must have gone farther in since Dan hadn’t spotted any pictures so far.

The door gave with a quiet squeak, swinging inward on tight hinges.

“Whoa,” he heard Abby breathe.

“My thoughts exactly,” Dan whispered.

Wiping his hands to get rid of the clinging dust, he went first, shoved a little by Jordan at his back. It was only fair, given that this whole trip into the unknown was technically his idea. They stepped into an office that might have been spacious if not for all the bookcases and filing cabinets crowding around, not to mention the piles and piles of loose papers. Dan tripped over a fallen lamp stand, catching his balance by grabbing the edge of a large desk.

On the desk, Dan noticed an old rotary telephone next to a stack of worn journals and notepads. Then he realized that what looked like an in-box of papers was actually a pile of faded photographs, less dusty than everything around it.

“I think I found the photos Felix was talking about,” Dan said.

He shined his phone on the top one—a tall man in a long, white coat, with glasses Dan recognized. He squinted to make out the other details of the image. It was the same man from the photo in his desk drawer. He quickly flipped to the next picture and let out a yelp.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Abby said.

“Nothing,” Dan replied. If he admitted the connection he’d just made in his head, he could no longer pretend that he was imagining it.

The next photo in the stack showed a group of physicians standing around a gurney. Lying on the bed, oddly placid, was a young man in a hospital gown. One of the doctors was cradling his head in his hands, while another was buckling a heavy leather strap across his forehead. Nearby, a nurse was holding a syringe.

Abby sidled up next to him to stare at the picture, both of them trying to make sense of the image.

“It must be a treatment of some kind,” Dan said finally. “He must have been a patient here.”

“He’s so young,” Abby said. “He could be our age.”

He could be me.
Dan shook the thought from his mind, peeling off the photo and aiming his cell phone at the next one.

This picture showed a woman restrained on a table. Fitted over her head was a helmet with wires coming out of it. A wooden bit was wedged between her teeth. Between the helmet and the bit, she looked like she was being tortured, like some kind of martyr.

The photographs were horrible, but Dan couldn’t stop flipping to the next one, and the next. Each picture showed a patient enduring some kind of treatment, from painful-looking shots to solitary confinement. A photograph depicting hydrotherapy turned Dan’s stomach. Orderlies were aiming hoses of water at a patient, who was huddled and shivering in the corner of the room, completely naked. A doctor stood to the side, arms crossed, indifferent.

Dan had read about this kind of outdated treatment before—he had a morbid fascination for the subject, really. Growing up in the foster system had given him an interest in social machines, systems that made decisions
for
people instead of with them. Not that he was comparing his life to the plight of these poor people—if anything, the system had made a
good
decision for him, all things considered. He wouldn’t trade his family for anything.