Page 48 of Immersed
Asher’s smile held no warmth. “This is going to make way better content than a simple ghost hunt. Real investigative journalism.”
The pragmatic observation should have felt callous, but instead it reassured Levi. This Asher cared about the quality of their work, about telling important stories. It felt like something a real person would say—not a killer wearing a human mask.
They finished their water break and continued deeper into the Administrative Wing. The offices grew larger and more opulent as they approached what must have been Dr. Faine’s private domain. Mahogany paneling replaced institutional paint, and expensive furniture sat beneath decades of dust.
Patient restraint rooms lined one corridor, each equipped with observation windows that allowed staff to monitor occupants. Scratch marks covered the walls—fingernail gouges that spoke to desperate attempts at escape. Levi photographed everything, documenting the evidence of human suffering.
“The sound quality will be extraordinary in these rooms,” Asher noted, testing the acoustics with a quiet whistle. “All that padding creates natural sound dampening.”
As they worked together to decode more files, Levi found his wariness gradually fading. Asher offered practical solutions to problems, shared equipment without being asked, maintained respectful a distance unless Levi needed assistance. When strange noises echoed through the hospital—settling wood, wind through broken windows—Asher took Levi’s concerns seriously rather than dismissing them.
They developed a comfortable rhythm of investigation, with Asher naturally deferring to Levi’s leadership. The dynamic felt organic, professional—two colleagues working toward a common goal.
This Asher seemed caring, protective, and genuinely concerned about their investigation and Levi’s well-being. But Levi’s memory of previous loops remained vivid—the knife against his throat, the twisted intimacy, the promise to “find him again.”
Following the building schematics they discovered in the administrative offices, they navigated toward what should have been Dr. Faine’s personal laboratory. The corridors grew narrower, more maze-like, as if designed to confuse visitors and prevent easy access to sensitive areas.
A wrong turn led them into the hospital’s massive industrial kitchen. Stainless steel surfaces gleamed dully in their flashlight beams, and enormous ovens dominated one wall. The space felt different from the rest of the hospital—newer, more modern, as if it had been updated sometime in the decades since closure.
The moment they both crossed the threshold, the heavy metal door slammed shut behind them.
Levi spun around, heart hammering as he grabbed the door handle. It turned, but the door itself refused to budge—as if some massive weight pressed against it from outside.
“Locked,” he announced, trying to keep panic from his voice.
Asher immediately moved to help, both of them pushing against the door with their combined weight. Nothing. The barrier remained immovable, sealing them inside the industrial kitchen.
“There has to be another exit,” Asher said, maintaining calm focus. He swept his flashlight around the room, searching for alternatives.
They found a dumbwaiter set into one wall—far too small for human passage. Service windows that had been sealed with steel plates. The kitchen had been designed as a self-contained unit, with only one main entrance.
As they discussed their options, a faint hissing sound made Levi’s shoulders tense. His head tilted, trying to locate the source. The noiseseemed to come from everywhere at once—a soft, continuous whisper that made his skin crawl.
“Do you hear that?” he asked.
Asher paused, listening. His face went pale as recognition dawned. “Gas.”
The hiss filled the kitchen like escaping breath, growing louder with each passing second. Levi and Asher exchanged a look of mutual dread before both lunged toward the massive industrial stove that dominated the far wall.
“Main shutoff,” Asher said, his voice tight. “Has to be behind here.”
Levi’s hands flew to the ancient brass control knobs along the stove’s front panel. The first knob spun uselessly in his grip. No resistance. The hissing grew more pronounced—a venomous whisper mocking their desperation.
“They’re not working,” Levi gasped, trying the second knob. This one snapped off completely in his hand, the cheap metal giving way with a brittle crack.
He stared at the broken piece of brass, his mind struggling to process the mechanical failure. The third knob crumbled under his grip like ancient pottery, leaving him with another handful of useless debris.
“Industrial kitchens always have emergency shutoffs,” Asher said, positioning himself behind the massive stove. “Help me move this.”
Levi dropped the broken knobs and threw his shoulder against the stove’s massive frame. The appliance had to weigh several hundred pounds—solid iron and steel that had fed an entire hospital population. Together, they strained against its bulk, muscles burning with effort.
The stove shifted with a grinding screech of metal against linoleum. Decades of accumulated grease and debris cemented it to the floor,but their combined strength gradually broke it free. Inch by agonizing inch, they dragged the hulking appliance away from the wall. Behind it lay a maze of gas pipes and electrical conduits, all covered in spider webs like burial shrouds.
“There,” Asher pointed to a red valve handle buried among the pipes. “Emergency shutoff.”
He wedged himself into the narrow space, his hands closing around the valve. The muscles in his forearms stood out as he applied increasing pressure, fighting against decades of corrosion and neglect.
The valve resisted. Then gave way with a sharp crack—not the satisfying click of success, but the brittle snap of metal failing under stress. Asher stumbled backward, the broken handle clutched in his palm.
