Asylum (22 page)

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 fell 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.”

“Uh-huh,” Teague said. He motioned for Dan to continue, but then a third cop strode up to them. She handed Teague a phone. Felix’s phone.

“I think you should see this,” she said. “And you need to confiscate this kid’s cell.”

Dan swallowed around a knot, the hot, sick feeling in his gut enough to make him want to double over and hurl. Both cops stared at him, waiting.

“What’s on Felix’s phone?” Dan asked, stumbling over the words. When had it gotten so hot in the room? He was sweating bullets. “Please, I’m sure I can explain if you just—”

“Yeah, I’m
sure
you can. Your phone, please.”

“But—”

“Your
phone
.” Teague narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to ask again.”

It was no use protesting. Maybe this was for the best. His outbox probably had a message like “HELLO FELIX I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO BASH YOUR BRAINS IN WITH A CROWBAR.” Somehow, it would happen. Then he’d be taken to jail and locked up. At least then he couldn’t get into any more trouble. He’d be left alone with his thoughts, and that would finish him off without ever needing a trial.

Then Dan remembered he had a message from the Sculptor in his in-box. Now the police would have to believe him. And they could trace the number!

Dan handed Teague the phone. It would all be over soon.

Teague found his sent messages quickly. “Bingo,” he said triumphantly. “ߢFifth floor lounge, 3:30, I’ve got something cool to show you.’” He clucked his tongue softly. “Just what was on Felix’s phone. Sounds friendly enough, kid. What went wrong?”

“I didn’t send that,” Dan snapped, ballistic. “I didn’t. I swear to you.…”

“Do I look like an idiot?” Teague asked.

“Check my in-box!” Dan burst out. “I told you there’s a message there from the Sculptor telling me to meet him here!”

Teague looked at him strangely, but clicked on the in-box. There was a pause. “Nothing there, kid. No mysterious message. And like I said before, the Sculptor is dead.”

This was getting worse by the second. The sweat had soaked through the front of Dan’s shirt. He wanted to curl up and disappear.

“Why don’t you tell me what really happened.”

Dan took a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t even know any more,” he said. Teague narrowed his eyes. “I tried to find a cop before I came up here but no one was around.”

“Kid, we’ve got cops on every floor.”

“There wasn’t one when I left my room!” Dan shouted. “All I know is I got to the fifth floor and heard Felix crying out for help. So I came in here and there was this huge guy with a crowbar. I ran at him.”

“Go on,” said Teague.

“We were fighting, and then he heard you guys coming and he jumped out that window.” Dan pointed to it again, feeling especially stupid.

Teague looked at Dan and slowly shook his head. “Okay, kid, let’s go along with you for now. Let’s say there’s this mystery man who climbs out of a window on the fifth floor after attacking your best friend. Have you ever seen this man before?”

“Never,” Dan replied, locking eyes firmly with Teague.

The cop hesitated, looking Dan over and chewing the inside of his cheek. “You know, the weird thing is I almost believe you. You’re either in the middle of one hell of a frame-up job or you’re a damn good liar.

“Anyway, I suggest you keep your nose clean until we can sit you down and go over this again. I’m not going to take you to the station now, but I will if I have to. Until then, you’ll have an officer with you at all times.”

“Wait—”

“At
all
times.” Teague touched his forefinger to his nose and then pointed it at Dan. “You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Dan murmured.

Adjusting his cap, Teague nodded, satisfied. Dan hardly felt the grip of the officer assigned to him. Felix would spend the night at the hospital, with an officer waiting patiently to question him, while Dan was manhandled back to his room. A feeling of numb dread settled in his bones. “I’ll be right outside,” said his jailer. “So don’t try anything funny.” The irony of his room being used as a cell did not escape him.

The whole night, the whole
day
, now seemed like a dream. Particulars melted away, details disappeared. What had the man with the crowbar looked like? He couldn’t really remember now. Would Felix be able to corroborate Dan’s story? He didn’t know. He’d have to wait and see.

He climbed into bed without feeling the mattress or blankets. It was strange to think that he was a suspect—that the police thought he had attacked Felix. Did they think he was responsible for Yi’s attack, too—and, oh God no, Joe’s murder? If they discovered he’d been blacked out in the basement, what would they say? All the evidence was against him.

Outside the door, he heard his guard pacing slowly back and forth.

I have to fight back
, Dan thought, squeezing his eyes shut
.

His mind churned. Why would the Sculptor have a crowbar? That was a blunt weapon, a clumsy one. The Sculptor was smarter—crueler—than that. It frightened Dan that he could come to that conclusion so easily. He didn’t know the man, but he was beginning to understand, or at least recognize, his evil. And what did that say about him?

Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

Dan rolled onto his side, staring at the clock. If this was a fight against madness, he felt like he was losing. Maybe he already had.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

CHAPTER

N
o
 30 

“I
take it she’s your police escort?” Abby asked, eyes wide with fascination.

“Yeah.” Dan didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know Officer Coates—that was her name—was standing three feet behind him.

“So what happened last night?” Jordan asked. Morning light streamed in through the cafeteria windows over his shoulder. The line for pancakes was usually out the door, but it was significantly shorter today. Almost a third of the program’s students were gone. “I mean,
after
you texted me.”

“I didn’t text you,” Dan replied automatically. Thinking hurt. He’d hardly slept. His head was stuffed with sleepy wool. He choked down a second cup of coffee and waved to Officer Coates. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m lost,” Abby admitted, holding up a hand. “Did he text you or not?”

“Jordan got a message from me, it was in my phone, but I can’t remember sending it … because I didn’t.” It sounded ridiculous enough that he didn’t blame Abby for her skepticism.

“Nope,” she said. “Still lost.”

“Me, too.” Dan forked his pancake apart into three pieces and scooted them around in the lake of syrup on his plate. He wanted food to taste good again. He wanted life to make sense again. “Anyway, the same thing happened but with Felix. I don’t want to go into it.… The whole thing’s a gigantic mess.”

“You don’t want to
go into
it? But there’s a cop following you around. You don’t think that might warrant a bit of explanation?” Abby watched him intently from across the table.

Dan knew that he hadn’t been fully forthright with them about things. He was no longer entirely sure why. As much as he liked the
idea
of having best friends with whom he could share anything, it was like all he knew how to be was alone, apart.

“Maybe your phone is haunted,” Jordan said bitingly. “Maybe we should perform an exorcism.”

“Don’t worry,” Abby cut in. “This is all just a misunderstanding, I’m sure of it.”

I wish I was so sure.

“Ha! Dan, not worry?” Jordan cackled. “You’re better off telling a duck not to quack.”

“Thanks, you two. You always know how to make me feel better.”

After breakfast, Dan walked to class with his friends, with Officer Coates following ten feet back.

“What do they think I’ll do?” Dan wondered aloud. “Run? Where would I go?”

“It does feel a little excessive,” Abby agreed, glancing back at their tail. “At least she’s giving you space. I’m sure it could be worse.”

Dan appreciated that Abby was determined to find the silver lining in everything that morning; he needed a dose of her optimism in his life. They split up when they reached the academic buildings, Jordan heading to one of his math classes while Abby walked off to the art building.

Dan wasn’t prepared for the humiliation of attending class with an armed escort. Officer Coates waited outside his classroom, but even so, he felt the burn of accusing eyes on him. The remaining students pointed and whispered with zero subtlety. Dan could do nothing but put his head down, take notes, and try not to burst into flames from the embarrassment of it all. It didn’t help when he got passed a note that said, “Go home psycho.”