29. Camryn

TWENTY-NINE

CAMRYN

The imposing estate that looms ahead is a sight to behold, with its distinctive pointed cobblestone ceilings, twin wooden doors adorned with traditional cast iron, and lion-head door knockers that seem to guard the entrance. The large windows, like watchful eyes, add to the grandeur of the structure.

"This place is creepy," Lily says in a small voice behind me.

"What did you expect?" Gwen asks. "It's an asylum."

"What are we even doing here?"

I walk up the winding footpath, pretending I'm not quaking on the inside. Fake it until you make it and all that bullshit. This is the very definition of that saying.

"We need to look at the historical records," I say, sensing eyes on us. "I couldn't find anything online, so this is our final resort."

The curtains twitch in one of the windows of the second floor.

Before Lily can say anything else, I quickly make my way up the steps and knock on the door. A gentle breeze sweeps through, lifting my hair from my shoulders, as a wind chime tinkles in the distance. I suppress a shiver, hoping for someone to open the door and let us in.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the large doors creak open to reveal a stern-looking elderly woman with greying hair and deep wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth.

She eyes us suspiciously.

Gwen steps forward. "We have an appointment with Dr. Hector."

Glancing between us, she steps aside to let us enter. The air inside smells faintly of antiseptic and damp upholstery. I can sense Lily beside me, with her head down, following along like an obedient puppy without a backbone. A pang of guilt clogs my throat, but I force it back down.

Our friends would be alive if I'd listened to her initially.

We pass several doors until the stern woman stops at one and orders us in. I pass a patient muttering to herself, with greasy dark hair and sunken eyes. She briefly looks up, watching us, but then ducks her head again when she spots the stern woman, who stands with her spine erect and her hands clasped in front of her like she's a strict headmistress at a boarding school from decades past.

We sidle in, shuffling awkwardly.

Large bookcases line the back wall, the shelves sagging from the weight of so many hardbacks and paperbacks with broken spines and curled edges. A fish tank sits in one of the corners with a lone goldfish swimming in circles, the soft sound of the oxygen pump filling the tense silence. Glancing toward the tall window, I spot a large filing cabinet.

Bingo.

I suppress a shiver while waiting for the woman to talk, feeling strangely like an unruly kid at school who has been called to the principal's office.

She looks from Gwen to Lily to me, and her critical, assessing eyes fall down our bodies before settling on our faces. "I'll see if he's ready now."

The moment she walks out, we exhale a collective sigh.

"That was intense," Gwen mutters.

"So intense," I agree.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore the call, already knowing it's Dominic. He won't be happy when he finds out about this little mission. But I didn't want to have this conversation, so I snuck out while he was in the shower. He needs to learn sooner or later that I'm not some leashed pet he can control.

"How do we open it?" Gwen asks, tilting her chin to the cabinet. "I guess what we're looking for is in there?"

I glance around, rolling my lip beneath my teeth. "We need a key." Just then, footsteps sound outside, and my eyes widen. I dart inside a cupboard, knocking against cardboard boxes on the floor and a rail of…clothes.

"Fuck…"

"What the hell, Camryn?" Gwen hisses, but the desperate tone of her voice soon takes on a much more pleasant note when the door opens.

Heavy footsteps sound on the floor, and a man in a white coat whisks by. I only manage to catch a glimpse of him through the small gap in the door, but the moment his big build and graying sideburns come into view, my breath catches in my throat, and I blend with the shadows.

I can't remember the last time I felt my heart beating out of my chest. We came here without a solid plan. Let's face it: improvisation was always on the agenda.

My phone vibrates again, and I curse the fucking thing. Voices drift through the gap while I fish my cell out to switch it off.

You sneaking out on me is getting tiresome. Don't test me right now, Camryn. Answer your fucking phone.

After powering it down, I slide it inside my back pocket before inching closer to the gap in the door. Gwen and Lily are seated at the desk with their backs to me.

Dr. Hector, a man in his late fifties with a thick mustache and bushy eyebrows, swings his gaze between them, looking bored. He already knows they're wasting his time.

"You claim this lady was a relative?"

