I exhale and shake out my hands, but I’m ready.
I am fucking ready.
There are no cemeteries with a Medina, Washington address, so we try all the closest ones. When I made my list, I searched for cemeteries with older graves, mausoleums, or any other structures that might be able to house such a large room with stone walls.
After scratching off the last on our list, we’ve got nothing.
There are other cemeteries around, but they either didn’t fit the criteria I was looking for or they’re further away than I suspect Justin would hide Parrish. Specifically, he has a thing for the residents of Medina. That’s his vendetta; that’s his beef.
Then again, he’s called the Seattle Slayer for a reason. This is a huge metro area. Medina seems small sometimes, but it’s just once piece of a massive puzzle. What if I’m thinking too small, too narrow?
Rather than dwell on it, I push the idea of a cemetery aside and decide on the hotel next.
It’s a nice place, but thankfully, we’re wearing Whitehall Prep uniforms, so all the employees and guests just smile and nod, offer a patronizing slice of wisdom, or try to reminisce with us about their time at the academy.
“This is such a waste of time,” Chasm growls out as soon as we’ve extricated ourselves from an older gentleman regaling us with stories of his many academic achievements. I thought I might just pass away from sheer boredom. “There’s nothing here; the wine cellar is attached to the restaurant and open to the public.”
We pause outside, standing in a group next to Chasm’s black sportscar. I think it’s a Maserati, not that that means anything to me. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. We’ve left Maxx’s Jeep at Chasm’s place, but it was risky. He said if his father comes home and sees it, he’ll probably start blowing up his phone.
“We’ll try the asylum next,” I say, exhaling and reaching into my blazer pocket to withdraw the skeleton key. I hold it up so that it catches the afternoon light. Sunset isn’t until about nine tonight, so we have time. Justin’s only messaged me once to confirm that we’re having dinner—but apparently that can happen anytime up until eleven.
Tess, on the other hand, will not leave me alone.
She keeps finding reasons to message me and ask questions.
It’s exhausting, but I don’t blame her. She’s worried about me spending time with her ex. She should be: he fucking murders people. She’s probably tracking me, too, which is unfortunate. But I have a feeling trying to explain away my location as Justin’s doing is an easier feat than ignoring her entirely.
I wish I could ask her about the house she mentioned. That, and about a million other prying questions. First time with Justin? Kinda don’t want to know where my biological parents first got it on, but knowing Justin, that could very well be a clue. Place where I was conceived? Same grossness, same reasoning. Favorite date spot? Location where they broke up?
All of those things are valid.
But I love the idea of this key and that asylum.
Emerald State Mental Hospital.
I shiver.
“Our last and best option for today,” Maxx says, shaking his head. He’s frustrated, I can tell. But we saved the best—and the furthest away—for last. With reason, too. The key, of course, being the most prominent. Justin specifically left that for me, and on my birthday no less.
It could very well open the door to the room where Parrish is being held.
“Should we grab shakes on the way?” Chasm suggests, looking up at the bright, sunny sky and frowning. “I’m fucking starving to death.”
“A milkshake isn’t food,” Maxx replies, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. He opens the car door and climbs in before I can protest, squishing his huge body into the backseat so that I can have the front. He’s so crammed in there, he actually turns sideways and rests his legs on the seat, knees up. “Let’s get burgers and fries, too.”
“Whatever. I just need something calorie heavy and dripping with chocolate and brownie pieces, Oreo bits and fudge swirls and all that sugar-high inducing crap. What sort of shakes do you like, Little Sister?”
“Strawberry. Just plain strawberry. I’m easy.”
We all pause, Chasm with his body half in and half out of the car.
“Um. Oops?” I reply, and Maxx snorts from behind me. “Not really my choice to sleep with three different guys in as many weeks.” Chasm had started to climb in again, but pauses at that response, looking stricken for the briefest of seconds. “Not that I minded because it was you guys.”
I don’t say aloud what I’m thinking. What, maybe, both of them are thinking, too.
What if Justin asks me to do something like that with a stranger? What then?
He just happened to choose my two crushes based on their ability to inflict massive emotional scars. But it could be worse. It could be unbearable. Would I do it? I don’t know. And that scares me for two reasons.
It’s scary because I might not.
It’s scary because I might.
I shiver and rub at my face with both hands.
“I like vanilla shakes, just plain vanilla,” Maxx says easily, like this is any normal day and the three of us are just hanging out. “Parrish also prefers strawberry shakes.”
That makes me smile.
“Tell me all of his favorites,” I say as Chasm starts the engine, and I spend the rest of the drive listening to the two of them talk about their friend in progressively more animated voices.
They’re excited; I’m excited.
But what’s next if we get there and our hunches lead to yet another dead end?
It feels like this nightmare must end at some point, like we’ll find Parrish if we just keep pushing and we don’t stop. But that isn’t necessarily true. Justin is offering food and water, medical care, and a bathroom to Parrish for now, but he doesn’t have to. He never promised he’d keep doing that.
Besides, he’s still cutting Parrish—or rather, Mr. Volli is—and Parrish only has so much space on his body. What if one of the cuts gets infected? What if Justin changes his mind? He says that he never lies, but I can’t trust him, and we both know that.
