Ruby Hill (Entangled Ever After)

by Sarah Ballance

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pushed again, his hand closing on a piece of metal tubing. He gripped it—ready to fight, hoping for leverage—but the pipe was stuck.

  It didn’t matter.

  The thing faded. It wavered and compacted into a pinpoint of light that paused for only a second before shooting across the room and disappearing into the wall.

  It was gone.

  And so was Ashley.

  Chapter Four

  Corbin was gone.

  Ashley pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Six months had not cooled her anger over his blaming her for Cash’s death, nor had it made her stop loving Corbin, either. It hadn’t let her stop loving him. But he didn’t respect what she did, and Cash’s death—at her hands, as Corbin said—was a terrible wall that could never be scaled. So why did she desperately want Corbin at her side? It was more than the buddy system they’d established. They needed to get out of there—she to her team, him to his job—but then they’d go their separate ways. Ruby Hill, like Cash, would always be between them.

  But there was something else there—something that made her want him despite the chasm they couldn’t cross. Something that made him look at her the way he did. Something that ignored darkness and transformed small bits of light into blinding sun.

  Something that gave her hope.

  In her heart, she couldn’t shake Corbin.

  In reality, he’d disappeared without a trace. She took a step in the direction she’d last seen him.

  A whisper echoed from behind.

  Ash-ley.

  Her name, so faint. Had she really heard anything? Adrenaline shot through her, but it had been there all along, not far from the surface. She wouldn’t readily admit how uncomfortable Ruby Hill made her. She’d been to many purportedly haunted locations, but no other place had fostered such a strong personal connection.

  Ashley believed locations held the deep roots of their past. Ruby Hill Lunatic Asylum, like so many other psychiatric hospitals built in the second half of the nineteenth century, was slated as a place of healing. Situated in the foothills of the Appalachians, the hospital offered its residents ample fresh air and endless views of the rolling countryside. Perhaps, at one time, it had indeed been a place of solace, but overcrowding quickly led to abuse and neglect. Violently disturbed criminals were housed among the general population—many of whose only crimes were being poor, orphaned, or homeless—a situation leading to horrific experiences for the innocent.

  Some of the greatest atrocities, however, were those put on the residents by the doctors and staff. Shock therapy and lobotomies were both very much in vogue, and from what she understood they remained a constant threat long after losing favor with the medical community. Mental health care was deinstitutionalized in the nineteen-sixties, leading the asylum to close its doors in the nineteen-eighties. And while Ashley hadn’t even been alive during the time Ruby Hill was in operation, her fascination ran blood deep.

  Several generations back on her father’s side, her distant great-grandfather, Sidney J. Pearce, founded and served a long tenure as head administrator of Ruby Hill. The house of its own brand of ill-repute continued to employ a number of her relatives through the years. The stories she’d heard—often relayed with a cool, clinical detachment—raised unease and fear in her unlike any of its ghosts.

  Ashley grew up with a need from childhood to right the many wrongs caused by her family business. She had no question as to whether Ruby Hill was haunted, but also believed the resident evil had once roamed the halls, very much alive.

  Her thoughts turned to Corbin. She understood his skepticism. Perhaps, if she told him her family’s history with the place, he’d understand her need to believe. Because without ghosts walking the halls of Ruby Hill, there would be no redemption for her. But he’d shared his own family history there—a truly bitter piece of irony, if not for the fact most of their small town probably had roots in the asylum walls—and it hadn’t led to his understanding. If anything, it further embittered his loss.

  Losing Corbin left a hole in her—one she wasn’t sure she knew how to fill. They hadn’t been together more than a few months, but it was long enough to know they clicked in every possible way but one. That one way hadn’t mattered until Cash died.

  Now, for Corbin, it seemed to be all that mattered.

  Ashley needed to find him. One hand on the wall for balance, she took a cautious step. Her eyes had adjusted as much as they would—shadows existed in shades of black and blacker, and with the night deepening, she didn’t expect that situation to improve. Watching her own path prevented her from looking for Corbin, but she knew she was headed in the right general direction. Hopefully, he’d speak up when he saw her.

  Ash-ley.

  The whisper came from behind again, in the direction she and Corbin had been headed. But he couldn’t be that way. There’s no way he could have passed her in the corridor without her noticing, and he hadn’t been gone long enough to find another way around. Chills pricked her spine.

  Ash-ley.

  A tremor spasmed deep in her chest and spread to her limbs. Suddenly woozy, she grabbed for what looked to be part of a metal bed frame. With the contact came the sound of cries from patients, so real she felt their suffering bone deep. The noises ripped through her, leaving her clammy and hot. She fought the sickness but couldn’t stop the sadness and fear welling inside her.

  Ashley stood, frozen, her hand locked on the thin metal, her breath heaving.

  There are no innocent.

  Evil tainted the musty, stale air. She lost her grip, pitching to the side in a rush of vertigo. The wall rushed forward, smacking against her head with the dull roar of a freight train. A sensation of falling—distant at first—closed in. She tensed, bracing for pain.

  The impact, though hard, wasn’t at all what she expected. Solid. Warm.

