Sanctum (2 page)

Dan drew in a deep breath and double-checked to make sure he was alone. Through the half-open window he could hear Sandy washing the dishes in the kitchen.

Dear Daniel,

You’re probably surprised to hear from me, and I’d hoped to avoid sending this letter, but it’s become clear that this is the only option.

I really have no right to ask this of you, but please give me a call as soon as you receive this letter. If you don’t get in touch . . . Well, I can’t say I would blame you.

603-555-2212

Please call.

Regards,

Lydia Sheridan

Chapter 2

D
an couldn’t decide whether to chuck the letter in the garbage or dial the number right away. Inside, he could still hear the quiet clinking of his mother washing and drying the dishes. He read the letter over again, tapping the paper against his knuckles as he weighed his options.

On the one hand, he would be perfectly happy to forget Felix altogether. On the other . . .

On the other hand, it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t curious about his old roomie’s condition. They had left everything so unresolved. The cold sensation in his stomach refused to go away.

Felix probably needs your help. You needed help, too. Is it really fair to say that anyone is a lost cause?

He looked to the window on his right. His mother was humming now, and the music of it drifted softly out to where he was sitting. A few leaves floated down from the maple tree that lorded over the porch. No matter how many times Paul cut back the branches on it, it kept reaching for the house. But that didn’t stop his dad from trying.

Dan picked up his mobile and dialed Lydia Sheridan’s number before he could think of an excuse not to.

It rang and rang, and for a moment he was certain she wouldn’t pick up. He almost hoped she wouldn’t.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lydia? I mean, Mrs. Sheridan?” His own voice sounded high and strange to his ears.

“That’s me. . . . Who is this? I don’t recognize the number.”

She had Felix’s same soft-spoken manner, but hers was a more relaxed and more feminine version of the voice he could still recall.

“This is Dan Crawford. You sent me a letter asking to get in touch. So . . . Well, I’m getting in touch.”

The line went quiet for what felt like a lifetime. Finally, he could hear Felix’s mother drawing in ragged breaths on the other end.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding like she was on the edge of tears. “We’re just . . . We don’t know what to do anymore. It seemed like he was getting better. The doctors treating him really thought he was improving. But now it’s like he’s hit a wall. All he does is ask for you, day in and day out—Daniel Crawford, Daniel Crawford.”

This news was more than a little unnerving.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not sure what you want me to do about it,” Dan said. Maybe that was cold, but what was he supposed to do? He wasn’t a doctor. “It’ll probably pass. I bet it will just take time.”

“What about for you?” Lydia demanded.

Dan jerked his head back, startled by the sudden chill in her voice.

“Has it passed?” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . I’m not sleeping. I’m just so worried about him. I really hate asking this of you . . .”

“But?” Dan prompted. He didn’t need to. He saw the question coming from a mile away.

“If you could just go to Morthwaite. See him. See . . . I don’t know. I’m begging at this point, do you understand? Begging. I just want him to get better. I just want this to be over.” Dan could hear the tears cracking through in her voice again. “It’s not over for him, Dan. Is it over for you?”

He had to laugh. Did it feel over? No, not by a long shot. The dreams persisted, as terrifying as ever, often featuring the warden himself. It
wasn’t
over, and as twisted as he knew it was, Dan felt a little relieved to hear that he wasn’t the only one for whom that was true.

“This might not work,” Dan said slowly. “It could make him worse. You realize that, right?”
I don’t want that on my head. I can’t have that on my head.

He felt guilty enough for having dragged Abby and Jordan into the mess at Brookline. At least with Felix, he’d been able to tell himself that he was blameless—that that two-faced Professor Reyes had all but admitted to luring Felix down to the basement, where his mind—well, where his mind had
stayed
, is what it sounded like.

“But you’ll go?” Mrs. Sheridan sounded so happy. So hopeful. “Oh, thank you, please, I just . . . Thank you.”

“So where exactly am I going?” Dan asked, his stomach still one giant knot of dull fear. “And how am I getting there?”

Chapter 3

T
he following Saturday, Dan found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Lydia Sheridan’s charcoal Prius. Tall and willowy, she hunched over the steering wheel as she clung to it. Tight brown ringlets kept escaping from a tortoiseshell butterfly clip that struggled to keep a grip on her hair. Thin-rimmed spectacles crept down the steep slope of her nose.

“Are you sure your parents are all right with this?” Mrs. Sheridan had asked when Dan walked up to her car that afternoon.

“Yeah, of course,” he’d replied, waiting for her to unlock the passenger side door. “It’s just, they’re remodeling the house. Trucks everywhere. We can’t even park in the driveway right now. But they were happy to hear I was headed to see Felix.”

After these awkward pleasantries—exchanged in a McDonald’s parking lot—Dan had gotten in the car, and the ride had been silent ever since.

Not that he wasn’t dying to know more about what he was in for, exactly. He just couldn’t muster up the nerve to ask.

Instead he stared at his phone, reading responses from Abby and Jordan to a message he’d sent that morning, informing them both that he was going to visit Felix. This proved they were still reading his messages, at least. But right now, Dan was wishing he had gotten their responses sooner,
before
he was trapped in someone else’s car.

Lipcott, Jordan

to me, avaldez

So I read your message and thought, “Are you sure about this?” And that was before my mom brought in the mail. Somebody mailed me a photo, Dan. Abby got one, too. It feels like some kind of sick joke. Circuses and sideshows and crap. I’ll attach the picture for you, but there was no return address. What the hell is going on?

