Page 22 of Into the Dark

Unease walked fingers up Oscar’s spine. He turned to Nigel, who still clutched the digital recorder in his hand. “Is that still on?”

Nigel nodded, so Oscar said, “Who’s here? Did you move the wheelchair? If you want to talk to us, speak into the device in my partner’s hand.”

Did he sense a presence here? It was hard to tell. He was still recovering from the sensations of the cold bath, for one thing. For another, the spirit might have used up all its energy pushing the wheelchair. Moving objects was costly for ghosts, and it was possible it had expended itself to the point he could no longer feel it.

Or he just wasn’t good enough.

“We should get you back to the tent,” Nigel said, putting away the digital recorder. “You need to warm up.”

“I’m fine.” Which was mostly true. Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, fatigue set in. The encounter with the spirit in the bathroom had left him drained, as though he’d subjected himself to a brutal workout.

But they still had one more floor to go, and only a few hours before dawn to investigate it. “I’m fine,” he repeated. Nigel gave him a skeptical look, but accepted his answer.

The long walk down the ward threatened to leave him shaky, but Oscar did his best to hide it, so Nigel and Chris didn’t try to talk him into leaving. The stairs were even worse, and he was puffing by the time they reached the uppermost floor. No sounds from Zeek and Adrienne had drifted from the northern wing, which was surprising given the asylum’s size and thick stone walls.

Once there, Oscar put down his backpack and pulled out their other new piece of equipment besides the PolterPal. He’d been wanting to try this for a while, but it had been out of reach cost-wise before Ms. Montague paid for everything.

Holding it loosely in one hand, he waited for Chris to choose the angle for the shot. When Chris gave him the go-ahead, he said, “The fourth floor was restricted to the most violent patients. As you can see, it’s far more utilitarian than the lower floors.”

He moved his headlight slowly over the wall. Here, orange tile covered the lower half; plain white paint chipped slowly off the upper half. The doors were heavy slabs of steel, more appropriate for a prison than a hospital.

“These are the seclusion cells.” Oscar stepped into the nearest one. The walls inside were completely covered in tile, and a drain pierced the center of the floor. Iron rings hung from one wall.

The oppressive atmosphere of the tiny cell seemed to leach even more strength from him. “Nigel, would you mind talking about this part?” he asked.

Nigel gave him a searching look—they’d agreed early on in their partnership that Oscar would remain the face of the show. But rather than point that out, he only nodded.

“Our, uh, our research before we came here uncovered some unsavory things,” Nigel said, pushing his glasses higher on his nose as he spoke. “I guess we’ve already seen that down on the third floor, with the hydrotherapy. They used hydrotherapy here as well, in a sense. Unruly patients would be chained to the wall there, and then blasted with cold water from hoses—that’s why there’s a drain.”

While Nigel talked, Oscar turned his attention inward. Was the heavy sorrow in his chest his own, generated by the cruel treatments the patients here had suffered? Or did it come from an outside source?

Damn it. He needed a way to tell, to be sure. What did other mediums do? Had Mamaw known some trick, or did she just go with her gut?

Maybe it was the sort of thing that came with experience. Experience he didn’t have, because he’d come here too soon.

Nigel cleared his throat, and Oscar realized he’d stopped talking some time ago.

“Sorry—I zoned out. Thanks for taking over, babe.”

“You’re not all right, are you?” Nigel asked, peering at him closely.

“Just really tired. I think the ghost in the bathroom drew a lot of energy directly from me.”

Chris lowered their camera slightly. “I thought you could, I don’t know, keep them from doing that?”

“I can, but we’re here to find the spirits that need our help.” Oscar managed a tired smile. “If sharing my energy allowed her to communicate, it’s worth it. I’ll be fine after some food and a nap.”

Nigel’s lips pressed together. “Just be careful.”

“I will.” Oscar wanted to kiss him, but this wasn’t the time. “Let’s go back in the hall. I want to try out the SLS.”

They regrouped outside of the cell, and Chris started filming again. Oscar held up the new piece of equipment in his hand so it could be seen clearly.

“This is a Structured Light Sensor camera, or SLS for short. It uses infrared light to map its surroundings and detect humanoid shapes. Let me demonstrate.”

He pointed the SLS cam at Nigel. A stick figure immediately appeared superimposed over him. “Wave your arm, Nigel.”

Nigel gave a little wave; the stick figure did as well.

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