'Come on,’ Shade whispers, sprinting to the door.
He pulls it open easily and I notice a length of duct tape running down the edge of it so that it can’t latch properly.
Blake stays at the door, looking pissed but resigned.
'Fuck. Your shoes,' he mutters, glancing down.
I let out a sound of annoyance. I hadn’t thought of this.We're covered in mud. It’s coming off our shoes in globs. They’ll leave a trail through the whole place.
Swearing, I unlace them quickly and slip them off my feet.
'Come on. It'll be easier to keep quiet in just socks anyway.'
I tiptoe inside and across the kitchen, peering through the small circular window in the door that looks out into the dining area. There's no one in there, and everything is dark.
I open it, feeling Shade just behind me as we make our way silently across the space to the next door.
There's no window in this one, so I crack it slightly and peep out. I nod at Shade when the coast is clear and remember Douglas’s instructions on how to get to Daisy's room.
We go right, tiptoeing quickly to the next corner. Shade and I peer around it.
We go to the next corner.
'Fourth door,' Shade whispers.
I count the doors on the left and get to the fourth one. It's closed.
I wince as I turn the knob and it squeaks. We freeze, listening intently, but no one comes, so I push the door, hoping against hope that I find Daisy sleeping in her bed.
I close it behind us, and Shade flicks on the light, but the room is empty.
'Son of a bitch,' he snarls.
'The cellar,' I say, my stomach sinking like lead.
‘Yeah.’
'Where did he say it was?' I whisper.
Shade thinks for a second. 'He said out of her room, left, and then left again.'
'Let's go.'
He cracks open the door and looks out. He closes it very slowly and quietly, not making a sound, motioning for me to be silent. I hear some shuffling, more than one set of footsteps, and some laughing and loud whispers.
Shade opens the door again, and we both stare out at the corridor, looking at the two guys in white uniforms as they stroll down the hallway on some kind of patrol.
They stop outside another door. This one’s open.
He looks at his friend, grins nastily, and presses a button on a keychain.
There's a squeal from inside the room, and then a whimper. The one who pushed the button laughs quietly, and the other shakes his head.
'That was definitely louder than the last one. Can’t dispute it, mate.'
'Jammy bugger,' the other says, handing him some paper money and looking annoyed.
My blood runs cold. These sons of bitches are hurting the patients, shocking them with the GEDs and betting on them in some twisted game.