  Corbin.

  “Ash?” Hesitation made the word heavy, and he appeared pale—more so even than he had on arrival.

  He looked . . . haunted. She swallowed. Breathed. She managed to ask, “Are you okay?”

  He reached, touching her face.

  “What—”

  She hadn’t finished the thought, much less the sentence, when his lips were on hers. Hard and soft, gentle and fierce, the man packed every thrilling emotion she’d ever known into that kiss. She gasped, giving him the opening he needed to sweep her mouth with his tongue, teasing, tasting, and taking. Dear God. Of all the things she worried might happen during her night at Ruby Hill, this wasn’t one of them.

  He took a breath, and the world stilled. “I’m—”

  She grabbed him, drawing him back to her before he had time to finish that thought. Regrets were off the table. It had been too long since he’d held her. She’d wasted many days missing him, wanting him, and hating him. For this one moment, she refused to think.

  She’d feel.

  He responded like he’d been starved for her. He clutched the back of her head. He must have tugged her hair free of its ponytail because it fell, the strands caught in his hands. Kisses transitioned from deep and sweeping to playful nibbles. Grinning, she bit his lip, then laughed when he growled and backed her against a wall. He cupped her face with one hand and trailed the length of her body with the other. Every synapse fired in memory of being in his bed, of long, luxurious mornings spent naked with sunlight streaming through the windows to warm her bare skin. Of the nights preceding those mornings. Her memories—the way things used to be—brought new meaning to the words too good to be true.

  She must have faltered or withdrawn in some way because he stopped.

  “I’m sorry,” he said on a shaky breath. But he didn’t back away. He still touched her cheek. His knee still pressed between her thighs.

  “Don’t be. I was just thinking. Remembering.” She paused. Something in his expression bothered her, but she was off kilter herself. “Is something wrong?”

  He was looking at something over her shoulde
r. Before she could turn, he said, “Have you noticed anything strange in here?”

  “Want to narrow that down a little?”

  “A light. A projector. Anything that could make something appear out of nowhere.”

  What in the world had he seen? “I haven’t seen any projection equipment, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  His shoulders slumped. Disappointment, or relief, or was it something more? His expression relaxed and his eyes softened. “I want you to know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Startled by his words—and still largely swimming in the euphoria of his kiss—she said the first thing that came to mind. “It’s not fair to blame me. Cash would have come here with or without either one of us.”

  He sighed and squeezed shut his eyes. “No, I know that. And I’m sorry. But I wasn’t thinking, Ash.”

  She shivered over the nickname. No one called her that but him.

  Corbin pushed his fingers through his hair. “This…place killed him. I—I just shut down. I had to blame someone.”

  “You did. You blamed yourself. You accused me.”

  “I was wrong for that.”

  Such simple words. They meant the world to her.

  “I lost it. I lost us.” Leaning closer, he kissed her. But not the frantic kind that had her ready to rip off her clothes. This one was soft and sweet.

  This one broke her heart.

  She didn’t need her gadgets to measure the electricity in the air. It practically lit the night.

  “I have to work through this, but . . . I want you know I miss you.”

  “Me, too.” A baby step over a canyon. She’d take it. She leaned so her forehead touched his. His sigh went through her, too.

  Then he tensed and pulled away, the moment broken.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I don’t know—I don’t even know how to ask this. How is it even remotely possible a ghost could hurt someone? By…definition—” he garbled the word as if choking on it “—they’re a manifestation of light and air. No physical form, I mean. How can something without a body touch or hurt someone?”

  The question caught her off guard. He hadn’t admitted a shred of belief in the supernatural, but the question gave her some hope. “It’s more likely they cause a reaction in someone that gets them hurt. People get scared, and that makes them careless. And when you start with a known haunted location, it doesn’t take much to set people off. They want to be scared. It’s part of the rush. But you get scared and fall down the stairs, you get hurt.”

  “And then blame the boogie man.” He said the words with such distaste. It wasn’t the best of circumstances to discount the dead.

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t think a ghost went poof and killed your vics.”

  He seemed to relax with her admission. The tension left his arms. The downside was he no longer held her as tightly, a sensation she missed. “I think we can work with that,” he said, relief edging his tone.

  It raised her hackles. “What do you mean?”

  “People get scared, panic, and get themselves killed—especially in a place like this. No ghosts.”

  She stepped out of his arms. Put a few paces between them. “Yes, they can. No ghosts.”

  His eyes bore into her. “Why do I have the impression you’re not actually agreeing with me?”

  “Because I’m not.” Agreeing with him would be admitting there weren’t strange happenings at Ruby Hill, and the light bulb was enough to convince her otherwise. A person could argue with a cold draft or a strange shadow, but a thirty-plus-year-old light bulb springing to life in a building void of electricity should lend some respect to the paranormal. If he was so dead set against opening himself to this, that was one difference too many. He would have to one day understand her need to reach out to the ghosts of Ruby Hill, but now was not the time. Not when he’d closed his mind to the obvious.

  Her heart teetered on the edge of a dangerous fall. She’d always thought she didn’t need him to believe in ghosts—only to respect her belief in them—but the truth was she wanted to change him as much as he seemed to want to change her.