—J

PS Wait until you see the back, blegh.

[Download Attachment 2/2]

And Abby’s response proved even more surprising. . . .

Valdez, Abby

to me, jlipcott

I’ve been trying to move on, Dan, but I got a picture in the mail, too. I really, really don’t want to rehash the past, but . . . I don’t know. Did you get a photo? It seems weird that only Jordan and I did. This is freaking me out, Dan. It feels like someone is targeting us. Be careful, okay? Let us know how it goes with Felix so I don’t worry so much.

Why can’t we just be allowed to move on?

Abby

[Download Attachment 2/2]

It was all well and good to want to
move on
, but that was such an abstract, nothing phrase in his head. How was he supposed to forget that he had been strapped down to a gurney and almost killed? Forget that after he broke free,
he
was almost the one doing the killing? How did a person move on from something like that? Abby’s use of the word
just
was especially cruel.
Just
decide to move on.
Just
decide to forget.
Just
stop having nightmares. As if it were as simple as unpacking a bag of groceries and putting the milk and juice away in the fridge.

Dan tapped on the two attachment links and waited for the network to kick in and download the images. His foot shook anxiously as he watched the black-and-white pictures fill his screen—first Jordan’s, then Abby’s.

He squinted, turning them this way and that. They looked like they could have been taken on the same day at the same place—they were even torn as if maybe they had been ripped from the same photo. When he examined the backs of the photos more closely, he understood why Jordan was so creeped out.

A single word in black ink was scrawled on the back of each picture. Jordan’s read, “You’re,” and Abby’s read, “finished.”

You’re finished.

Dan glanced up and away, then focused on Felix’s mother. She didn’t notice his darting eyes.
Why did they get photos and not me? If it’s some kind of warning, why would I be left out?

That’s a good thing, Dan
, he reminded himself wryly.
Nobody should want to get a note saying “You’re finished.”

Though it was orange and red now instead of green, the densely wooded terrain outside the car triggered a memory. He could practically smell the cheap air freshener from the cab that had first brought him to New Hampshire College.

“How much farther?” Dan asked, glancing up from his phone.

“Half an hour,” Mrs. Sheridan said. “Maybe forty minutes.”

Dan’s knee bounced; they had been driving for an hour already. The only way to Morthwaite Clinic, apparently, was through miles and miles of forest far from any main traffic arteries.

A text message arrived from his mother.

Hope you are having fun with Missy and Tariq. Please be responsible but call if you need a ride after the party tonight! Love you.

At last there came a break in the trees and Dan pressed himself closer to the window, watching as they drove up a steep climb that brought them to a wide-open field, fenced and gated. Dan had hoped to find a cheerful, modern clinic, but Morthwaite looked like it could be Brookline’s twin. It was cleaner, at least, although nobody had bothered to clear the vines overtaking the stone facade. Gray and tall, the building perched like a weary sentinel on the hill, and even at this distance Dan could make out grates protecting the windows.

Mrs. Sheridan stopped the Prius at the gate and a security guard asked to see both of their IDs. The pimply, heavyset guard scrutinized Dan’s license with hooded eyes, looking skeptically from the card to Dan’s face before finally calling up to the main building to confirm their appointment.

“Looks like you check out. Here’s your guest badge,” the guard said, practically tossing Dan’s ID and a plastic name card back through the window. “Have a nice day.”

Dan tucked his license away and clipped the visitor badge to his coat. The car slowly navigated the gravel driveway, then idled under the stone overhang that enclosed the entrance to the clinic. Dan wiped his slick palms on his jeans and looked across the center console to Mrs. Sheridan.

“So this is it,” Dan murmured.

“If you need a minute . . .”

“No,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Gravel crunched under Dan’s shoes as he got out and stared ahead into the clinic. He shuddered, struck by the same sense of foreboding he’d felt when he first set foot in Brookline. He couldn’t believe this was an actual, functioning mental hospital, where people still went for treatment and even, in some cases, long-term stays. Maybe this summer he had been one more fainting spell away from just such a fate. He put his hand in his jeans pocket and closed it around the familiar shape of his pill bottle. It felt like an anchor, like a ward. He was seeing a counselor and keeping up with his meds; there was no reason he couldn’t live a normal life.

Why couldn’t Felix do the same?

Right. Normal. Because having nightmares every night and obsessing over your dead great-uncle is completely normal. And bonus! Your best friends are receiving threatening messages.

As he walked up the driveway to the front entrance, Dan glanced at the windows on the first floor. A face peered out at him, stark and white, and for a second he could swear it was Warden Crawford’s, smug smile and all. But another step closer, Dan realized it was only a docile old man.

A nurse in tidy blue scrub pants and a chunky-knit sweater greeted them just inside the door. There was another series of gates here, though smaller, and the nurse asked Dan to empty his pockets and step through a metal detector. He handed over his wallet, his keys, and his water bottle, then gave her his medicine quickly, hoping she wouldn’t ask him about it. The nurse just took his things and put them in a plastic bag, then labeled it.

“You can have these back when you’re all done,” she said.

Another wave of dread overcame him, this one harsher than the last. Without his things, Dan felt that much closer to being a patient instead of a visitor. But the nurse smiled and directed him through the security gate, chatting amiably as she led him down the brightly lit halls.

“I’ll wait here in the lobby,” Mrs. Sheridan told him. “You go on ahead.”

Dan paused. “Are you sure? He probably wants to see you.”

She shrugged her tiny shoulders and looked anywhere but at him. “No. He’s seen enough of me. He only wants to see you, I think.”