Page 37 of Into the Dark

It wasn’t a bad idea. “If they saw or heard anything that could help us, it would be worth taking the time to track him down,” Nigel agreed. “Can you drop me off at the library on the way out? I can walk back if necessary.”

Dr. Lawson said, “We can take my car to Weston, so you can use the van.”

“And I’ll go with you, Nigel.” Chris drained their coffee mug. “I can get a few more shots of the library’s interior that way.”

Remembering their conversation from the night before, Nigel said, “Zeek will want to go talk to the survivor.”

“Wonderful,” Dr. Lawson muttered.

“He was having breakfast—I’ll let him know,” Oscar said, and ducked back out.

A cough built in Nigel’s chest; he tried to turn away but found himself doubled over as a wracking fit seized him. Phlegm filled his mouth, and he grabbed out a tissue and spit it out before it choked him.

“Taylor?” Dr. Lawson sat up straighter. “Are you all right?”

“Just a chest cold,” he managed, voice rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. “If it gets too bad, I’ll have Oscar drive me to urgent care. For now, let’s take advantage of the daylight and get going.”

Chris grabbed up their still camera. “Okay, doc. Let’s hit the books.”

The drive through the springtime mountains was predictably beautiful. The bright green of new leaves clad the steep slopes, the world springing back to life after the long gray of winter. Streams sparkled in the sunlight, and the wildflowers peeked out of cracks in dark stone. Dr. Lawson steered her Prius around winding curves as the road first climbed, then descended, then climbed again.

“So what’s this guy’s name?” Zeek asked from the backseat.

Oscar sat in the passenger seat beside Dr. Lawson; he saw her lips press together slightly at the reminder of Zeek’s presence. But she answered, “Trey Nelson. The dead man was Kyle McIntosh.”

“Pretty cool that he’s willing to talk to us. Trey, I mean. Though I think we should try talking to Kyle, too.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. “We can certainly give it a shot,” Oscar said. “First things first, though.”

“Mmm.” Dr. Lawson made a noncommittal sound, attention apparently focused on her driving.

Soon enough, the road dropped down toward the river—probably the same one running in front of the asylum back in Howlston. Before reaching the town proper, the GPS directed them onto a narrow, winding road that meandered back uphill again, before finally announcing their destination in front of a slightly run-down house that looked to have been built sometime in the 1970s.

A curtain twitched as they climbed out of the car. Dr. Lawson cleared her throat. “Just so you know, he might have refused to talk to me when I called him earlier.”

“Wait, he didn’t know we’re coming?” Oscar asked.

She shrugged. “I asked permission and it didn’t work, so now I’m asking for forgiveness.”

Great. They were intruding on a traumatized man who didn’t want to discuss what happened with strangers. “That’s not how that saying goes.”

“Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud, Fox,” she said, striding up onto the porch.

No wonder she and Ms. Montague had fallen out—they were too much alike. He exchanged a glance with Zeek, who just looked confused, and followed her.

She rang the doorbell. The curtain fell closed, then a moment later the door opened a crack. “Can I help you?” asked a voice from inside.

“I’m Dr. Ruth Lawson. We spoke on the phone,” she said.

“And I told you I didn’t want to talk to you!”

Undeterred, she went on, “And these are some of the current people investigating the asylum. They weren’t told about what happened to your group before being hired.”

The door opened farther to reveal a grizzled man who looked to be in his early fifties. Most of his hair had deserted his scalp, and his face was marked by deep lines. “Someone hired you?”

“Not exactly,” Oscar started.

“This rich old lady, Ms. Montague? She’s really into ghost hunting,” Zeek said. “I’m Zeek Holt, fromZeeking the Unknown—maybe you’ve seen our show?”

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