Page 28

I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t a tiny girl stepping out of the shadows. She has a roughly shaven head with a few tufts at the sides. Her long white gown drowns her skeletal frame. Due to her size, it’s hard to know her real age, but she looks to be about fourteen.

“Yes,” I reply. “You must be Bea?”

She nods curtly. “Follow me,” she says. “This way. Hurry! Keep your back against the wall, or they’ll hear you…”

Against my better judgment, I follow her around a corner and through a set of doors that should be guarded.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Hush, hush!” she hisses. “No talking. Hush, hush! This way.”

For someone so small, she walks fast. I follow her through the maze of corridors, only lit by red emergency lighting overhead. My heeled shoes click-clack on the tiles, creating an echo.

“Here!” She stops mid-corridor, next to a chair that looks out of place. “Go!’”

I frown in confusion. “What?”

She points up at a ventilation shaft, then jabs her finger at the chair to make it clear where she intends for me to go.

“No way,” I say. “I’m not climbing in there.”

Following her through the asylum is one thing, but squeezing into a tiny air duct? Yeah, that’s not happening.

Bea sighs and opens her closed fist to reveal a bloody palm and a razor blade.

She points the blade at me, tipping her head to the left.

“You will go, or slick, slack, slice.” She opens her mouth and slides the razor across her tongue, showing me more deep scars slashed across it.

She licks her lips, painting them red. “Up, up! Go, go. Slick. Slack. Snip. Snap.”

Fuck . I gingerly slip out of my heels and climb onto the chair.

“Hush, hush!” Bea urges. “Faster!”

Two loose screws barely secure the vent. After undoing them, I carefully remove the cover, trying not to make a noise.

“Give it to me,” Bea demands. “Up, up!”

“Where do I go?” I ask, peering into the black shaft with nothingness stretching ahead. “There’s no light.”

“Listen and follow,” she says. “Now, hurry. Move!”

I push my shoes into the vent first. It’s now or never.

I extend my arms, hooking my elbows, and haul myself up.

My muscles ache from the exertion, but I wiggle my way inside.

I slither on my stomach and start to crawl.

The space is bigger than it first appears but still cramped.

A clang from behind sends a shiver down my spine as Bea replaces the vent cover.

“Shit,” I curse.

What have I got myself into?

I move forward on my front. The silver tin creaks beneath me as if it will collapse under my weight at any second.

I strain to listen.

Nothing…

And then it comes.

“Little Ghost.” One’s faint voice floats through the void. “Oh, Little Ghost.”

I push through the darkness toward him.

The vent network must be how they get around the asylum. I reach a fork in the road, listening again. One’s calls reverberate through the tunnels, everywhere and nowhere at the same time, beckoning me closer.

“Warmer,” One says. “Very warm now…”

I take a left and shimmy on.

“Little Ghost!”

They’re louder now.

A crack of light from around the next corner glints off the metal. As I approach, another vent cover is removed to reveal a pair of staring eyes through slits in a black mask.

“You came,” Eli says, the warmness to his voice is almost inviting. “We didn’t know if you’d dare.”

“Do you remember what you said to us before, Little Ghost?” One asks, hidden from view. “Who is the rat in the walls now?”

I scowl as I reach Eli. He hauls me out of the vent, throwing my body effortlessly over his shoulder, then gently puts me down onto my feet.

It takes a few seconds to adjust to the stark clinical lighting.

The walls and floors are painted in a blinding white, giving the impression that the room stretches on forever.

Glass doors line the walls, leading to smaller adjoining rooms. I’ve toured the asylum before, but never seen this place.

It’s like a futuristic movie set. In front of me, three masked men stand together, arms crossed.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“This is what your father is hiding,” One says.

“Go on.” Lex gestures around. “Look.”

I explore, peering into the different rooms. Some have single beds, a toilet, and faucet, like prison cells.

Others, along the opposing wall, are less cozy.

One resembles a dentist’s office with a reclining chair and trays of medical equipment.

Another has an electroshock machine that looks about fifty years old, juxtaposing its modern surroundings.

The next is empty, but heating components cover the walls, and another has a giant copper tub that would look luxurious in a home, but seems ominous here.

“This is your father’s favorite,” Lex says, tapping on the door of the final room.

My stomach lurches. Cuffs and restraints are mounted to the walls, alongside shelves of stainless steel instruments. I can’t tell exactly what they are, but there appear to be speculums, blades, whips, and even cattle prods, to name a few. It’s a torture chamber.

“Welcome to the real Sunnycrest,” One says. “Now you’re here, it’s time we got to know each other better.”

Then he takes off his mask…