by Ryan Notch
Or could they be…he wondered.
He felt at the door and yes, his first piece of luck, they were still in the handle! With the keys finding his way out would be much easier than finding his way around. He had only to find one of the cage-like bared doors that separated the secure areas from the unsecured ones.
He traveled just few more hallways before his nose led him towards what he was looking for. It was the smell of burning, which could only come from the cafeteria kitchens. The kitchen area was locked off as a secure area, with a separate access point so the cooks didn’t have to go through the inmate areas. The smell must be coming from something someone left burning. Best case scenario anyway…
He walked across the cafeteria, feeling his way from table. It wasn’t long until he found what he was looking for, the metal grating unmistakable to his hands. He found the keyhole and started working through the keys, using one hand to keep the ones he tried separated from the ones he hadn’t. As he worked he felt another wave of guilt at leaving all these people to die horribly. The asylum was supposed to be a place of safety, a place where you couldn’t kill yourself or others. It was meant to be impossible.
And yet you could take away all the ropes and plastic bags and sharp objects, but if someone really wanted to kill themselves they’d find a way. The only way to prevent it was to put them in a straight jacket in a padded cell…
Oh God. Oh God, Walter…
Walter was still in lock down. Wrapped up tight in a room with no hard corners, no sharp objects. Even at best effort he’d have to still be alive.
Oh no no no no no please God no don’t make me go back I don’t want to go back.
Shaw wanted to bargain, to find an excuse to make it all right to leave. Wanted to leave so bad, but even as he thought it he was putting the keys back in his pocket.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
He turned around, feeling all the goodness in the world fall away behind him as he did. Made his way back along the tables with the suppressed panic of a prisoner walking towards a lethal injection. He tried to plan it out.
Ok, it’s not that far. Only a couple of hallways, almost a straight shot. I won’t get lost this time.
Each turn he double checked in his memory over and over, thinking about the different times he’d been down this way. Times he walked by the padded cells and dimly remembered the days he had spent in one, when he had first arrived. As he approached the spot where he thought they were he heard a dull thudding. It was coming from the third cell, the first two he knew were empty. He knew what that thudding was, had heard many inmates make that sound before. Walter was banging his head against the wall. Shaw started trying keys and the thudding stopped. He got it open on the fifth try.
He opened the door and quickly stood aside incase Walter tried to rush him. Walter was not forthcoming, didn’t sound like he was moving. Shaw waited a few moments, not sure of how to proceed.
“Well,” asked Walter.
“It’s Shaw,” he replied.
“Oh thank god,” said Walter. “I should have known you wouldn’t forget about me.”
Shaw felt a moment of unreasonable hope. Was Walter similarly unaffected? But no…
“I was making no progress in here Shaw. I’ve got a terrible headache. But I bet you’ve got just the thing. I bet you’ve already worked it out. Always thinking, right Shaw? Get this jacket off me and we can get to work.”
“I…I can’t,” Shaw said. As much as he wished it, Walter wasn’t talking about escape.
“What? Just undue the straps in the back.”
“No, I can’t. It’s…it’s important. You have to follow me.”
“Well fuck, if it’s important,” said Walter.
Shaw heard him shuffling, the awkward sounds of trying to get up without arms. Shaw put the keys in his pocket and reached out an arm to grab a hold of the jacket. The other he put out in front of him to guide him. He thought about telling Walter they were headed for the cafeteria so he could help them avoid getting lost, but decided against it. Afraid of what questions he might have to answer.
As they retraced Shaw’s steps they heard a crying off to the left. It was pitiful and childlike and loud enough to easily understand the one word repeated over and over.
“Ouchy ouchy ouchy ouchy ouchy,” it said in-between sobs and sniffles.
“Jimmy,” said Walter simply. Shaw knew it, and his own eyes filled with water. They kept moving.
The hardest part was forcing himself not to hurry, not to almost run. Not to lose his way in a rush. Ten steps, twenty, fifty. He could smell the smoke again. He sighed with relief when they found the cafeteria doors, and he wasted no time rushing back to the metal grated door in the back. Walter seemed content to follow along as best he could. It took ten tries to find the right key, seeming like forever as the wrong ones kept getting stuck in the keyhole.