  Her past—this place—was a part of her. He’d never understand that. And now those old wounds, freshly torn apart, had to heal all over again.

  The only thing worse than fighting a battle no one could win was pretending it didn’t exist.

  She couldn’t pretend anymore.

  Chapter Five

  Ashley had walked out. Well-deserved hell existed in the irony, but there was a pit in his stomach anyway.

  He hurried after her, doing a piss-poor job of dodging debris in the dark. Best he could tell, she was headed back toward the main entrance. Corbin stuck close. He’d get Joe on the phone, deliver Ashley to her team, and wait for the sun to come up. They’d be done.

  How done?

  Dammit. He wanted her in his life—not haunting his memories as she did now, but to make new ones. But he couldn’t look at her without remembering that night. And if the way she’d stormed away from him was any indication, he was one solution too late.

  His mind shot back to the image of that…that apparition with Ashley’s face. He didn’t know if that was the right word or not, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Ashley. Her kisses still haunted his lips with a physical ache. And now he’d pissed her off.

  He trudged wordlessly behind her, occasionally catching up when she had to slow down to pick through rubble. They took a couple of turns off the main corridor. She had him well and truly lost, but she’d spared him the walk past the spot Cash died. He didn’t realize it until she stopped in front of a doorway and gestured farther down a hall largely clear of the abandonment coloring the rest of the asylum.

  “My team is in there,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder toward the door. “Someone ahead of our visit cleared this hallway of debris so we could get in and out without suing anyone. If you follow the clear path, you’ll find the main entrance. It’s not far.”

  She sounded so damned dismissive. Like he was there to fix her plumbing or something. Last door on the right. Like they hadn’t shared a hundred sunsets or counted the same stars. Like she hadn’t drawn their initials in a heart on his truck window when they’d gotten them all fogged up. Like they’d never stayed up all night to watch the sun rise, the coffee cold, the sheets hot.

  Like they’d never fallen in love.

  “Okay,” he said.

  When she turned away, he almost wished he had back the apparition. Nothing that thing could do would hurt as much as watching the real Ashley turn her back on him. But wasn’t that what he’d done to her?

  The door shut with an institutional groan. The click that followed exuded finality.

  Corbin turned his back to the wall and leaned heavily against it. Chipped paint fell and dusted his shoulders. Ruby Hill was too damned full of broken pieces.

  Ashley understands me.

  The words Cash had once spoken shot through Corbin, their presence dark. Ominous. At the time, he’d thought them an extension of Cash’s argument for investigating Ruby Hill, but now a colder, darker dread filled Corbin.

  Ashley understands.

  Corbin spun and tried the door Ashley had closed behind her. The knob didn’t turn. He knocked—politely, then with more force. “Ashley!”

  Much to Corbin’s surprise, the door swung open. It wasn’t Ashley who greeted him, but a tall bean pole of a man who pushed his glasses up his nose twice before Corbin managed to choke out his first word.

  “I need to see Ashley.”

  “She’s working.”

  Corbin fought for patience. “Please. I’m with the PD.”

  The string bean looked over his shoulder, then back to Corbin. He shrugged. “Then you know she’s busy.”

  Corbin shoved a foot in the slight opening before the door shut in his face. He could probably flatten the guy, but his thoughts teetered on something important. He’d compromise—this time. �
�Do me a favor. Make sure she doesn’t leave the room. Make sure no one does.”

  One skinny eyebrow lifted. “Uh…okay.”

  This time it was Corbin who yanked shut the door.

  Ashley understands.

  Damn this place. He needed to retrace his steps, and with the dark asylum’s way of fueling his resistant imagination and twisting reality, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go any deeper into its fetid halls. But people were dying. He was a cop before he was a coward. He’d already lost two people he loved.

  He wouldn’t lose himself.

  Corbin edged through the dark, feeling far too much like a rat in a maze. Oppressive heat funneled through the halls, the air so thick he felt he breathed water. When he stopped at a corner, crouching to read the footprints in the dust, a deep, throaty growl sounded in his ear.

  Still in the kneeling position, Corbin whipped around, nearly falling. He caught a flash of glowing red an instant before it faded. Sonofabitch. The walls closed in. The asylum had stood there for over a hundred years, but all it took was the sun going down with him still inside to make everything crumble. He righted himself and stood and had to fight hard not to go back to Ashley—he was no kind of man for leaving her alone in this place—but something much stronger pulled him away.

  Ashley understands me.

  Another growl vibrated the air. Corbin spun, seeing nothing. Distant laughter sounded—something dark and evil. Visions of that thing pretending to be Ashley scraped and clawed at him, burrowing under his skin. Burning. Tarnishing.

  Then the cold hit, the temperature plummeting. The hair on his arms stood. His back felt like fire, but there was no light to put out. He looked left then right, the emptiness offering no solace. He had a newfound—and growing—appreciation for being scared the fuck to death. The cloak of darkness in the hall grew sinister, his nostrils suddenly accosted with the scent of decay. It was the same one from the morgue, and had followed him since they buried Cash.