I will never forget that day when Parrish looked like he was dying, his eyes glassy, head lolling. I am one mistake away from seeing that happen again.
And as always, I’m on the verge of ruin, waiting for a directive from Justin that I just cannot bring myself to fulfill.
Emerald State Mental Hospital is a sprawling tan building with a moss-covered roof and a series of crumbling outbuildings where the patients used to work as part of their ‘occupational therapy’. The place also performed lobotomies and used electroshock therapy and has its own onsite morgue and cemetery.
Not a particularly thrilling locale; the energy is weird.
As soon as I step out of the car and pause beside a massive oak tree, I get chills down my spine.
It looks like a very hard level on a very challenging game, one where I’d gear up and settle down for a whole night of button mashing.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Maxx asks absently, crossing his arms and tilting his head to one side. “Because if you do, they most definitely live in there.” He points at the building as I give him a look and Chasm comes around the front of the car to join us.
“Is this place even real? It’s cliché as fuck.” He studies the building with no small amount of trepidation, running his tongue over his lip studs. I force myself to look away, toward the dark windows of the asylum. It feels a little … mm, overdone to me. Like, is this too obvious? Or, as Justin so aptly put it, is it just pageantry?
“The rest of the grounds are actually public property. A state park or something.” I start forward, dragging both boys along behind me. There’s a chain wrapped around the handles of the doors, and a frown flits over my face.
Been here, done this before.
Before either of the boys can even think to offer, I’m stripping off my blazer, wrapping
it around my fist, and walking over to the nearest window.
“Let me do that—” Maxx starts, his words cutting off abruptly as I punch the window, shattering the old glass. There doesn’t appear to be an alarm system, but the grass is neatly trimmed, there’s a trash can nearby that’s full and set out like someone intends on picking it up soon, and the place really is right next to a public trail.
It’s abandoned, and it’s creepy, but I also read online that there are plans in place to turn the main structure into a drug rehabilitation center. So people frequent this location, and I’m far more worried about being caught by a state park employee than I am a ghost.
I shake my blazer out and toss it over a nearby bush to grab later.
Maxx uses his foot to kick the remaining shards away from the bottom half of the window, and then steps through, holding a hand out for me. I take it, ignoring the thrill that rockets between us, and then climb in with Chasm just behind me.
My hand somehow remains wrapped in X’s as we both pause to look around. The floors are made up of cracked pale-yellow tile while the walls are an almost disturbingly bright sky blue, the paint peeling in flaky curls that litter the ground along with loose leaves, dirt, and stray pieces of garbage. Soda cans, empty chip bags … “Is that a used condom?” Chasm chokes out, pointing at, well, something condom-ish on the floor.
He grimaces and very carefully sidesteps the item.
“Fucking gross,” he murmurs, leading the way into the reception area. Maxx seems to realize that his fingers are curled tightly around mine and very slowly, very deliberately removes them. I shake out my hand and huff out a breath, following after Chasm as he pauses beside a high countertop with a white linoleum surface, a place where the receptionist once greeted visitors.
“It all looks very … seventies,” I murmur, rubbing at my face with one hand as I slide the key out of my pocket with the other. “Nothing like this.” I lift the old key up, but it looks just as out of place here as it does in the hyper modern surroundings of the Vanguard house. “We need to look around and see if there’s an older wing or something.”
“There’s a map here,” Maxx points out, studying one that’s posted to the wall. It’s made of hard plastic and, although slightly yellowed with age and cracked in places, it’s still plenty legible. “The place isn’t so big that we couldn’t do a full sweep.” He points a finger at a staircase on one side and then drags it across the map to the other side and another matching staircase. “If I had to take a guess, though, I’d say we want to go down.”
“Before you even ask: we’re not splitting up,” Chasm says, sauntering past me with his hands in his pockets. I glare at his back before jogging to catch up, X just behind me.
“Do I look stupid to you? Three teenagers in an abandoned insane asylum? Oh yeah, let’s all split up and get killed by the Slayer’s minions.” I shiver, thinking about Raúl. About Mr. Volli. About the very, very dead Mr. Fosser whose corpse we shot. That’s at least three people that Justin has/had working for him that know about the scaly underbelly of his life. Are there more? If so, how many?
I look up at the ceiling, searching for security cameras. I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here. Perhaps they’re just hidden? Either way, Justin knows we’re here. Our phones are in the car, but he can still track their location. That, and no part of me doubts that if his Milk Carton app really does work the way he says it does, he’s watching me on it.
Wherever I go, whatever I do.
I shiver and wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill, the key still clutched in my hand.
“I’m a gamer, remember? We eat abandoned insane asylums for breakfast. Have you ever played Phasmophobia?”
Chasm gives me a look, like I’m crazy.
“Have I played the best ghost hunting game ever made? Uh, yeah, of course I have.”
“Last time we played it, we played together with Parrish,” X remarks, peeping into the rooms on the left side of the corridor while Chasm and I look inside the ones on the right. “Chasm got killed by a demon in the insane asylum after he went rogue and took off by himself with an EMF meter.”
