A Night at the Asylum

by Jade McCahon

  There was another text, this time from Raymond. My signal must have come back for a few minutes. “Lost site of Ead” it read. “RU OK?”

  I typed back a quick, reassuring message. I had to keep him out of here. I couldn’t put anyone else in danger, and I couldn’t take the chance of accidentally calling attention to myself. Whatever I was going to do, I had to do it quickly and get the hell out.

  Creeping back to the rusted door that led to the hall where I'd seen Ead, I waited. Waited for a sign. There was nothing.

  Minutes passed. “Come on, Tommy,” I whispered. “I need to know if I can keep going.” He didn’t answer. My phone beeped with the low battery signal again. I expected another text but instead it flashed horrendously and then died.

  “What? No!” I hissed, much too loudly. I turned the phone back on. Immediately it shut itself down again. Two batteries, one bought at a gas station, and still I was out of luck. Irony was no longer irony if it was just the way your life always turned out.

  I sat down on the dirty floor, limp and exhausted. As a last ditch effort I took out the tape recorder, but it wouldn’t even turn on. Tommy must have used the energy from everything I’d brought to send me those text messages.

  In desperation, I took out the board. Trying to keep an eye on the door in front of me and point the plastic cursor at the same time, I asked the questions in a whisper. “Should I go?” I waited. There was no reply.

  After ten minutes I could no longer deny the feeling of being totally alone. It wasn’t just the silence. It was a physical sensation of the absence of energy. I shoved the board back into my bag dejectedly. Where had Tommy gone? I had to fight the urge once again to break down, resist those feelings that this was like losing him all over again. I looked around. The hallway was completely empty, no furniture, no holes in the walls, nowhere to hide anything. This was not where I needed to be. I had to keep going, Ead or no Ead.

  I pushed myself up from the floor cautiously, taking a few slow steps toward the door where I’d seen the glove. Through it was another hallway, and directly across from it I saw another door, half-gaping, like Tommy’s bedroom door often was. There was a metal sign that read “Viewing Room”. This was where Tommy had told me to go.

  I stepped inside and waited, positioning myself to run if I had to. But there was no answering scuffle, no hurried footsteps coming toward me. I was in a beautiful old waiting room, with four tattered couches arranged in a square and a small, round nurses’ desk jutting out from the corner. I turned in a circle for a moment. Why did Tommy want me here?

  I searched the desk, the shelves, but saw nothing. Then behind the nurses’ desk I noticed a panel of wallpaper that didn’t quite match the others. It was just like the door in the other hallway that had been painted to blend into the wall. What happened next just seemed too easy. Instead of prying at it I pushed gently against the panel and it popped out, budging toward me the slightest bit.

  I grasped the tiny edge that had pushed itself away from the frame and the door opened into a long, narrow rectangle of a room. There was shelving along one wall, a desk with chairs facing a tall, halfway boarded-up window on the other. I felt like a sardine in here. It was so dark. The door retracted, popping back into place. I realized then that it didn’t open from this side. I was stuck.

  I envisioned myself going insane and bursting through the old window like a cannonball.

  That’s when I heard a shuffling noise coming from the back corner of the room. It was loud, and sounded like it was made by something very large. Mouse? Dog? Rabid raccoon? Of course this was the only thing that could happen next.

  So much time passed as I stood holding my breath in the dark that I began to think I had imagined the sound. But then I heard a distinct cough, and a scraping of rubber against tile…stumbling footsteps. There was no mistaking this. I backed away until I smacked into the paneled wall again. What had I shut myself in here with? Or more specifically, who? My heart began a rapid thumping in my ears and I jerked my messenger bag off my back, searching inside for a weapon. “Stay away,” I threatened, “I’m armed.” That’s when I remembered I actually did have a gun – Emmett’s – in the zippered side pouch.

  For a split second I was filled with incredible, yet superficial, relief. I tore the gun out of the pouch and stuck it out blindly in front of me. I didn't know how to use it, but I'd figure it out. I couldn’t see past the barrel. “Do you hear me? Seriously, I really am armed!” I thought I might pass out before I had to pull the trigger, I was so scared. He’s found me, I thought. Ead Sutter has finally found me. I felt the pain from the flashback, saw his pointed, evil face. How could I have been so stupid? And how could Tommy have led me into this dead-end room?

  I was no longer irony’s bitch. I was its most tragic, most unwitting victim.

  ****

  Ten O’Clock

  I was more frightened than I’d ever been before, and it had nothing to do with ghosts. At this moment I was much more afraid of the living. I could now make out a figure, a dark, ominous hulk coming toward me. There was nowhere left to back away to.

  The face that came out of the shadows then, however, wasn’t Ead’s. I cried out when the dim beam from the flashlight caught a glint of green eyes that I recognized as Emmett's. Unbelievably, inconceivably, he was standing here in front of me. His hands were up in a gesture of surrender. He called my name softly. “Oh, my God, I almost shot you!” I screamed, and before I knew it I had jumped into his arms, surprising both of us. The emotion that overcame me as I felt his warmth, his genuineness, I could no longer control. He was real, he was solid, he was here with me.

