Asylum (26 page)

            “They’re
not leaving,” Sam whispered.  Chloe nodded.

            “And
I take it you’ve read the uhhh… ‘writing-on-the-wall’?” Sam asked, smiling
tightly.  Chloe nodded again, staring determinedly at the floor.

            “Mel!”
Sam urged, gently shaking Melanie.  The girl’s eyelids fluttered and dropped.
“Mel!” she insisted.  This time she got no response.  Chloe got down and slid
an arm under Mel’s back.

            “Just
give me a hand getting her in the room, I might have an idea about how to get
rid of everyone,”

            Sam
and Chloe each took an arm, hauling Melanie upright and suspended her between
the two of them by draping her arms around their shoulders.  They half-carried,
half-dragged her back to their room.

            “Hey! 
Hey!” a girl’s voice called out, “you shouldn’t be moving her! Hey!”

            Chloe
and Sam walked faster.

            “She
needs a doctor, someone should call a doctor or the police or something. 
Freshman die of alcohol poisoning all the time because their friends don’t do
anything!  We need to call a-”

            Sam
slammed the door shut, effectively stemming the protest.

            “Alright,”
Sam said, dropping her half of Melanie on Chloe’s bed, “What now?  I’m willing
to bet that somebody’s going to be up here banging on our door in like, five
minutes.”

            “Yeah,”
Chloe agreed, passing through Jen’s wide-eyed, thousand-mile stare and going to
the window.  The snow had begun to fall lightly again.  Below them, the dark
sedan was still parked in front of the building, engine running.  “I thought
so,” Chloe whispered to herself, and then louder so that Sam could hear, “Okay,
go out to the hallway and see if you can get that crap off the walls.  Take a
picture with your camera phone and then see if it’ll scrub off, because so far,
the only thing I think we can get in any trouble for is that.  They’ll call it
vandalism or something.”

            “What
are you going to do?” Sam asked suspiciously.

            “Damage
control,” Chloe called over her shoulder.

            Outside,
the temperature seemed to have dropped substantially.  Chloe ran towards the
idling car and pounded on the passenger side window.  It buzzed down.

            “I
need your help with something,” Chloe said, “Can you come in for a minute?”

            The
headlights snapped off as Dr. Willard got out.  He didn’t bother putting money
in the meter, Chloe didn’t give him time.

            “What’s
going on?” Dr. Willard asked catching up.     

            “Why
are you still here?” Chloe asked.

            “I
was concerned.  That girl seemed so distraught.  I thought I’d wait a few
minutes to see if you or Miss. Klingeman would come back.  I thought at the
very least I could still offer you a ride to the game,” he explained.

            “We
do have a problem.  There’s a girl on our floor…she’s had some kind of an
episode.  Like a mental breakdown or something and a lot of people saw it.  Our
R.A. is at the game and everyone’s kind of wandering around up there trying to
figure out what to do.  The thing is that this girl has some…problems, and her
parents don’t want a big deal made out of it.  They’re coming to get her, but
in the meantime, I need someone to tell them that it’s under control and for
everyone to go back to their rooms.  I need someone who looks like they have
some authority and you’re a professor…” Chloe trailed off.

            “Oh…very
well.  Certainly,” he agreed.  “If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly do
you mean by a mental breakdown?”

            Chloe
hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  She didn’t check to see if
Dr. Willard was keeping up.
  You’ll see
, she thought.

            At
the top of the first flight she paused and waited a minute for him to fall into
step next to her.

            “Right
here,” she said. Though she needn’t have pointed it out.  It was the only
hallway, probably in the whole dormitory, that showed any trace of life that
night.  People were still milling around, talking it over.  A group had formed
noticeably around her and Sam’s door, someone was already on a cell phone.

            Dr.
Willard stood conspicuously in the center of the hall and clapped his hands for
attention.

            “Everyone!”
he called, “Please listen!  I’m Dr. Willard, the dean of the college of life
sciences.  I need everyone to vacate this hallway immediately.  Everything is
under control, so go back to your rooms…now.”

            Slowly,
and with a few appraising glances and a few whispered mustache jokes, the
students began to dissipate.  Chloe gave Dr. Willard a discreet thumbs-up, but
he didn’t notice.  His attention had become absorbed by the hastily scrawled
list on the wall.  He strolled towards it casually, as though he wasn’t really
that interested in it, like it was just something to look at while he waited
for the hallway to clear.

            Chloe
briefly wished she had waited long enough to give Sam time to clean the wall
off.  Dr. Willard would recognize a lot of those names, and he would definitely
want an explanation, one she wasn’t ready to give, especially not to a
psychologist.

            She
went and stood behind him as he read the wall.  She didn’t have to read it
again.  She could close her eyes and see it, and probably would for a long
while.  It was another list of names, at the top of which was a five-pointed
star made of five lines, three of which were darkened so that the letter ‘A’
was clearly visible in it.  Underneath the symbol the names began.  Thomas
Heenan, Benjamin Soule, Wiley Williams, Charles Avery… she didn’t recognize the
names until almost the middle of the list.  There she read Elizabeth Mathers
and a few under that, was the now familiar name of George Townsend.  But worst
of all, and seeming to Chloe to stand out more than all the others, at the very
bottom, her own name, Chloe Adams.

            Dr.
Willard rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  He glanced at Chloe with a confused
expression and then back to the wall to study the names again.

            “I
don’t understand,” he said slowly, “I…what is this?  These are all…all…what
have you done?”

            “Nothing!”
Chloe said reproachfully. “I had nothing to do with this.  It was the girl I
was telling you about.  She flipped out, came out here and started writing
names on the wall, she was already done by the time we got here.  I have no
idea what this is supposed to be!”

