Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

AMETHYST

Xero reaches the exit before me and sticks his head through its metal surface. I flinch backward, my stomach tightening at the peculiar sight.

Seeming to sense my distress, he turns back to me with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“You just…” I point at his head, then drop my hand, realizing that hallucinations can do whatever they want. “Never mind.”

I reach the door, a solid metal barrier with no handles. Finding a tiny gap where it meets its frame, I wedge my fingers into the slit and try to pull. My nails are too thick, since they’re encased in the straitjacket’s sleeves.

“What are you going to do?” Xero asks, his gaze trailing down my form. “Take it off?”

Shaking my head, I pull my arms out of the sleeves, leaving them trailing down my side, and fumble with the fastening around my crotch. Now that it’s no longer so restrictive, I twist the entire garment, so I’m wearing it almost back to front.

Finally, I slip a hand through the jacket’s opening at the back and reach for the gap in the door. This time, my nails slip into the tiny slit, and I pry it open with a gentle creak.

I peek out into the hallway, finding it empty. On the far right, the heavy door leading to the filming room swings shut. I probably have less than thirty seconds before Grunt alerts someone of my supposed reaction to the oatmeal.

That doesn’t give me much of a head start.

“There’s no time to think about risks,” Xero growls.

Sucking in a deep breath, I dart into the hallway and run in the opposite direction. Ignoring the bite of fallen plaster beneath my bare feet, I head to the fire exit straight ahead.

Sunlight filters through windows blackened by years of grime, casting an eerie glow on the neglected hallway. The air is thick with dust and the smell of stale water.

Xero jogs at my side, his steps matching the slap of my sleeves against my bandaged legs. “Keep going. You’re doing so well.”

I reach the fire exit and yank open its heavy door, fully expecting to trigger a fire alarm. When nothing happens, I slip into a darkened stairwell that descends into shadows.

“Keep going,” he growls as I charge down the steps, clutching the handrail. “There’ll be a door at the bottom of the stairs. Wedge it open.”

Sure enough, when I reach the ground floor, sunlight streams in through gaps in a heavy metal fire exit at the base of the stairwell. Triumph surges through my veins. I press my shoulder against it, straining to compensate for its rusted hinges.

“That’s right. Throw your weight against it.”

“I am,” I say through clenched teeth.

With a screech, the door grates open, letting in a gust of meadow-scented air. I’m about to step out onto a walkway overrun with ivy and weeds, when Xero places a hand on my shoulder.

“Good work, but we’re going in the opposite direction.”

“What?”

Footsteps thunder overhead, making me stiffen. Panic seizes my chest in a grip so punishing that I wince.

“There’s an autopsy room through that door.” Xero flicks his head to the side. “That’s where you’ll find sharp objects.”

We should be going out toward the exit, not venturing deeper into this derelict nightmare. Before I can even protest, Xero grabs my arm and drags me down the corridor, away from my last chance of freedom.

I would scream, but that would only alert the people upstairs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.

“You’re half-naked, barefoot, and unarmed. If you go out there, it’s only a matter of minutes before you get caught. A weapon will increase your chances of survival.”

“How do you know we’re even going in the right direction?” I whisper.

“What do you think?”

I can consider the implications of his knowledge of the hospital’s layout another time. At the end of the hallway, we reach another heavy door. I push it open, emerging into another vacant corridor that runs the entire length of the building.

It’s darker here, the natural light too feeble to penetrate the thicker layers of grime on these lower-level windows. The air is chillier, carrying with it a dampness that seeps through the straitjacket and into my bones.

Shivers seize my skeleton. I want to duck back into the safety of the stairwell, but footsteps echo from beyond the doors. Either it’s another hallucination or they’ve already found out I’ve escaped.

Up ahead and to my left stands another set of double doors leading into a room with tiled floors. How do I know that? Every instinct screams at me not to enter. That’s where people go in and never return.

“Move.” Xero jogs straight ahead and disappears into the room.

Terror claws at my chest, rooting me to the spot. I follow him, terrified of the rumbling noises and the prospect of being left alone.

Swallowing a lump of dread, I step into a room with red-tiled floors and steel furniture. The once-white walls, now green with water damage and moss, resemble one of the upstairs sets.

Xero stands at a set of drawers, his features held in a hard mask. “This is where they keep the instruments. See if you can find a scalpel.”

I walk toward him on trembling legs, my gaze darting toward an autopsy table covered in watermarks and rust. Flashbacks slam through my consciousness all at once—a body sprawled on the table, a man in a white coat and mask, that red-haired doctor telling me this is what happens to girls who don’t behave.

Then there’s the blood.

“Amethyst, look at me,” Xero barks.

His voice snaps me back to the present. Blinking away the images, I rush across the tiled floor toward him, ignoring the way my heart wants to crawl out of my throat.

“Find a scalpel. Now,” he commands.

I grab the nearest drawer, which opens with a rusty creak. In one are strange-looking saws arranged like kitchen utensils. Another contains hammers, chisels, and something that resembles a pick.

My insides roil, and what’s left of the oatmeal in my stomach turns to stone. When I finally find the drawer containing knives and scalpels, I grab a handful.

“What now?” I ask.

“We take another exit,” Xero says, “But first, we hide.”

I whirl around, finding him jogging toward another doorway. Not wanting to be left behind, I sprint after him, clutching the scalpels.

The next room is even wider than the first, lined with stainless steel compartments resembling supermarket freezers. In its center stands a tilted table with two sets of overhead surgical lights descending from the ceiling. Beneath the table, the floor is marred by dried blood.

This is insane. This is gruesome. This is a hospital of horrors. My mind conjures memories of bodies dissected and discarded. Shaking off those visions, I follow Xero into a long corridor lined with gurneys.

“This way,” he says.

My throat dries, and I try not to consider how I know each of these metal contraptions used to contain corpses. Instead, I focus on the exit up ahead, where they used to transport the bodies outside for burial.

Xero takes a right turn through a door left ajar. Inside, it’s completely dark. I don’t ask myself how I can see him when there’s no light, but I take his hand and let him position me behind the door.

“Is this where we’re hiding?” I whisper.

“Yes. But don’t speak out loud. I can read your thoughts,” he replies.

I nod, certain I hid here before when I was a resident. Xero must be able to access my memories, but I still don’t understand why I only get tiny snippets.

“You can’t handle it right now,” he says.

I want to ask him if it could really be that bad, but then I remember all those polaroids on his crime board. Does Xero know how I ended up in this institution?

“That part is foggy,” he replies, “But I think it happened after the accident.”

My throat tightens. It’s no wonder memories of my childhood are so inaccessible. I can’t imagine losing my father to a car crash and then getting thrown into an asylum to suffer abuse.

Xero wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into a hug. We both lean against the wall, listening out for footsteps.

By now, the help Grunt called for would have noticed I’ve gone and tried to follow my trail. They probably expected me to take the fire exit, because hiding in a creepy abandoned asylum is counter-intuitive.

He nods behind me, his grip around my waist tightening. “They’ll waste time checking the grounds, expecting you to run toward the gate.”

I smile. With any luck, they’ll make Dolly take my place.

“At least we’ve bought ourselves some breathing space. While we’re waiting for the right time to exit, you should turn those sleeves into a pair of socks.”

“What for?”

He chuckles, the sound harsh and low. “You’re going to need something comfortable on your feet to hunt these bastards.”