“And you’re the one telling me not to split up? Please.” I flick my French braid at his face, and he huffs as it smacks him in the mouth. “From what I remember, Maxx was the only one who stood a chance of kicking my ass in-game.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he agrees with a grin as I smile back at him, and Chas rolls his eyes dramatically, opening another door to a bland office space. There’s a metal desk, some vines growing through a crack in the window, and that’s about it. No filing cabinets full of mysterious patient files. No jars with creepy specimens floating in green goo.
It’s all very bland. Like I said, it’s easy to tell this place was abandoned in 1973. It looks it.
Glancing at the rusty brass knobs on all the doors, it’s obvious that this key won’t open any of them.
We finally locate the staircase from the map, but it only goes up, not down. The upper floor is a little different. Rather than office space, it looks to be lined with patient rooms.
“Did you know that by 1953, Emerald State housed over two-thousand patients in thirty-three wards?” I stare down the length of the hall; this is just one of them. “Lucky for us that most of the other wards have been demolished or it would take a freaking week to search this place.”
“You’re just full of facts today,” Chasm murmurs, but his focus isn’t on my facts or making conversation with me, it’s on finding Parrish. He starts opening doors, and I move across the hall to do the same while Maxx leapfrogs both of us and begins his search further down.
There are more vines growing out of a clawfoot tub in one of the rooms, scattered personal effects like a brush, a shoe without any laces, and a crumpled t-shirt surrounded by beer cans that was probably left here after a rager.
“So this is a party hotspot for Sedro-Woolley, huh?” X asks, giving a sideways smile. “That was most definitely a condom we saw earlier. There’s a mattress in here that I wouldn’t want to see under a black light—that, and a pair of panties.” He draws back and closes the door to the room he just checked.
“Could be a druggy hotspot,” Chasm remarks, kicking another beer can across the floor.
“White Claw and PBR?” Maxx adds, naming the two brands of beer most prevalent in the loose cans. “Nah. This is a teen hangout.” He sighs and plants his hands on his hips. “I don’t mean to rain on our collective parade, but look at this.” X grabs a small Polaroid from the floor. “It’s from one of those instant cameras that’s everyone’s into.” He looks down at the picture and hands it over when I approach.
There’s a pair of girls pouting at the camera, and a date stamped in the corner—May twenty-seventh. Friday. Last Friday. Just four days ago. I frown hard as Chasm grabs a selfie stick from the ground and waves it at us.
“Yep. I smell peers.” The corner of his lip curls up in disgust before he throws the selfie stick as hard as he can, sending it skidding down the hallway. “This isn’t a mysterious, abandoned building. Just a place for teenagers to drink and fuck.”
“And take really bad selfies,” I murmur, letting the picture fall to the floor along with my hopes for today. How could Parrish be held here if there’s such constant activity? Justin could pay off a security guard or park employee, but he wouldn’t have allowed a group of random high school students to stumble on his captive.
I frown hard, but I haven’t given up yet.
Maybe I jumped the gun with this whole insane asylum thing? I keep telling Maxx that sometimes, you have to work on assumptions. Guess I just made an ass out of all of us. I know we’re looking for a meaningful place, something that pertains to Tess and Justin’s past. But here? What possible milestone could they have reached here? An hour and twenty minutes away from Medina.
But Justin was so upset about being labelled crazy, and the key matches the era of this place. Wher
e else would a huge, iron skeleton key be used? Certainly not at the facility that’s still in operation, not at the birthing center. Am I assigning too much importance to this key?
“Well, we’re here so we may as well finish our sweep,” X offers up, but we’re all discouraged enough that we go quiet for the remainder of the upstairs search. The most interesting and really, the only promising clue is the fact that there’s no other staircase leading down from here.
Which means that the other staircase on the map might very well go into the basement.
We head back down, bypassing all the rooms we checked earlier, and then start on the next hallway, past the window that I broke. This particular hall is full of old lab rooms, some of which have sinks and counters, a few with ceiling-mounted lights that look like something an alien might use during an anal probe.
Gross.
We eventually reach the staircase at the end of the hall.
My heart leaps into my throat as I stare down the length of it. The steps turn sharply to the left, plunging into darkness.
“Be wary of meth heads,” Maxx warns, and then he’s taking a set of keys from his pocket and using a tiny—but surprisingly powerful—LED flashlight to light the way. It just isn’t worth it for us to bring our phones in here and have Justin looking and listening through them.
I follow him after X while Chasm takes up the rear of our little group. He also cops a feel of my ass, and I turn a dark glare over my shoulder at him. Except, I like it, and he knows it. Next time he gets in front of me, I’m grabbing his ass.
I take that as a good sign, like if he’s feeling cocky enough to grab my butt, then he thinks there’s something here to find? Then again, in the past, whenever he’s been nervous or stressed, Chas put on his ‘slutty bad boy persona’, the one that’s total bullshit. So maybe this is just him acting out?
We reach the bottom of the stairs only to run into a set of double doors with a chain wrapped securely around the handles.
“Fuck,” Maxx murmurs, lifting the flashlight up toward the small windows near the top of the door. As he moves the light, it flashes across a placard that says WARD 14.
Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2) Page 41