I fold the worn material carefully, collapsing the hat into a shape that won’t destroy its original figure.
“When you have nothing, you tend to appreciate everything a little bit more.” My lips pinch into a rueful grin, “Even garbage.”
We leave the room with Maddox Shoreshire and his top hat in tow. Wincing at the alarms blaring through the building, I have to fight to keep my hands from covering my ears.
Code red. I repeat, code red.
Boots echo through the halls, the asylum’s security detail making their way through the chambers one-by-one. Marlin shifts the stolen patient higher on his shoulder, his stride lengthening as the guards draw near.
I race ahead, running down the hall and shoving the key into the slot. A quick turn has the door creaking open, a gloomy set of stairs leading into the basement of Hollow House.
“Lock the door.”
Easier said than done when the lock is on theoutside.
By the time I find something to barricade the door with, Marlin is already halfway down the stairs, ducking his head beneath the low slant of the ceiling.
Welcome to the Andreas Morgue. The Gateway to the Other Side.
Blue flames envelope the words, a mural and an entrance tied into a single engraving. The stairs bottom out into a hospital-like setting, gurneys and embalming instruments lying silently against sterile sheets and disposable bins.
“What is this place?”
“A passage to the Underworld. Or so the Andreas family believes it to be.”
Marlin drops Maddox Shoreshire onto the closest gurney. The old man sprawls out along it, his ashen skin and slackexpression making him look a little too comfortable in a place of death.
“Patients have a tendency to die at Hollow House. An inconvenience no one wishes to share with the public, so they built the town’s only morgue in the basement for easy access.”
“That’s... efficient.”
For a lack of a better word, I bite off the rest of the sentence and take another look around.
Sculptures of mythological creatures peer out from the shadows, their frozen expressions twisted with pain and panic as unimaginable deaths befall them. Latin script weaves its way between each statue, a strange yet familiar homage that echoes throughout the empty morgue.
The sound of a filing cabinet pulls my attention back to Marlin. Riffling through the drawers, his staggering height seems to dwarf the checkered desk beside him.
Patient files tucked in stained yellow folders peek out between each section, different names and numbers attached to each one. I watch him pull out the thickest folder, the one that’s bursting at the seams with papers and subscriptions.
J. Hook
“Dead or alive, each patient that gets released from the asylum is allocated a folder that outlines the fine details of their stay here.”
His lips curve slightly as he flips through the papers and pulls a plastic baggie free.
“There is something to be said for an insurance policy, don’t you think?”
Small, white capsules click together as he pours them into a pill bottle. Blood stains the tip of each one, forgotten roots that look disturbingly similar to the molars in my mouth.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to look away.
“I would imagine it’s a tough family business to get into.”
“And a difficult one to pass along. The eldest son has already proved himself a disappointment by running off to Hollywood and becoming a talk show host.”
The glint of a scalpel catches my eye and I shudder.
“Would be livelier than this place.”
