Page 16 of No Asylum Here

I was very much a “tax the church” kind of person, but in this case, the money would certainly be better spent going into helping people, which is what a church ought to do when given the same tax exemptions as charities. Being locked inside a hospital that didn’t look like something straight out of Silent Hill would certainly help my mental health. I mean, I’d be screaming all night, too, if I had to stare at this hideous mint and puce paint all day.

I bounced on my toes, impatiently waiting for Rook to reach the end of his spiel. “What about level four? You haven’t shown me that yet.”

“The high-security ward? Oh no. You’re much too new to go there yet. You need to complete onboarding first.”

“What do I need to do for that?”

“You need to take Saint Bartholomew’s special medication that we formulate right on the premises in the basement. My own formula.”

“Special medication? What does it do?”

“Think of it as a vaccine of sorts. It will protect you while you’re working here. I require all my senior staff to take it.”

My brows furrowed. Whatever this special formula was, it couldn’t have been FDA-approved. “What’s it called?”

The doctor stepped close to me—too close for my comfort. He dropped his voice low, like he was telling me a dirty little secret. “I call it the Treatment.”

An inexplicable chill washed through me, goosebumps bursting across my flesh. “What’s that?”

Rook’s grin darkened at the inquiry. “My life’s work. Come, I’ll show you.”

The doctor led me down a series of dusty, narrow corridors. We didn’t pass a single soul, though it was almost too dark to see even if we had. Most of the bulbs were burnt out, and the one that hadn’t flickered, creating an ominous halo of light on the floor.

“Here we are.” Rook stopped just past the flickering bulb. His noseless face was terrifying in the lighting. He gestured to a stone staircase leading down into what was clearly the basement. “After you.”

Every muscle in my body seized as I stared down the staircase, that human survival response stopping me from venturing deeper into the creepy basement of a historic mental hospital. My hand smoothed over the wall, sensing the pain the bricks held, the memories of its former prisoners embedded in the worn brick.

I disregarded the foreboding sensation; any woman would be wigged out by the situation. And Rook had already told me about the pharmacy on the basement level. It made sense to bring me here.

Steeling myself, I descended the steps and glanced at Rook to ensure he was following me. When I turned back to the door, I cried out.

There—with her face inches from mine—was Lauren Hawkins.

I would have been better at stifling the jump-scare she gave me if it wasn’t for the fact that I hadn’t seen her for days.

She reached for me and grasped my hands.

I felt her warmth in my fingers.

Like she was really there.

“Don’t…”

The wisp-thin voice that dropped from her pale lips was barely audible.

Logically, I knew what this was. Anxiety was a common side effect of hydrocodone, even if I was taking the proper dosage. Which I wasn’t.

That didn’t seem to matter, though. Something about seeing her again, seemingly with a warning, had my head swirling and my knees buckling.

The floor fell out from under me, and Dr. Rook caught me in his arms. Darkness closed in, and all I could discern was myself being carried down, down, down.

Into the dusty bowels of Saint Bartholomew’s basement.

Chapter Eight

Tuesday

“Does she know yet?” The unfamiliar voice that spoke sounded like he had swollen adenoids, his tone so nasally that it pulled me back into consciousness.