  I started to cry, really wailing it out. All the horror I’d been holding in, my extraordinary relief at realizing who he was and that he wasn't in the backseat of my mother’s Buick dying but very much alive, collided at that moment and I simply couldn’t bear it. Emmett held on to me as tightly as I held him, and for what seemed like hours we just stood there in the blackness, clutching each other without words. There was no more reality. There was only this. I felt the stubble on his face against my wet cheeks and realized I was bawling all over him. He didn’t seem to mind. He raised a hand to brush my hair back and the gesture was so gentle, so innocent, that my heart lurched and fresh tears began to flow. He whispered reassurances, his breath warm in my ear. He loved me. He’d never let anyone hurt me. He would always be here for me. When had this happened between us? When had we become essential to each other? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t have cared less. I just knew that I would never leave him again, and I would do whatever I had to do to make sure Ead didn’t hurt him anymore. I wasn't sure if I said it aloud or if I just thought it but either way I know he heard it. My fingers tangled around his long hair and I dragged his mouth down to mine. He picked me up and I felt the strength in his arms, the life I'd thought had been draining out of him. Everything terrible that had happened to me seemed to go away for just an inimitable moment, just a split second of time that I could never get back, a complete absence of pain and fear. But it was enough to restore my sense of purpose and give me the strength to go on. When we broke apart, I didn’t feel like crying anymore. He was looking at me, and a smile flitted across his face, revealing those two deep dimples in his cheeks. So rarely did I ever see him smile. I could have melted into oblivion; it was awesome. I almost believed there was nothing in the world that could harm either of us ever again.

  “You took my gun,” he whispered with a little laugh, and I had to laugh with him. “I think I was going to chastise you for saving my life, also,” he said, and his voice was a gravelly purr, as if he'd just awakened from a long sleep. And indeed he had. He pressed his forehead against mine and stared right into my eyes. I felt a shiver as I relished his closeness, his warmth. “But I...” he laughed shyly, blushing, and I caught a flash of his white teeth. “You made me forget what I was going to say.”

  My heart fluttered and my legs went weak as I shook my head incre
dulously at him. Could he have any idea how he made me feel? It would be impossible to put into words. “How the hell did you get in here without anyone seeing you?” I asked him breathlessly instead.

  “This is my secret room. I’ve been coming here since I was a little kid. I always thought it was pretty obvious that it was back here, but nobody else ever seemed to find it.” He looked around the dark rectangle. He put his arm out to steady himself against the desk behind me, a little wobbly now. When he spoke again his words were hesitant. “What we came here for is in the next room. She told me to wait for you here.”

  I knew he meant Jamie. “Are you okay?” I asked him, brushing his hair away from his face carefully. He was just so beautiful; I couldn't believe I'd never fully acknowledged it before now.

  “I think I will be,” he said, then nodded his head, as if he’d convinced himself. “I think it’s mostly out of my system. I can form a complete sentence now, right?” We both laughed. “What about you? Are you okay?” His green eyes were intense, serious now, probing my face.

  I swallowed hard to keep from crying again. “Everything is so fucked,” I admitted, and we both laughed again, this time through tears.

  He held my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. Even though I wanted to fall down right there and give up, I couldn’t. His gaze held me then as it had so many times before. Hypnotized. I was torn between that odd stirring, that desire that welled up within me, and the anguish I felt seeping back into my blood. He closed his eyes, and I could sense his exhaustion, knew that he couldn't go on much longer without more help than what I could give him. But at least he seemed stronger than he was at the restaurant. “Don’t worry,” he whispered against my lips. “We’re going to get out of here. Together. It’ll be okay.” So much had changed. Such a short time ago everything had seemed so hopeless. But I believed him. I had to concentrate to keep from turning into gelatin as I kissed him again. It took all my willpower to stop. He took hold of my hand in his, and led me to the back of the room. “This is the way out,” he said.

  In the back corner, obscured by the metal shelf and the opacity of the shadows, was a door that led into the hall beside the viewing room. Emmett quickly explained that the door in the paneling I’d come through was only an entrance for doctors and clergy members, though why it had been wallpapered over he wasn’t sure. “When I was eight,” he said softly, pushing on the shelf, “I found a kitten here. He’d probably gotten separated from his mother or something.” I watched him as he spoke, and his eyes glistened, even in the dark. “I brought him home and…I didn’t tell anyone, because I knew my mom and dad wouldn’t let me keep him. I thought I did such a good job hiding him…I even made a little house for him under my bed and everything.” He laughed softly.

  “Did your parents ever find out?” I asked, giving the shelf a shove. It squeaked and scraped on the floor as it budged only a few inches.

  I could barely see a thing, but still noticed the subtle change in his expression. “I woke up the next morning, and the kitten was lying in bed beside me. He was dead. My father had found him, and…and broke his neck...then laid him beside me like nothing happened.”

  I blinked back tears, shaking my head. Such a horrible soul Brad was. Such a despicable legacy to leave.

  “Of course he told me right away. He was proud of it. Said he was trying to teach me a lesson.” Emmett shook his head. “He really just wanted to kill something I loved.”

