Page 31

Uncle Bowie sighed and glared at Ridge, who sniffed and flicked his thumb across his nose with his jaw jutted.

“Yes,” Ridge said sullenly, as if he would really like to tell his dad to go fuck himself.

Uncle Bowie glared.

“Yes, Daddy,” Ridge whispered.

Uncle Bowie backed up a step, then turned to walk toward a strange looking building that took me by surprise. I’d been so focused on what Ridge was doing to me when we’d pulled up, then on Uncle Bowie touching me, that I somehow hadn’t noticed the creepy fucking place.

The front of the complex resembled a Victorian mansion constructed of fieldstone with angled roofs and a large archway as a portico, and behind the stylized entrance, taller buildings seemed to be connected and extended back beyond sight. I couldn’t tell how far the series of attached sections went on.

“What is this place?” I jogged to keep up with Uncle Bowie because the last thing I wanted to do was be separated from him. The vibe here would’ve been truly scary, except there were several perfectly normal cars parked closer to the front of the building in the large lot that was mostly dirt. Maybe at one point the driveway had been paved with cobblestones, based on the few patches that had survived.

Uncle Bowie’s lips quirked and a small smile took over his mouth. “Well, up until Derek Uhlig bought the property, this was an abandoned high-security psychiatric hospital.” He waggled his eyebrows. “One of the first in the country. It’s just far enough away from New Gothenburg that inmates wouldn’t be a threat to the city. When I was younger, people used to come out here and dare their friends to go inside.” He grinned and his tone had shifted. It was almost like we were having a real conversation.

“Oh, so that’s what people did before the internet,” I joked, then almost slapped my hand over my mouth again.

Ridge snorted.

Uncle Bowie rolled his eyes, but I was thrilled that his good mood stuck around.

We passed some men in overalls headed inside with metal pipes slung over their shoulders, and I frowned at them as they went ahead of us. I gasped at all the wooden paneling and dark chandeliers we passed. The floor had been recently redone and there were spotlights hung around the room to give a construction crew of about fifteen people plenty of light to see.

A woman carrying a clipboard in a dark blue suit and Coke-bottle glasses, which sat on the end of her nose, hustled toward Uncle Bowie. “Who are you?” she demanded, almost like she didn’t have time to talk to us.

“I’m here to see Derek. He called me and asked me to come out here. Bowie Godfrey,” he said in a rush as the woman waved her hand in a hurry it up sort of way. Her blue nail polish glinted in the light and reminded me uncomfortably of something cold and dead. Uncle Bowie’s jaw ticked, and I hated seeing him go from somewhat happy to pissed off, since Ridge and I would be the ones who had to deal with him later. I bit the tip of my tongue.

The woman nodded, and Uncle Bowie followed her. Ridge and I scrambled to keep up. I quickly got lost as we left what seemed to be an entrance area, which was more like a nice house, and made our way down a creepy long hallway that started out as stone, the same as the exterior walls, and transitioned to cracked white tiles. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and began to give me a headache. It seemed like we walked along miles of corridors lined with doors that all looked the same. There were windows at intervals in the walls, though they appeared to be sturdy and reinforced. I rushed along faster and walked closer to Ridge, and I was relieved when he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and grabbed my hand, gripping it tightly.

It was good to know I wasn’t the only one weirded the fuck out.

Our trip ended in a high-ceilinged open room that might’ve been a cafeteria or indoor gym at one time. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but large pipes crisscrossed the floor and reminded me of tunnels dug by some ancient creature hoping to eat us. I winced as someone started a saw nearby and cut a hole out of the side of one pipe while sparks flew. If a man crouched, he could probably fit inside but not stand.

In the middle of the construction area was a gathering of about ten guys. Punching bags hung from the ceiling and in the center several red mats had been tossed on the floor. Two of the guys wore bright green boxing gloves. They circled each other and jabbed, but they were covered in sweat, like maybe they’d done a hard-core workout already and now they were simply messing around.

“What is this place?” I wondered aloud, even though Uncle Bowie had kind of answered me already. “I get that it’s an old hospital, but what are they doing here? It’s so bizarre.”

“It’s being retrofitted for a unique game,” an amused voice said from behind me. I flinched. Ridge slipped his arm around my waist, and Uncle Bowie whirled on the spot, flashing a smile that was slightly different from the one he’d used with the women. I could see that he was uncomfortable; however, I wasn’t certain a stranger would recognize it.

“Oh, like laser tag?” I asked, my voice far too high.

The man’s evil chuckle didn’t make me feel any better.

“Ridge, looking sharp,” the man said. The stranger walked past Ridge and patted his shoulder, then held out his hand and shook with Uncle Bowie. He was good-looking and seemed to be about the same age as Uncle Bowie, maybe younger. He had short dark hair that he’d styled in a swoop to the right without a strand out of place. The gray suit he wore clung to his solid shoulders and highlighted his trim waist. He had a wide smile that nearly blinded me. Uncle Bowie obviously knew him. The man whirled and offered me his hand, and I reluctantly took it.

“Derek Uhlig.” He stepped closer and got into my face, squeezing my hand until it hurt.

Uncle Bowie’s lips thinned, but he didn’t say anything, and he certainly didn’t offer to rescue me.

“You look a lot like Johnny when he was younger. You know, I used to like him.” Derek backed off a step and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “He’s a dumpster fire, but until recently, I thought he was like me. Just pulling every dime he could out of people. There’s a line you don’t cross, though, and he did it. You can’t fuck with the money of rich people, especially not some of the ones around this city that he messed with. Well, you can’t do it and keep your head.” He focused on me with that wide smile I was beginning to think of as dangerous, and I gulped. He kept staring and my blood ran cold.

“Is the man you spoke about here?” Uncle Bowie asked.

Fear trickled through me because I was in a scary fucking old hospital with a strange man talking about people losing their heads, and even though Uncle Bowie knew this guy, he seemed nervous.

“Do you know what’s going on?” I hissed at Ridge as Derek stepped closer to Uncle Bowie to have a low conversation with him. I strained my ears but couldn’t pick up a word they were saying.

“No,” he mumbled, and only the fact that he didn’t seem to be any more comfortable than I was made me feel slightly okay.