‘OK. You’re right. The floors in there are too dangerous. I don’t want you stepping on any broken glass,’ Jasmin told her. ‘You can stay behind.’ She led the dog back to the car, took the checked picnic blanket out of the boot and laid it on the grass. ‘Wait here for me. And look after yourself, all right?’
Bonnie nuzzled her hand with her damp nose, as if to say there was no need to worry about her. Jasmin held her torch out in front of her like a gun and headed back towards the sanatorium.
Though the doors and most of the ground-floor windows were boarded up, an opening at the rear of the building looked more promising. A number of leftover planks were piled up beneath a window where one of the boards was dangling loose and beating with the wind against the facade. Large patches of render had crumbled away underneath it.
Jasmin climbed onto the stack of wood, teetering slightly, and reached for the windowsill. Bracing herself against it, she gripped the loose board and tried to pull it out of the wall. It put up some resistance, but eventually gave way.
Cold, damp, stagnant air rose to meet her through the opening. Jasmin pulled herself up onto the windowsill. Just as she switched on her torch and set about climbing through the gap, the pile of boards gave way beneath her and clattered to the ground.
The beam of light from her torch fell onto a fragment of brown, patterned wallpaper that hung in ragged strips from a damp wall. Jasmin shone it at the floor, which lay around eight feet below her.
Shit, she thought.
You can still turn back.
There’s still time to call Jørgen.
Jørgen. There it was again – that nagging thought, haunting her mind. What are you missing?
You thought it would be far too complicated for anyone to stage all this. You thought it’d be impossible.
But you forgot about one thing.
The person who sent you out here to the island. The person who knew about your plans the whole time.
Jørgen knew.
And if his ex-lover Hanna Jansen knew too, it would have been easy for them both to prepare everything together.
Wouldn’t it?
A sudden gust of wind hit her from behind and knocked her off balance. Jasmin shrieked and wheeled her arms, but then she fell.
She landed feet-first on the floor inside the old sanatorium and felt a sharp stab of pain shoot through her left foot as far as the ankle.
‘Fuck!’ she cried, grabbing her foot. Her torch had slipped out of her fingers when she hit the floor and it rolled a few yards before going out. Jasmin was now submerged in pitch darkness. She sat up with a groan of pain and groped around her, her hand splashing into a puddle on the floor and fumbling across the swollen floorboards. The inky darkness whispered and rustled, as if multi-legged creatures were crawling back and forth.
Jasmin took her phone out of her coat pocket and activated the torch function, casting a bright patch of light in front of her.
Two glowing eyes stared back at her from the darkness.
Chapter 13
Jasmin screamed and the animal scurried away. She could hear the rat dragging its tail along the floor before it vanished through a gap in the floorboards.
It was enormous, almost like a small dog.
Jasmin struggled for breath. Using the light from her mobile phone, she spotted the torch that had fallen from her hand and hobbled over to it. The metal was ice-cold beneath her fingers.
Please work, she thought imploringly as she pressed the button.
A bright circle of light appeared.
Thank God. Jasmin put her phone back in her pocket and cast her torch over the room. The hallway she’d landed in resembled the interior of a Victorian manor house: dark wooden floors, oil paintings in huge, ornate frames, and floor-to-ceiling curtains that hung damp and heavy from their rails. The walls were covered in wet patches, the wallpaper sagging like wrinkled skin. Beetles danced in front of her torch and mould proliferated in the corners. It stank of rot and mildew, and for a second Jasmin thought she heard a scream from the depths of the building – as if one of the former inmates was still locked inside, ceaselessly pacing the corridors for all time.
‘Warm and welcoming,’ Jasmin said to herself, purely to break the oppressive silence.
Hopefully no one heard you, was her next thought. That would be unfortunate. And in future you should think twice before you embark on a crazy plan like this.
Just think twice.
Next, Jasmin turned her attention to her ankle, feeling it carefully. The water clinging to the tall grass outside had soaked her jeans up to the knees. She rolled up her trouser leg. Nothing seemed to be broken but she could already feel it swelling.
No going back. She looked up at the window, at the narrow grey strip where the afternoon light was barely peeping through. It was far too high to climb out again.
No, you need to find another way out of here.
But before that – Jasmin took a deep breath and gathered all the courage she could muster – you’re going to take a look around. You’re going to find out what’s hidden inside this place. That symbol – it has to be here somewhere.
She wandered cautiously down the hallway, shining her torch over the peeling wallpaper and the puddles on the floor. Dark, dirty water gleamed like an oily film.
Soon, the corridor emerged into a large hall with a smooth, polished stone floor laid out in a black-and-white chessboard pattern. To her right, Jasmin saw a wide staircase leading to the upper floors, while on her left stood a cluster of sofas and chairs, their beige fabric now covered in black mould. Loose sheets of paper lay on the floor, scattered there by the wind. The southern end of the hall was lined with tall bookshelves. Jasmin put her hand on the ladder leaning against them and heard the wheels squeak softly. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her from the darkness, and when she turned around, she expected to see animal eyes peering at her from the shadows – but no, there was nothing but the wind blowing through a narrow gap in a boarded-up window, producing an eerie whine.