  That settled it. The minute we got out of here I was getting him a kitten.

  We finally pushed the shelf over far enough to squeeze through the door. “Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm. He looked back at me questioningly. “Ead is in here somewhere. I saw him. We have to be careful.”

  “Do you remember where the laundry room is?” Emmett asked me, his fingers circling my wrist.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “It’s just on the other side of the boiler room,” he whispered. “That’s where we need to go.” He started out the door, but I pulled him back again.

  “Emmett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you sure you’re real?” I felt myself start to shake. “Because if you actually bought the farm out there in the car and somehow you’re just some…super-tangible ghost and I won’t find out until the M. Night Shyamalan-like ending to this whole thing…” I pulled him close to me. “I’m not kidding…I will kill myself.”

  He didn’t look at me like I was a crazy person. I loved that about him. Instead he kissed me again and wrapped his arms around me. He was warm, and I could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t ‘buy the farm’,” he assured me with a heart-stopping smile, his voice dipping low into that deep gravelly purr once more. “But I’ll tell you one thing. I am never drinking soda again. That shit is gross.”

  I smiled at him, pushing his hair away from his face. “You know…Jamie’s going to have to stop that whole dream-visiting thing once this is over. A girl could get jealous.”

  He grinned and my heartbeat faltered at the sight of it. “Ah, she’s only been in my dreams for a year,” he said. “But I’ve loved you since the first grade, so…”

  I blushed so hard my face was lit aflame, and I was glad it was dark. I had to laugh at him. “Jesus, you’re killing me,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes at him.

  “Come on,” he said, with a tilt of his head.

  Emmett went out the door first, looking both ways to make sure the coast was clear. Hearing thunder in the distance, I realized it was still storming. Here in the basement of the building the sound was nearly canceled out. I looked down at my dead phone, tucked it back into my pocket, and held onto Emmett’s hand as we crept into the dark corridor as quietly as possible.

  We crossed the boiler room and had to shove through the door to the laundry room, which had been barricaded by a stack of metal chairs. Once we were inside, it was almost too dark to see again. There were no windows here. On one wall were several old, industrial-sized washing machines. On another there was a doorway, through which there was a changing room equipped with a line of metal lockers. The doorway was blocked by more chairs, piled to the ceiling. Nearly every damned chair in the building must have been stored here. I reached down for my flashlight but realized I didn’t have it. “And the gun…” I told Emmett, and we stared at each other for a moment. “I think I might have left it back there.”

  Emmett thought for a second, and then picked up a chair. “Come on, help me with these,” he said. “Let’s just get this out of here and we’ll go back.”

  For several minutes, we worked wordlessly in the dark, moving chairs out of the path of the doorway, trying to make as little noise as possible. Emmett had to stop to rest several times and I was growing increasingly worried about him. He insisted he was fine. Finally we had created enough of an opening that we could squeeze through and reach the lockers. It was pitch black. Emmett seemed to be counting something off in his head, scrutinizing each tall metal box individually. “I wish I could remember which one it was,” he murmured. He disappeared into the dark corner for a minute, and there was the obnoxious sound of metal scraping metal. I looked around, paranoid that someone would hear. When he reappeared, he was covered in cobwebs and dust. In his hands, he held a battered, filthy, round object, black with orange flames. It was just as I remembered, except for the long, horrific dent in one side. That was new. I covered my mouth with my hand, the tears coming.

  Emmett set the helmet down carefully on a chair and embraced me. The mosaic of pain on his face told me he still blamed himself for Tommy’s death, and he was still afraid I agreed with him. “I’m so sorry,” he said for what must have been the hundredth time.

  “This is not your fault. Your brother’s the fucking psycho, not you. Okay?”

  He didn’t answer. He just stared off into space.

  “Tommy was on his way to Bonita’s house that night…” I murmured, looking down at the black beast on the chair with c
ontempt. “He said he had something important to take care of. Then he promised me he would meet me back home so we could go to the basketball game together.”

  “But he never showed,” Emmett finished for me.

  “Yeah.” I laughed a little, empty and cold. “I thought he was just being an ass. I went to bed that night and I was mad at him. I woke up to my mother in the kitchen, on the phone, screaming.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emmett said again.

  “I can’t imagine how frustrated he’s been since then,” I whispered. “Knowing that none of us knew the truth.”

  There was a strange look on Emmett’s face. “You believe your brother is…”

  “Do you believe what you’ve seen?” I asked him.

  He thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes.”

  “The worst is what happened to Jenny,” I breathed, remembering again the pain, the horror from when her memories were placed in my brain, like a movie on a borrowed projector. I remembered her lying next to me in that hole in my dream, the smell of her skin, the decaying scent of mildew and earth.

  Hiddeninasylum.

  “Emmett…do you think she’s here somewhere? In this building?”

  “I’d almost guarantee it,” he answered gravely. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to stick around and find out.” The sound of police radios crackled somewhere in the distance.

  Just make sure you don’t forget about me! she’d screamed. And I wouldn’t. But I had to make sure we got out of here safe first. Then I’d have to try to stop the demolition somehow. Maybe the storm had already taken care of that.