"Yes," Gwen replies, nodding, her large hoop earrings swaying. Lily, meanwhile, is perspiring. God forbid, she ever plays poker. The girl can't lie to save her life. She's so pale that she could rival every ghost roaming these ancient halls.

My own hands are damp, so I rub them on my bare thighs.

"I can't discuss my patients without sufficient evidence that you are, indeed, relatives of the person in question. That requires proof of identification."

"But she's deceased."

One of his bushy eyebrows lifts.

"Oh well," Gwen says, blowing out a sigh. "I guess we traveled all this way for nothing. I just thought that maybe we could find out some information about dear old Edna Kriger."

"Magdalene, you mean?" he says without changing his expression. His chest expands on a deep inhale, and he eases back against the wingback chair. "I'm afraid I can't help you today, ladies."

Chairs scrape on the scratched wooden floor, and their voices drift away. I blow out a sigh, thinking I'm safe, but then the door shuts, and the sound of heavy footsteps nearing has me shrinking deeper into the rail of clothes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is bad.

He whistles a tune as he pours himself a thumb of whiskey, the amber alcohol sloshing against the sides of the tumbler. I can faintly make him out beyond the gap—the hiss he makes through his teeth as the liquid slides down his throat.

Cracking his neck, he nurses his drink and peers over at the cabinet. Outside, a branch knocks against the window in the muggy summer breeze.

Tap. Tap. Let me in.

A bead of sweat trails down the side of my neck. It's sweltering in this small space.

The floorboards creak beneath his weight. He puts his whiskey glass on top of the cabinet, fishes a key out of his breast pocket, and unlocks it. It slides open to reveal file after file, and Dr. Hector fingers through them. Then he shuts the drawer and slides open the next one in line.

When he pulls out a thick file, I bat a shirt out of the way and inch closer to the gap, intrigued. He discards something on the desk, then loosens his tie while reading over the information in the file. I watch as he swirls the glass, taking another sip, before sitting his ass on the desk and crossing his feet at his ankles.

Patience has never been my strong suit. Even more so now as I eye the file in his hand. I bet it's the one we're after. After the girls' visit, Dr. Hector felt too intrigued not to pull it out from the cabinet and read about Miss. Kriger.

My arm itches something fierce. The sensation of something crawling beneath my skin has me clawing at it. I'm so desensitized now, I've come to crave the release the pain brings.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The branch knocks louder, demanding entrance.

Dr. Hector wipes his arm over his forehead, cursing the AC. My fingers come away slick with blood as he straightens up and then makes his way to the window. He opens it, the papers in the folder rustling in the breeze.

I ease back out of instinct when a sensation of dread washes over me. In doing so, I accidentally knock against one of the boxes on the floor, and the sudden sound has Dr. Hector's head shooting up.

He looks over at the cupboard where I'm hiding and slowly closes the folder in his hand as I clamp a hand over my mouth. What if he finds me? What then?

He walks closer.

I struggle to suppress a fearful whimper, convinced I'm about to get discovered. He frowns, reaching out to open the door, when someone enters the room. I sag with relief as he puts the folder on the desk and disappears from view.

That was too close.

They leave the room, and I wait a few moments longer before stepping out of the cupboard and looking around the office.

Once I'm sure the coast is clear, I take the file, then haul ass to the open window. I slide it open and toss out the paperwork before climbing out and jumping to the ground. The grass is overgrown on this side of the property and the rose bushes beneath the window are dead. Pain sears the bare skin on my legs the moment my feet connect with the ground, and I release a string of expletives as I try to wipe the fresh blood from my legs from the shallow cuts caused by the thorny roses and broken, dried stalks. Thankfully, the stitches from the graze have since dissolved, and all that remains is a pink scar. Mom is too up in her own head to notice.

Overhead, the leaves in the trees rustle, and I grow still, barely daring to move and certainly not daring to look behind me. I swear someone or something is watching me.

I pick up the folder and hobble around the side of the house, the pain worsening with every step. Fuck it, at least I have the folder.

Gwen and Lily are waiting in the car. When they spot me, Gwen exits the vehicle and rushes to my side. "What the hell happened? Do you know how fucking worried we were?"