Above Jasmin’s head hung two enormous chandeliers covered in cobwebs. The glass crystals glittered dully in the light from her torch.
You need to find the place you saw in Larsen’s photo. The place with the symbol. The place the kidnapper was hinting at with his origami sculpture – the triangle he left for you.
But what if he’s waiting for you there? What if this is a trap?
Jasmin pushed the thought aside. You have no other choice. If you ever want to see Paul again then you have to face up to him. To his kidnapper. Whatever it costs. Otherwise you’ll lose him for good.
She picked her way past the armchairs and sofas. An abandoned serving trolley stood in her path, its metal frame now rusty. There was still a plate on top of it, along with a set of cutlery – a plastic knife and fork with rounded tips and a dull blade – and a folded-up newspaper.
It must be upstairs. Jasmin approached the staircase. The wooden treads were sodden from all the rainwater, cracked and broken in many places. Leaves had collected on them and decomposed into a dangerously slippery sludge, making climbing the stairs a hazardous prospect.
Jasmin clung firmly to the banister and headed upwards, carefully planting one foot at a time and listening for any sounds.
Was that the echo of footsteps following her? Footsteps that stopped whenever she herself stood still? Could she hear breathing in the darkness? Ragged, laboured gasps?
She pointed her torch down the stairs. Nothing. Just the steps she’d already climbed, and beyond them the hall.
The serving trolley was standing a few yards further to the left than before.
Someone had moved it. Someone had passed through the hall after her.
Jasmin started to shake. Her hand on the banister suddenly felt slick with sweat. She rushed onwards, hurrying up the stairs, the treads squeaking and groaning beneath her hasty footsteps.
Water was dripping from the ceiling. The corridor
she arrived on was laid with a mouldy carpet that had a dark trail leading over it – dark like dried blood.
The staircase behind her creaked. Heavy, lumbering footsteps were following her upstairs.
Jasmin splashed through a puddle, opened the nearest door on her left and dashed through it, slamming it behind her. Looking around frantically, she realised she was standing in one of the patients’ rooms. There was a bed in front of a window overlooking the grounds, a bedside table, a wardrobe, a modest painting on the wall, and not much else. Jasmin grabbed the bedside cabinet and dragged it over to the door, where she managed to wedge it underneath the handle. She took a step back, breathing heavily, her heart hammering in her chest, and listened in terror for any sounds from the corridor – for any approaching footsteps.
Nothing. Silence reigned. For a moment, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Has he gone?
I hope he’s gone.
Jasmin took another look around. Here too, there was a gaping hole in the ceiling where the roof had leaked. Brown water was trickling through it, running down the wall and collecting in a slimy pool on the floor.
She turned her attention to the bed. The blanket was oddly rumpled, and in the last rays of daylight filtering through the boards over the window, Jasmin’s eyes were drawn to an object lying on the mattress.
The blanket moved.
Jasmin shrieked as it fell to one side and a creature leapt out with a hiss from beneath it – and then she dissolved into hysterical laughter.
It was a cat.
Only a cat.
‘You scared me half to death there,’ she whispered reproachfully.
The cat slunk past her and slipped through a gap into the wardrobe. Jasmin opened the door and was met with a chorus of faint mewing – the cat had five kittens, which were huddled together on an old blanket. The mother looked up at her and hissed again, but soon seemed to stop viewing Jasmin as a threat and lay down beside her offspring instead.
‘Look after your babies,’ said Jasmin quietly. ‘I’m not sure this is the best place for them.’
The door at the other end of the room led into a small bathroom. She tugged at the light switch but nothing happened. Water had gathered on the tiles here too, and the mirror was cracked. Jasmin stopped and briefly examined her pale, frightened face.
You look horribly tired. You slept for ages – all yesterday evening and last night, like Henriksen told you – but you look like you just tossed and turned for hours on end.
And you can’t remember any of it.
Behind her, something creaked. Jasmin whirled around. The door to the shower cubicle was closed, but behind it . . . When she shone her torch on it, she thought she saw a figure moving behind the frosted glass, a shape rising up from the floor. Jasmin staggered backwards, colliding with the sink. The bathroom door slammed shut.
‘What the . . . ?!’ she cried. The shower cubicle groaned; the hinges creaked like bones being crushed in a grinder. Jasmin wanted to run, to tear her eyes away. She fumbled blindly at the doorknob.
A hand reached out and slammed against the door of the shower. It was caked in blood and long-fingered, like a huge, pale spider.
This isn’t real. The thought was like a lifeline that she tried desperately to cling to. It isn’t real, none of it is. Why can’t you realise that? Jasmin forced herself to close her eyes.
It’s not real.
When she opened her eyes again, the dark silhouette behind the shower door was gone. Jasmin turned and dashed out of the room. The cats had disappeared from the wardrobe, but once again there was movement beneath the blanket on the bed. Jasmin reached out and flung the cover aside, revealing pale, slippery maggots that made smacking noises as they ate their way through the mattress.
Get out of here, she thought. Now.
