Page 1 of Waysider
CHAPTER ONE
December 2nd, 1984
Deadwood, Oregon
Lane County Security Hospital
4:26 p.m.
“This is a bad idea, Cassie.”
“Relax. It’s not like we’re meeting for brunch. It’s a maximum security hospital.”
“Was that supposed to make me feel better?”
This time, Cal’s words were met with silence.
A gust of wind slammed into Cassandra Ryan as she stared up at the gray, brick building looming into the sky. Feeling Cal’s eyes on her, Cass pulled a tendril of short hair from the corner of her mouth and kept her focus on the hospital. She hoped he didn’t see the goosebumps that had risen all over her entire body. Maybe the leather skirt had been a mistake.
No, she told herself firmly. The leather skirt was never a mistake.
Even though, this morning, Cal had taken one look at her and said, “Do you actually want him to kill you?”
Cass hadn’t dignified this with a response.
Lane County Security Hospital was exactly how she’d imagined a place like this would be. Mysterious. Gloomy. A little frightening, if Cass was being honest, which she certainly wasn’t right now. But the whole thing did look like a scene right out of a horror movie, and any normal person would be freaked out. The narrow windows were visibly barred on the inside. There was a single, barren tree to the left of the front doors, and its dozens of branches reached out like skeletal arms.
Cass let out a breath and reached up to muss her bangs. She reminded herself why she’d come here—to get some answers. Answers to questions that had haunted her for months.
Ever since the night the person she loved most in the world had died in the Hudson River.
This thought was exactly the motivation Cass needed. Before the boy at her side could make another attempt to reason with her, she launched forward and started up the stairs leading to a set of double doors, her black boots squeaking from the abrupt movement. Cal made an exasperated sound and went after her, quickly catching up in just a few long-legged strides. The white sleeves of his letterman jacket and his sandy hair stood out starkly against the bleak building.
At the top of the steps, Cass yanked one of the doors open and gave it a hard shove, allowing Cal enough time to slip inside behind her. The room was smaller than she expected, hardly more than four plastic chairs, a door, and a clear wall on the opposite side of the dim space. A woman sat behind it, her head down. Her short, permed hair was dyed red and she wore a sweater that was striped like an Easter egg. As Cass and Cal approached, the woman took a long drink from a coffee mug with an image of Mickey Mouse along its side. Then she set the mug down and put a lit cigarette between her lips.
Cass went right up to the counter. The woman still didn’t notice her, somehow. Cass waved, and when that didn’t work, she loudly tapped the clear barrier between them. “Hey. I’m here to see Patrick Doyle,” she said.
The woman finally lifted her head and squinted through a cloud of smoke. With heavy-lidded eyes, she took in Cass’s Clash T-shirt, the worn leather jacket, and the dark roots peeking out from the white-blond color Cass had picked out at the drug store one night while she was drunk on her mother’s Babychams.
After another moment, the woman took the cigarette out of her mouth. The sound of her voice was tinny through a speaker as she said, “Yeah, they told me you were coming. I thought it was a joke at first. He hasn’t been allowed to have visitors for fifteen years, you know. Ever since he bit that last girl’s ear off.”
It felt like the temperature in the room dropped.
“Then why make an exception now?” Cass asked, not daring to look at Cal. She knew he was probably contemplating whether to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of this building.
“No idea, honey. That’s above my pay grade.” The woman put a clipboard through a small opening in the wall. Cass caught the pen that nearly rolled off it. “I’ll need to see a form of identification. Are you another fan, then?”
Cass’s stomach rolled, and her grip on the pen tightened. She remembered the pictures she’d seen. The waxen, naked bodies. The images were fresh in Cass’s memory, since she’d spent most of yesterday doing research. “No. Not even close. I’m… I’m just a student,” she said.
The woman’s eyebrows rose. Cass busied herself digging out her driver’s license. “All of this for a grade? Well, you’ve got balls of steel, I’ll give you that.”
“Or all the drugs she’s done just turned her brain to mush,” Cal said tersely, leaning on the counter beside her.
“Is that it?” Cass asked the redhead, ignoring him. “Do you need anything else?”
The woman sighed and took another drink from the coffee mug. Her voice took on a monotone quality, as if she were reading from a script. “Please do not wear clothing that exposes any of your chest, back, stomach, or underarms. No hats, gloves, scarves, or outer garments allowed either. The only jewelry permitted is a wedding ring or a religious pendant. On the other side of that door, your personal items will be inspected for contraband, and you are also required to submit to a pat search. During your time at Lane County, please refrain from speaking to any patients other than the individual you’re scheduled to visit. Oh, and don’t touch the glass.”
With that, the woman handed Cass’s driver’s license back and reached downward. She must’ve pushed a button, because there was a buzzing sound, followed by a loud click. Cass’s stomach flipped. She still didn’t look at Cal, but she could feel his dread.