I chuckle, then grimace. "I'm fine."

"Fine? Are you kidding me? Your boyfriend will have both of our heads."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"You keep telling yourself that."

She opens the passenger door and helps me inside. Lily looks pale, her eyes widened with worry. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I landed in dead rose bushes, is all. Those thorns hurt like a motherfucker."

"You're suicidal. That's what you are," Gwen says, climbing in behind the steering wheel and directing the car down the winding road. "What the hell were you thinking back there?"

"I wasn't."

"No shit." She swipes strands of her green hair off her sweaty forehead. "Can you at least tell us about the plan beforehand next time?"

"There was no plan."

Lily snickers, and my lips twitch as I hold up the bloodied paperwork. "But we got the fucking file."

"That's my girl!" Gwen high-fives me, and we squeal with victorious excitement.

Gwen swerves out of the way to avoid another crushed armadillo with its innards splattered on the sunbaked, cracked asphalt.

The sun beats down on the car, and I shake the travel fan in my hand when the batteries run low. "Cheap crap."

Gwen glances at me as I aim it at my sticky face. I tilt my chin, feeling the air move against the hollow of my exposed throat, where my collarbones meet. I swipe a finger through the pool of sweat collected there and aim the fan at my forehead. Nothing works in this heat, but we know better than to open the windows.

"Want to head back to your place?" Gwen asks.

I shake my head. "No, let's not involve the boys yet."

"The longer you leave it, the more worked up he'll get." She smirks, stealing the fan from me.

"Give me that," I pinch it back, chuckling when she smacks my arm.

"I'm starting to think you like winding him up like a toy. The poor guy is head over heels in love with you."

I snort, brushing my damp hair away from my brow. "He's not in love with me."

Lily sticks her head between the seats. "You're either blind or stupid."

"Yes," Gwen says, gesturing at her friend. "Even Lily agrees."

I sigh, even as my stomach flutters, handing Lily the travel fan and looking out the passenger window at the passing scenery. A scarecrow that has seen better days sits in the middle of a large field, its outstretched arms lined with cawing birds.

"You don't seem happy about it?"

I look away, meeting Gwen's concerned gaze.

"Do you like him?" she asks.

"Of course, I like him."

"But?"

The insistent sensation of worms crawling beneath my skin has me reaching for my sleeve. I scratch through the thin fabric, focusing on the throbbing pain. "I'm trying to keep him safe."

Gwen and Lily exchange a look.

"The demon," I explain, "it wants me. It's killing my friends and the people I care about because of me. I almost lost Dominic once…"

"It won't stop…" Lily's voice is barely audible over the engine. "That's what Brittany said."

I open the paper file on my lap to see a grainy, black-and-white photograph of Magdalene Kriger.

Peering through strings of dark, greasy hair, her empty eyes give me chills.

"But what does it want?" I shudder, closing the file. "What will it do when we're all dead?"

Gwen slows as we near Wilfred's farm.

Police cars line the road. Paramedics carry a stretcher out of the house. A white sheet covers the body, and a ghostly pale hand is visible from the road.

"Just keep driving," Lily urges.

"No, wait." I sit up straight when they carry a second stretcher out of the house.

Dread fills my stomach.

"Camryn," Gwen asks in a quivering voice as the car crawls past the parked vehicles with their flashing blue lights still on. "Was there anyone else in the house that day?"

I swallow hard, unable to look away from the long, brown locks tumbling like a waterfall down the side of the stretcher.

Somewhere, from the shadowy depths, a lullaby drifts closer.

An eerie melody.

A woman's haunted voice.

I grow still, my hair floating in the water.

Something is moving closer, barely visible in the pitch black.

A splash of white.

A halo of brown hair that shifts backward with the next momentum.

A pale woman rushes at me through the darkness below.

"Please drive," I whisper, tears blurring my vision.

A sycamore leaf drifts across the windshield. We watch it dance and twirl before another gentle breeze sends it sailing through the air toward Wilfred's farm.

"You don't have to ask me twice," Gwen replies, stepping on the gas.