Jasmin was about to grab the cabinet and push it aside when she heard a faint noise from behind the door. Footsteps. So quiet that she could easily have missed them. There was a person out there, creeping around on tiptoes.
She held her breath. Her heart was pounding so quickly and heavily that she felt sure it would give her away. He can’t hear you. He’s trying to sneak up on you, but he won’t manage it.
Just then, a heavy blow struck the door with such force that the entire frame trembled in the wall. Dust and plaster fell from the ceiling.
Jasmin sprang backwards, colliding with the bed. Another blow. The door shook again. A crack appeared in the door leaf; the bedside table she’d shoved under the handle began to move to one side. Then came a third, even more powerful blow.
‘No,’ she screamed, bracing herself against the door, ‘I won’t let you!’
Jasmin felt the door shake under a fourth blow as the wood splintered. An axe drove its way through before being pulled back out, ripping huge chunks of particle board with it and leaving a gaping hole. The light from her torch shone through it.
On the other side, she saw the drifter.
He grinned.
She saw his long, grey coat hanging limply from his body like a shroud. Almost mechanically, her torch wandered up to his face.
She recognised him.
This was impossible.
It couldn’t be true.
It was Jørgen.
Chapter 14
Jasmin heard a tormented shriek of terror escape her lips. Jørgen was standing in front of her, the axe in his hand gleaming threateningly in the light, its blade as sharp as a carving knife.
He smiled malevolently.
‘It can’t be you!’ she cried. ‘This can’t be real!’
‘And yet,’ he said, sounding nothing like the Jørgen she remembered, ‘here I am.’
He hefted the axe once more and drove the blade into the door, again and again, until his path was clear. Jasmin had retreated to the far wall, shaking from head to foot. Her instincts screamed at her to push past Jørgen and run, and yet a small, lingering part of herself – one that trembled with fury – urged her to attack him.
‘I don’t understand,’ she croaked. ‘What – what are you doing here?’
‘You still don’t get it?’
Jørgen drew nearer. He lifted the axe. ‘Come here, let me explain it to you.’
And then he screamed. Jørgen dropped the axe and cried out as his hands flew up to his face, which had disappeared under a wild, hissing, furry bundle that latched on to him with her claws. It was the cat – she had leapt up at him, ready to defend herself and her young from this dangerous intruder.
Jasmin sprang forward, barging past Jørgen and dashing through the door. He continued to scream as she ran on blindly down the stairs. Dazzling flashes of light appeared before her eyes. She slipped on the leaf litter that had gathered on the staircase, lost her footing and tumbled down the last eight or so steps. The edges of the treads jabbed painfully into her side, into her ribs. At the bottom, she landed feet-first and shrieked as her ankle gave way. Her foot felt like it was filled with red-hot splinters. Panicking, Jasmin reached for the banister and hauled herself up, struggling to get back on her feet.
You need to find a way out of here. Get out, just get out. She heard Jørgen’s footsteps from upstairs and the sound of an axe being dragged along the floor.
Jasmin hobbled on.
Once again, she crossed the large hall with the chessboard tiles. The light from her torch fell on the loose sheets of paper scattered on the floor, and this time she took in what was written on them.
Dangerous criminal duo break out of high-security hospital!
Criminals on the run!
Extreme danger to the public!
Beneath those words, she saw a picture of Hanna Jansen, just as she remembered her, looking completely deranged.
The newspaper had fallen off the serving trolley and a gust of wind blew the front page past her feet.
There was a picture of Jørgen on it.
He was grinning at the camera, looking no less insane than Jansen.
&n
bsp; No, this can’t be. He isn’t what these people think he is.
Jasmin searched for a way out, but all she found was a door with a narrow staircase behind it that led deeper into the building. The key was still inside, so she stepped through the doorway, slammed the door and locked it.
The solid metal of the red security door reassured her. It was cold and hard, and Jørgen wouldn’t be able to break through it so easily.
Slowly, she began to descend the staircase into the darkness.
Think, she urged herself. It can’t be Jørgen. You must be imagining things.
And yet you saw him.
It was a hallucination. The light, the strain you’re under. Your panic. This place.
It was the drifter. It can’t have been Jørgen.
But what about the newspaper? All those flyers upstairs?
None of it makes any sense.
But there has to be an explanation. There has to be!
At the bottom of the stairs, Jasmin found herself standing in a brick-walled corridor lined with steel doors on the left and right – doors with small hatches to let you look inside.
Cell doors.
Who did they keep locked away down here?
The most dangerous inmates?
Then she heard the banging. Somebody was beating at the inside of their cell door in a slow, even rhythm.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
It was coming from close by. And there was also a strange substance gleaming on the walls, on the doors.
At long last, Jasmin had found the symbol she was looking for – the symbol from Larsen’s photo. There it was: the upside-down triangle with the open top-right corner. Gooseflesh crept over her entire body. The symbol had been daubed onto the bare brick wall in black paint, which had run down to the floor in thick rivulets before it had set.
Jasmin’s heart was in her mouth.
Clang, came the noise. Clang. Again and again, like an iron bar being beaten against the wall. The echoes built up into a wall of sound that reverberated down the entire corridor.
Don't Wake Me Page 19