Page 14 of No Asylum Here

The wink he gave me had an uncomfortable pang pulling under my gut. “I’ve assigned you your first patient. Don’t worry, he’s one of our more gentle residents.”

He turned, opened the cabinet, and for some reason, my heart fell when he passed me a manila folder.

“Which patient is in the black folder?”

Why did those words come out of my mouth? It was none of my business.

Rook’s gaze hardened, clearly not pleased at all that I was calling attention to the file he’d swiftly stuffed away with my entrance. Like it was something to hide. Which only sharpened my curiosity.

“Our most dangerous inmate.”

“What did he do? Is there a ward specifically for high-risk patients? What about the lower profile inmates? And where is the pharmacy?”

“You are full of questions.”

“If I got more answers, I’d be asking less of them, Doctor.”

“Touche. Our pharmacy is located on the basement level. The violent inmates are in our high-security ward on level four. The patients that we’ve deemed safe enough to mill around and socialize during supervised hours in our common area are in Wards One and Two.”

Rook paused, as if debating answering my first question. “And as for the patient in the black file, he's a thirty-year-old male schizophrenic who murdered his own father. He also has a taste for human flesh. He’s taken many a bite out of our staff.”

A murderer and cannibal in the building? This was a hospital for the criminally insane, so I’d been prepared for the former. But a cannibal? This new information had me more intrigued than ever.

“Is that how your…” I trailed off. Asking about the ragged hole in his face seemed invasive, but curiosity overpowered manners.

“What happened to my nose? Yes. Patient Seventeen has been here for years and was formerly a resident of our lower security ward. Once, I got too close, and he took my nose for it. So, he’s been moved to the high security isolation ward.”

“Wait. Did you just say Patient Seventeen?” There was no way I’d heard that right.

“I did.”

Silence hung between us as a maelstrom of emotions whirled inside me.

How...?

When the mad man in the straitjacket had told me in a dream that a killer like me would be right at home at Saint Bart’s, only to receive a call from Saint Bartholomew’s the next day, it struck me as a coincidence. Maybe a hint from the universe, though I preferred a more scientific explanation.

There wasn’t one.

A coincidence? That or my prescription was scrambling my head. Poor memory, fatigue and disturbed sleep were all possible side effects of prolonged hydrocodone use. I had to stop taking it.

But they were finally working to keep Lauren’s ghost away. That and… What if my dreams of Patient Seventeen stopped? The pills were probably the only reason why I was dreaming of him.

I should have wanted to put an end to it.

Yet, I didn’t.

The scene of the man in the mask and being forced together in the same straitjacket had the moisture in my mouth sinking to the ache between my thighs. I snapped out of it, foisting my focus on Dr. Rook.

I knew logically, the patient in the black file wasn’t anything like the man in my head. But I still wanted to put my mind at ease.

“Let me see him.”

Chapter Seven

Tuesday

Rook’s brows popped in surprise, and a beat later, he burst into laughter. “You can’t be serious.”