Page 21 of Into the Dark

Nigel let Oscar pull him to his feet. As usual, the strength in Oscar’s arms sent a flush of warmth through him. He’d never imagined himself the type to fall for a jock—though of course, Oscar was much more than that. But there was something sexy about a man who could easily lift him off his feet and pin him to a wall.

…And it was definitely not the time for those sorts of thoughts. Nigel schooled his expression, reminding himself that this was all being filmed. He could climb his boyfriend like a tree later, when they were back in the apartment they shared in Durham.

The air seemed to get colder as they went up. Then again, the hours since sunset were slipping by, and any heat the building collected during the day would continue to dissipate until sunrise. It didn’t necessarily mean anything paranormal was going on.

When they reached the third floor, Oscar led the way into the bathroom. The place was even more depressing than the rooms, its bare concrete walls discolored from old stains, the sinks, tubs, and toilets streaked with rust. Though they hadn’t found any other evidence of vandalism so far, someone in the past had smashed every mirror into tiny shards.

Oscar positioned himself in front of one of the cast iron tubs. It looked old and extremely heavy.

“This is the bathroom in the women’s ward on floor three,” he said into the camera. “As you can see, none of the stalls havedoors on them, so the nurses could keep an eye on the patients at all times. I can’t help but wonder how the patients felt about that, or the message it—perhaps unintentionally—sent. The tubs here tell an even darker story.”

Chris panned the camera down and along the three bathtubs. As soon as the camera was off him, Oscar gave a shiver. Nigel looked at him questioningly, but he shook his head.

“One of the early treatments—I use the term ‘treatment’ loosely—here at the asylum was hydrotherapy,” Oscar said, once the camera was back on him. “Before the advent of the lobotomy and chemical restraints, themselves hardly bastions of progress, some agitated patients would be wrapped in sheets soaked in ice water. Several layers of sheets might be applied—however many were needed to immobilize the patient. Then they were placed in these tubs, and the tubs were filled with cold water. A canvas cover was put in place, with only the patient’s head sticking out. This at least kept them from slipping down and drowning, while they endured hours of lying unmoving in freezing water. No doubt hypothermia indeed ‘calmed’ them, but I can’t help but wonder how many lives it cl-claimed.”

Normally Oscar’s performance in front of the camera was polished, so his stumble over the last word was unusual.

As was the color of his lips.

“Shit, you’re turning blue!” Chris started to lower the camera.

“K-keep filming,” Oscar said through chattering teeth.

Nigel took an alarmed step forward, then stopped. Oscar knew what he was doing, even if every instinct screamed at him to go help his boyfriend.

“I-I’m feeling very cold,” Oscar told the camera. “Nigel, what’s the t-temperature?”

Nigel held out his reader. “Forty-nine degrees.” He switched on the EMF part of the reader, and it immediately went wild,spiking up to yellow. He stepped closer to Oscar, and it went to red and stayed there.

“Sh-she definitely wants to communicate,” Oscar said.

“EVP or spirit box?” Nigel asked.

“E-EVP.” Oscar swallowed, then gave a shaky smile for the camera. “That means Electronic V-Voice Phenomena.”

Maybe it was time for Nigel to step in. “With an EVP, we’re trying to record sounds not audible to the human ear,” he said. Chris moved back to get them both in the shot. “We’ll ask questions now and analyze the recording later.”

He took out a digital recorder and turned it on. Oscar wet his lips, which were tinged white at the corners. “What’s your n-name?” he asked, then paused for any unheard response. “Were you a patient here?” Pause. “What happened to you?”

A crash sounded from the hall outside.

CHAPTER

NINE

Oscar feltlike he’d been standing inside a refrigerator for hours. Every limb seemed distant, numb, as though they belonged to someone else.

Someone unable to move. Wrapped up like a mummy in a sheet, while freezing water slowly leached away all warmth and life.

The crash made him start—and suddenly, the cold eased. His heartbeat quickened—he hadn’t even been aware of it slowing, until it was once again frantically pushing warmth through his body.

“What the hell was that?” Nigel dashed to the door and looked out into the hall. “Was there a wheelchair here before?”

Oscar’s toes tingled as the warmth returned. Feeling more steady by the moment, he followed Nigel into the hall, Chris behind him.

Only a few feet from the bathroom door sat a wheelchair that definitely hadn’t been there when they came in.

“I think it was further down the hall,” Chris said. “Closer to the ward doors.”

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