            “These
names,” Dr. Willard began, “I recognize most of them.  This here-” He stabbed
the name George Townsend with one finger.  “He was on the list I just gave you,
a ledger from Traverse City mentioned him as a former patient at several state
asylums, and this one-” He pointed at another name. “I have pages and pages of
research on.  He escaped from Ionia Asylum twice and was admitted a total of
five times.  And this one…”  He laid a finger thoughtfully under the name of
Wiley Williams at the top of the list.  “Well, it’s the name of the man who shot
Thomas Kirkbride, another escaped patient from Philadelphia.  I don’t know that
it’s that uncommon of a name for the time but…”  Dr. Willard trailed off, and
then started again.  “You know, the interesting thing is, you would think that
this is supposed to be a group, but if these people are some of the patients I
think they are, they’re spread out for more than hundred years, and then…Chloe
Adams…that’s supposed to be you?”

            “I
don’t know,” Chloe lied.

            “Right
here-” Dr. Willard trailed his finger down the wall, coming to a stop on the
name directly above Chloe’s.  “Will Gannon…I know that sounds familiar.  It
sounds familiar and…recent.  Where do I know that name from?”

            Down
the hallway, Sam appeared, carrying a bucket.  She stopped short when she noticed
Dr. Willard, almost like she was going to turn around, but then, made eye
contact with Chloe and continued walking.

            “Hey
there, Dr. Willard,” Sam called, “You’re missing the game, you know.”  She shot
him her most innocent and friendly smile.  Dr. Willard nodded at her but didn’t
answer.  He had resumed rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

            “And
this…” He said, pointing at the star symbol.  “What do you suppose…?  Where is
the girl that did this, did you say?”

            “She’s-”
Chloe began.

            “She’s
sleeping it off in our room,” Sam cut in.  “Yeah, her and Jen got smashed. 
Well look at this crazy shit, of course she was!”

            “I’d
like to speak with her,” Dr. Willard decided.

            “Ummm…sure. 
I just don’t think right now is the uhhh…best time,” Sam dropped her bucket of
soapy water and fished a sponge out of it.

            “Wait! 
Hold on just a minute, you’re washing this off?” Dr. Willard jumped between Sam
and the wall.

            “I
was going to,” Sam agreed patiently.

            “Hold
on!  Hold on just a minute here.  Let me at least…let me-” Dr. Willard fumbled
wildly for something in his pocket.  He slapped at it and then across his
chest.  “Can I borrow a pen, and uhh…a piece of paper?” he asked.

            Chloe
wished she could think of a reason to say no, but there was none.  She gave a
resigned sigh and motioned for Dr. Willard to follow.

            Jen
was sitting at the desk with her arms around herself.  Her still enormous eyes
followed the rise and fall of Mel’s body as she slept curled in the fetal
position on Chloe’s bed.

            “It
was so sudden,” Jen whispered, “It was just, like…one minute we were laughing,
doing shots, and then bam, she falls over.  I thought she passed out.  I didn’t
even get the chance to check.  She jumps up, and starts pacing…staggering
though…and she wouldn’t answer me, she wouldn’t say nothing.  I thought…I
thought…” Jen crammed her knuckles into her mouth again.

            Chloe
nodded sympathetically and snatched a pen off the desk.  She had let the door
fall against the latch instead of closing it, and she could sense Dr. Willard
standing on the other side, waiting.  Probably listening.

            “I
was scared,” Jen admitted, pulling her hands away from her face.  “I wasn’t
running to find help.  At least, not at first.  I was running because I was
scared.”

            “Okay,
Jen.  Don’t worry about it,” Chloe soothed in a low voice, “we’ll talk all
about it.  Me and you and Sam, and Mel’s going to be fine too.  We’ll figure
this all out in a little bit.  Just give me a second, okay?  I’ll be right
back.”

            Chloe
snatched a handful of paper off her desk, swung the door open and shoved it at
Dr. Willard.  He glanced over her shoulder at Jen curiously.

            “Is
that-” he began.

            “No,
that’s not the girl that did it.” Chloe said. She took a step into the hallway
and pulled the door closed behind her, shielding Jen.  “Her name’s Mel.  It
sounds like she was really drunk and I don’t know how she came up with all
those names.  If you want…I can tell her you want to talk to her about it when
she wakes up tomorrow.  From the sounds of it though, she’s going to be pretty
hung-over.”  Chloe shrugged, it almost turned into a shiver. 

            She
was very close.  Too close.  If only she could keep everything in its place…Mel
and Jen safely in their room, Dr. Willard in the basement of the library, with
his files and his stupid book, and the whole horrible awful experience behind
the locked door in her head.  Maybe when she was alone, or lying in bed across
the room from Sam, she would take it out and look at it.  Think about it. 
Maybe she would figure it out.  Until then, she had to keep the walls from
collapsing on her.  She needed to get Dr. Willard out of Kirkbride Hall.

            He
was already down the hallway standing by Sam, scribbling as fast as he could,
while she held the sponge pressed against the wall, waiting for the all clear.

            Chloe
took a breath.  She rubbed her hands together nervously and struggled at
forming an escape plan.  With her back to the main stairs, she couldn’t see
that someone was approaching.  She didn’t hear the footsteps.  It was just a
feeling.  Apprehension, a tightening of the gut, that awful precursor that
usually meant-

            “Chloe?”

            Chloe
whirled around and cringed.  It was fear, horrible incapaciting anxiety-driven
fear that showed on her face and she knew it. 
Guilty!
She thought
, I
look guilty and she’ll know. She always knows, she watches for it.

            Her
mother seemed confused.  She looked from Chloe to Sam and Dr. Willard by the
wall to Chloe again.  Comprehension dawned across her face.  The confusion
melted and spread into an aggressive smugness.

            “I
see,” she said in a voice that was horribly sympathetic.