Inside the kitchen the smoke was choking and there was an even worse smell underneath it. Shaw pulled his shirt up over his mouth, but it did little to help. He heard the sound of gas burners and knew if he reached his hand out to the wrong spot it would be much worse than in the showers. He stopped, thinking about how he should proceed.
“Follow the left wall,” Walter said, coughing. “When you’re lost you’re supposed to follow the left wall. You can’t miss any doors that way.”
That made sense, so he did so. A little ways after they passed their second corner he found the door and they went through it. He took a deep breath of cleaner air and heard Walter do the same. He felt carpet under his feet and knew they were out of the secure areas, beyond where patients were ever allowed.
Shaw continued to use Walter’s technique and followed the left wall. Soon they felt polished smoothness under his feet, maybe marble. He thought that meant they were in the lobby. He didn’t remember anything from when they brought him in, but thought that it could only be the lobby. With his left hand he felt along the wall until he came to a window. Touching around he found an overhang, upon which was a something flat and wooden. Beaded metal string attached. A clipboard with pen attached by chain. A check-in desk. He continued on and soon felt long hair. He jerked his hand away but got an idea, ghoulish but necessary.
He wandered around behind the desk, pulling Walter with him. Afraid to let him go for fear of what he would do. He did not forget how good Walter was at acting normal and didn’t want to risk going to find him again. He felt around the dead woman’s shoulders, repelled by the touch. After that he felt around the back of the chair and the other side of the desk. He felt the corded line of the phone stretched tight to her neck. Finally he found what he was looking for under the desk.
Her purse. He put the strap over his shoulder and continued on. Another twenty steps and his fingers found what had to be the best feeling thing he had ever touched. Glass. Floor to ceiling glass with a metal bar in the middle. Sliding doors.
But they weren’t opening. Locked? He began fiddling with the keys, trying to not let them jingle too loud.
“You don’t lock sliding doors during the day dummy,” said Walter. “The motion detector can’t see us. How close are we to your spot anyway?”
“Almost there,” Shaw said, not sure what Walter meant. “If I let go of you for a second, you’re not going to run away are you?”
“Why would I,” asked Walter, genuinely confused.
Instead of answering, Shaw let go of Walter and stuck his fingers in-between the two sliding doors. He pulled as hard as he could and they gave way, sliding open with an electronic whine. Shaw felt warm air blow in. The first fresh air he’d breathed in months. He made a sound of relief, half laugh half sob. He reached out and grabbed the jacket and plowed ahead, practically jogging now.
And then pain and searing whiteness. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed his arm in front of them to block the blinding sun. He opened them to slits and peeked between his fingers, trying to make things out between the glare and blur of water filling his eyes. H
e heard the Walter hiss in pain besides him, and knew he was seeing the same thing.
Shaw wanted to keep moving, to put distance between himself and the building. From one blindness to another, they made their way to the parking lot. He opened the purse and pulled out the keys he found inside. Pressed the remote unlock button several times until a car honked in response. Shaw opened the door and Walter fell to his knees, throwing up on the pavement. Shaw gave him only a few seconds before pushing him into the car. He hadn’t driven in months and still could barely see a thing for the glare, but he didn’t soft-peddle it. He sped out of the parking lot as fast as he could handle the car and turned down the main road leading away.
As he drove off he dared a look back at the asylum behind them. It looked normal. Completely normal.
What am I supposed to do now, he asked himself, turning his eyes to the road ahead...
To be continued...
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Read the terrifying conclusion in The Abyss Above Us: Book 2. Available now from Amazon!
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About the author:
Ryan Notch lives in Centralia, Pennsylvania, a town evacuated by the Federal government due to a coal mine fire burning beneath it since 1962. The only town in America ever to have its zip code revoked. During the day he wanders the empty streets and houses as if in a dream, looking for something he lost but can't remember where or what it was. At night he writes his horror stories by lying down next to a burning fissure along main street and placing his ear to the ground, transcribing what he hears coming up from below.
Discover other titles by Ryan Notch at
www.smashwords.com/profile/view/RyanNotch
Or look at his photography at www.areographers.com/
Or see a trailor for his feature length horror movie at www.lastnightofapril.com/
Or read his comics at www.themsgoodcomics.com/
Or just say hi to him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/people/Paulie-Gatto/1697635947