Page 10 of Into the Dark

Nigel and Oscar emerged and looked where they were pointing. A plain metal square was set into the wall, its surface bent from some long-ago impact.

“It’s a laundry chute,” Nigel said. He crossed the hall and tugged on the handle. “Locked. The sound could have been from the metal expanding from the heat of the day.”

Not that there was much in the way of heat within the thick stone walls. They seemed to hold in the chill, and little in the way of sunlight reached through the overgrowth to find the windows. Still, old buildings made noises all the time.

Oscar approached, frowning. “I’m not sure if I’m sensing anything? Or if there was something, and it’s gone now?”

Nigel took out the EMF reader and waved it around the hatch. It blipped up to yellow, then dropped back to zero, too fast for him to count it as evidence of anything. “Do we want to set up a camera here?”

Oscar thought a moment, then nodded. “Chris, if you can angle it to catch most of the hall while still keeping the laundry chute in view, that would be fantastic.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

While Chris set up the tripod and one of the night vision cameras, Nigel stepped closer to Oscar. “How are you holding up?” he asked in a low voice.

Oscar mulled over the question for a moment. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “It’s strange, being here. And I’m not sure if I’m sensing anything real, or if the building and its history is just making me sad.”

“That’s why it’s best to go into an investigation cold.” Nigel leaned against him. “Not that it was an option in this case.”

“Or with this building,” Oscar added wryly.

“The big gate withLunatic Asylumon it does give it away.”

Once Chris was finished, they walked to the end of the hall. About halfway down, the rooms gave way to an open area with enormous windows over dented radiators. Couches and chairs rotted atop an ancient carpet, and a cluster of wheelchairs had been abandoned to one side. “This would have been the day room, where the patients could gather to socialize and receive visitors,” Nigel said.

Chris snapped a photo looking out the windows. There once would have been a lovely view of the wide lawns, but now honeysuckle and wild grape vines obscured most of it, and young trees blocked the rest.

Across from the day room, a steel door stood open, revealing a utilitarian staircase surrounded by a steel cage. “Let’s go to the end of the wing before we head up,” Oscar said.

The ward ended in another pair of large doors, accompanied by a caged-off area where a nurse or orderly would have sat guard. On the other side was another ward, just as long as the first. Beyond that was a third section.

What the original purpose of the final section had been wasn’t clear; now it was simply a single huge room turned into storage. Implements from every era of the asylum crowded the space, covered with dust and cobwebs. Wheelchairs, filing cabinets, and metal-framed beds made up the bulk of the junk, but Nigel spotted some older tools among them.

“A Utica crib,” he said, pushing aside a wheelchair to reveal what was essentially a box on wheels. Like a baby crib, the wood walls were made from slats; unlike one, it was only a few inches high and had a lid.

Chris knelt to get a good shot of it. “I’m afraid to ask how it was used.”

“It was a way to restrain patients. Lock someone in there, and there’s not enough space to lift an arm or turn over.” Nigel suppressed a shudder. “It was supposed to be more humane than chaining people up, but of course patients ended up being left in them for extended periods of time.”

“Jesus,” Chris muttered.

Near the crib was a restraining chair, a heavy wooden chair with straps for the arms, legs, and torso, and a sort of vise-like apparatus for holding the head in place. A table held a jumble of antique instruments, surgical and otherwise. Scalpels, forceps, and other things Nigel didn’t know the function of. A bone saw teetered on the edge of the table.

Chris snapped a picture of the tools, then pointed to one shaped like a metal pick. “Was that for lobotomies?”

“Unfortunately.” Nigel reached to adjust his glasses, but his sleeve caught on the handle of the bone saw and sent it clanging to the concrete floor. “Damn it.”

He crouched to pick the saw up. The accident must have dislodged accumulated dust, because his nose suddenly stung, and he let out a violent sneeze as he touched the instrument. There was little warmth in the gloomy room, so the metal feltlike ice against his fingers as he placed it back on the table, well away from the edge.

“Gesundheit,” Oscar said. “Let’s come back here later. Those filing cabinets might have records in them. But for now, we’re losing daylight, and there’s a lot of asylum left to cover.”

Oscar led the way back to the wards and the stairs leading up. “Too bad the elevator doesn’t work,” Chris puffed as they climbed. “You’d think Montague would have the money to get a couple of big generators delivered and power up this place.”

“She’s not the one who has to take the stairs,” Oscar said. At least they were concrete, so he didn’t have to worry about them collapsing beneath his weight.

Nigel took the opportunity to lecture between panting breaths. “Also, generators would be disruptive to the investigation. Ghosts are, or at least use, electromagnetic energy. Light disrupts them, and any electricity would throw off our EMF readers.”

Oscar rolled his eyes fondly. “We know, hon.”

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