Page 15 of Into the Dark

“Hey,” Zeek said, taken aback.

“We’re the ones who found the camera,” Adrienne said, holding out her hand. Tina silently unplugged the cable and card, and passed them over.

Nigel turned to Ms. Montague. “Who were these people? What happened to them? Did you know they’d been here?”

Oscar watched the old woman closely, but her expression remained neutral. “I’m told by the owner that an amateur group was here once before, almost twenty years ago,” she said.

“What were their results? Can we see their data? Do you?—”

“That isn’t why I brought you here, Dr. Taylor,” Ms. Montague cut in, and the steel of her voice shut his jaw like atrap. “You’re here to investigate your way, not theirs. This earlier attempt is of no concern to you.”

“Surely the more information we have, the better off we are,” Oscar said.

Her gaze went to him—he’d never noticed before, but her eyes were a chill blue that gave nothing away. “I’d prefer your gifts weren’t tainted by prior knowledge.”

He wanted to protest that wasn’t how mediumship worked. But her cool expression kept him silent.

She was the one in charge here, the ultimate authority. She’d paid for access to the asylum and paid for them all to be here.

If not for Montague, he likely would never have gotten the chance to set foot behind the front gate. Heneededto be here, to do what Mamaw never had the chance to do, and put any tormented souls to rest. Her work had been cut short, but her legacy lived on in his hands.

So he only said, “I understand.”

“Don’t worry, bro,” Zeek said, back to his chipper self. “They were here twenty years ago. That’s like,forever.They didn’t have half the gear we do now.”

“But the ghosts are the same,” Nigel said, then caught himself. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just?—”

Headlights suddenly swung across the outside of the tent, accompanied by the crunch of tires on disintegrating asphalt. Ms. Montague frowned. “No one else is supposed to be here,” she said in an accusing tone. “I was very clear on that.”

“We didn’t invite anyone,” Oscar said, and was echoed by Adrienne’s, “It wasn’t us.”

Montague’s mouth tightened. “Very well. Ethan, please send our surprise guest on their way.”

Oscar followed Ethan out of the tent, no doubt to act as backup in case their visitors turned out to be a truck full of drunken locals. The thought made Nigel’s heart quicken with fear, so he slipped out after them, though what he could do that Oscar couldn’t he didn’t know. Oscar had been a defensive tackle in college and was built like a refrigerator. If he couldn’t handle the situation, a scrawny weed like Nigel wasn’t going to be much help.

Zeek hurried out as well, though he looked more curious than alarmed. For a moment, the headlights blinded them all, before clicking off along with the engine. Nigel blinked rapidly against the after-image, then realized he recognized the red hybrid now revealed by the floodlights set up around the tents.

The door swung open, and his old mentor Dr. Lawson climbed out. Her silver hair hung in a braid, and she wore a thick flannel tucked into khaki pants. “There you are, Taylor,” she said. “Where the devil is Patricia?”

“Why are you here?” he asked, bewildered.

“Because our call dropped before I could warn you, obviously.”

That didn’t sound good. “And it’s urgent enough you drove straight here?”

“Five hours in the car, and my hips are complaining, so you’d best appreciate this.” She stomped across the driveway toward the tent. “Is Patricia in there?”

Ethan put himself between her and the tent. “I’m afraid this area is closed to visitors,” he said, managing to sound both firm and apologetic at the same time.

Dr. Lawson fixed a withering glare on him. “Young man, I’ve known Patricia since before you were born. Now stand aside.”

Ethan looked torn between his orders and manhandling an old woman. “Let me announce you first,” he settled on, as if no one in the tent could hear the argument.

“Don’t bother,” Montague called from inside. “No one can change Ruthie’s mind when she’s determined to do something. Lord knows I’ve tried.”

Dr. Lawson scowled and marched past Ethan, hands clenched. She flung open the tent flap, then stopped as if she’d struck a wall. Her face went through a variety of expressions: surprise, sadness, then settled on anger.

“Patricia,” she said, her voice arctic. “It’s been a long time.”

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