I went to the overlarge refrigerator first, looking for real food. There were steaks, but I didn’t want to take a Renfield’s dinner. I mean, were they dicks to me? Sure, but that didn’t mean it was cool for me to steal their food.
Opening one of the drawers, I found sliced lunch meats. “Did you happen to see where the bread was? I can make a sandwich and take it back with me.”
Clive opened the door to the pantry, looked in, and came back with a loaf of dark brown bread.
“Perfect.” I grabbed condiments, along with a tomato, and got to work. “If you have vampy things to do, go ahead.”
He watched me for a moment more. I’ll go find Sebastian. See if I can find out how deep in this he is, how rotten the Guild has become.
Be careful. Cornered animals lash out.
He gave me a kiss and went in search of answers.
I finished making the sandwich, put things away, and took a large bottle of water and some candy bars from the pantry. As I headed for the door, though, the overhead lights flickered and went out as the ghost of an attendant walked in, his eyes gleaming silver.
Grinning, leering, he sauntered in, forcing me back. He reached out a hand, running a finger down my cheek. It was a whisper against my skin but I felt it, and he knew it. His gaze fired as he tried to force me into the corner.
Hands full, I pushed with my magic. Megy!
He staggered back, bared his teeth, and then dove at me. I was slammed into the cabinet behind me, bouncing my head off the corner of the wooden uppers. I had the presence of mind to at least drop the plated sandwich on the counter as I was sliding to the floor, water bottle and candy bars raining down around me.
I’m walking down a tiled hall. A gas lamp sputters sickly yellow light. Something feels off. Passing by a door, a man’s face suddenly fills the window as he pounds on the wood, shaking the door in its frame.
A large, meaty fist shoots out, hitting the door beneath the window, and the patient falls back. Angry, sneering words in Hungarian issue from my mouth.
No wonder I feel weird. I’m in a bigger, taller body. I don’t want to be in this guy’s head. I recognized him in the kitchen. He’s one of the men who attacked Léna on her first night.
He stops at the next door, uses his key to let himself in. A sweaty old man with an uneven beard is lying in his bed. The smell is overwhelming. The man has soiled himself. He raises a frail arm, barely lifting it off the mattress. His voice is weak, but he seems to be asking for help.
The attendant lifts the thin blanket, sees the mess, and curses at the old man, shaking his head and walking out. In the hall, he locks the door again. Another attendant comes around the corner, and they talk. The asshole forcing me on this ride-along points back at the door we just exited.
The other attendant shakes his head and begins to move on, but Asshole grabs the other guy’s arm and yanks him back, sending him into the wall. Voice deep, he seems to threaten the other one and then walks on.
A door opens to the left and a slight man with dark, thinning hair and a mustache, wearing a white coat, waves in the asshole. A dirty, sweaty man in his forties is strapped to the bed, but one of the straps—on his right wrist—was ripped, or perhaps bitten through.
The patient is waving the freed fist, trying to hit the White Coat. The White Coat moves his little table on wheels away from the bed and says something to the attendant, who pulls a new strap from his pocket.
The angry man’s focus changes from White Coat to Asshole, screaming at him instead. His flailing fist catches Asshole on the cheek before Asshole wrestles the patient’s arm to the bed frame. Asshole throws his weight on the man as he straps him down again.
With the man unable to move, White Coat takes a large glass and metal syringe from the bowl on his rolling table, moves back to the side of the man’s bed, and gives him a shot. The man continues to rail for a minute and then loses steam, his head dropping back, his eyes becoming vacant.
The White Coat is already leaving as the man’s mouth hangs open. Asshole circles the bed. He looks out the door, sees White Coat entering the next room, and goes back to the now sedated man. Asshole says something low and guttural before his fist shoots out, punching the man in the jaw. A whimper comes from the patient. Asshole chuckles on his way out.
Around the corner, another White Coat appears. This is the man from the bleeding photo. Even in living color, his skin is pasty and his eyes almost black. He says something to Asshole before moving into one of the patients’ rooms.
Asshole grumbles under his breath but continues down the hall, opens a door, and heads into the basement. Muffled shouts erupt as the door closes.
Twenty-Two
He Had It Comin’
Asshole descends the stairs and turns down a narrow corridor, walking through a section of the basement I haven’t seen. There are no rooms off the corridor, just a weak lantern lighting the way.
When he finally turns a corner and emerges, I see the back of the Gray Dress sitting at the table near the tub room. He’s crossed the entire basement and is on the women’s side of the asylum now.
No, no, no. I don’t want to be in his head, seeing through his eyes. I know what he does to women. My stomach twists. Please. I can’t.
He stops at Aliz’s door and knocks three times. An attendant opens the door a few inches, one eye looking out. They speak and then the attendant inside opens the door, allowing Asshole to enter. The attendant walks him to the small observation table. He goes through the papers and Asshole nods, waving the other away. He’s got it.
