“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.”
