Asylum (5 page)

Perhaps more disturbing than the Sculptor himself was the fact that when Brookline closed, no trace of the Sculptor could be found.…

Dan was riveted. A serial killer had been a patient here, in
this
building. Where had they kept him? What kind of treatment had he received? And where had he
gone
?

Dan closed his laptop and lay back on his bed. Just as he was drifting off he remembered the photo of the struggling patient and wondered if that could have been Dennis Heimline. Maybe his parents had been right to worry about him coming here. Having a speckled past was one thing, but a serial killer? Treatment photos? Well, he wouldn’t be sharing these discoveries with Paul and Sandy, that was for sure.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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CHAPTER

N
o
 6 

“N
o offense, Dan, but you look like crap. Did you have trouble sleeping or something?”

Abby’s voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a pool. Realizing he’d begun to nod off, Dan roused himself enough to lift his head and shove a bite of cereal into his mouth. He wondered if the halo of fuzzy light that looked so at home around her head was from the morning sun through the skylight or from his almost total lack of sleep.

He decided against telling Abby about what he’d found online, because he was worried it would sound too weird—that it would make
him
sound too weird. He was only just getting to know her; he didn’t want to blow it in the first twenty-four hours.

“Felix snores. Like he swallowed a frog. Or a lion.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah, and then he was up at the crack of dawn to go work out, of all things. Needless to say, I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep this summer.”

“You sure you’re not just worn out from our little ordeal last night?” She didn’t beat around the bush. He liked that.

“I guess it was pretty intense,” he said. She had certainly seemed enamored of that one photo. They’d almost had a fight over it. Dan frowned; he couldn’t even remember now why he’d been so adamant about her leaving it there.

A stab of pain in his head made his eye twitch. “Damn it. I did not want to feel like this on the first full day.”

Abby pushed a cup of coffee across the table. “Try that. It’s strong enough to fuel a jet.”

He turned the cup, careful to avoid the little smudge of pink she’d left on the rim. He took a sip and tasted something between lighter fluid and maple syrup and rushed to swallow before the sweet sludge could make its way back out. “Wow! How do you
drink
that?”

“I actually hate the taste of coffee, but the sugar helps cover it up,” she admitted. “And you can’t be an artist and not drink coffee. It’s just … not done. Every installation I’ve ever gone to has either coffee or wine, so you’ve got to suck it up and deal.”

Dan laughed. Abby didn’t seem like she cared if she fit in or not, but maybe everyone made a few concessions here and there. Just last year he’d broken down and bought a tan corduroy blazer to wear to a community college lecture on Jung’s last years. He’d sat in a sea of tan and navy sports jackets, wondering what his favorite psychoanalyst would say about so many people trying so desperately not to stand out.

“Hey,” Dan said, forcing a smile as he sat up straighter. He remembered something Abby had said yesterday. “So you took a bus here?” Dan had flown from Pittsburgh, and then taken a taxi from the tiny airport that looked like it had just one runway.

“A couple buses, actually. Pops couldn’t take the time off, but it’s no trouble. Bus, train, subway … It’s all second nature when you’re from New York.”

“What about Jordan? Virginia’s not exactly down the block. Why didn’t he fly?”

“Oh, his parents got him plane tickets all right,” Abby said, “but they were to California, not New Hampshire.”

Dan raised his eyebrows.

“Apparently, they think he’s at some pray-the-gay-away camp or something right now. His uncle is paying for this program, and he used the cash from his part-time job to buy the bus ticket.” Abby drained the remaining coffee and finished the last of her oatmeal.

“But what if his parents find out? What happens then?”

Abby frowned. “Beats me. World War Three?”

No wonder Jordan was so afraid of getting kicked out.

Dan felt grateful for his open-minded and easygoing parents, strict as they could be sometimes. He always felt like he’d lucked out with Paul and Sandy, even before they’d officially adopted him. Lots of kids weren’t so fortunate. “It’s nice he has you here to talk to about it,” he said. Abby was so easy to be with. It was no surprise that Jordan confided in her.

“We just get each other. We’re connected.” Abby gathered her things. The buzz of voices in the cafeteria died down as the students ambled outside, all of them headed to registration. “It was a long bus ride, not much to do but play hangman and chat. I’m sure he would’ve opened up to you, too.”

“Maybe,” Dan said, although he highly doubted it. “Anyway, he better not miss registration or he’ll be forced to open up to Felix in Advanced Bioethics.”

“Be nice,” said Abby, but she was smiling.

They filed out behind the other students, grabbing their backpacks from cubbies placed just outside the cafeteria entrance. Apparently you weren’t allowed to bring your bags inside because college kids had a habit of making off with a whole week’s worth of croissants and fruit cups.

“Seriously, though,” said Dan. “This morning Felix asked if I wanted to swap schedules, for a buddy system or something. Then when I finally gave in and showed him the classes I wanted, I could tell he was embarrassed for me. Not enough hard science, I guess.”

Abby laughed.

“Yeah, thanks. Laugh at my misery.”

Dan sneezed when they stepped outside.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks. Hey, I was actually thinking, though, what if we took a class together or something? You, me, and Jordan, I mean. I know you’re here for art, but maybe I could convince you to take a history class?” he asked. The dormitories spread out on either side of them, forming an almost perfect ring around the grassy quad. Chairs littered the shade under the biggest tree in the quad, and while the benches lining the path were empty now, he imagined they would all be filled later. He’d overheard a few kids in the cafeteria talking about having a lawn bowling tournament after registration.

“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.