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  Asylum

  (The Asylum Trilogy book 1)

  by Amy Cross

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

  Published by Dark Season Books

  First published: October 2012

  This edition: March 2018

  http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

  This book's front cover incorporates elements licensed from the Bigstock photo site.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part 1: The New Girl

  Part 2: Doctor Lava

  Part 3: Husk

  Part 4: A Case of Crows

  Part 5: Life of Horror

  Part 6: The Nun and the Janitor

  Part 7: Tragedy Day

  Part 8: Burning Down the House

  Asylum

  (The Asylum Trilogy book 1)

  Prologue

  It's there again tonight, right on cue. That same strange radio signal, bouncing off the ionosphere and scattering into the ether. Sitting here in the forest, alone in the dark, I find the signal to be strangely comforting. I haven't seen another human being for months, not since the night with Annie, but I never feel lonely. I guess I'm lucky like that. I just turn on the radio receiver and listen, and eventually that same old complicated signal comes over the airwaves. I kind of think that one day, when I eventually track it down and solve its mysteries, I'll be disappointed. That's when I'll get lonely. The signal is my friend.

  There are many, many signals floating through the air, of course, but this signal is special for a number of reasons. First, it's on a frequency band that's tucked out way to the end of the spectrum, so far in fact that some scanners won't even pick it up; this suggests to me the signal's supposed to go unnoticed by most people. Second, it transmits a very regular pattern with a very, very long wavelength. It took me months to work out what that wavelength actually was, and I was stunned when I discovered the truth. This signal is transmitting a human brainwave. I've studied numbers stations before, of course, but this is something totally different, something totally strange. I have no idea why anyone would transmit such a thing, and I can't even begin to imagine how they're doing it or who's supposed to be picking it up. But that's my goal: to work out what station EMB-57 is really doing, and who's behind it. Sooner or later I'll find the answer. I just have to put the pieces together.

  Wandering over to my tent, I reach in and grab a packet of biscuits. Living alone out here, I mostly live off the land, but I brought a few home comforts with me. Opening the packet, I take one of the biscuits and start eating it as I stare across the lake. The world is so full of mysteries; I can't imagine how anyone could not want to try scratching the surface so they can see what's really going on. I mean, someone somewhere thinks it's worth transmitting human brainwaves on an AM frequency, and I assume that they have an aim in mind. Granted, that aim might be nuts. The person behind the signal might be absolutely fucking insane. But it's still a puzzle, and it's one that I desperately want to solve. I damn well won't rest until I know what's happening.

  Everything's so calm and quiet out here...

  Suddenly there's a massive blast of noise from the speaker attached to my portable digital receiver. It's so loud, it almost knocks me off my feet, and I hear a pop as the speaker dies. Hurrying over to the equipment, I try to work out what just happened. This is all fairly new hardware, so there's no way it should just fail like that. I call up the data on my laptop, and it takes me a few moments to work out what I'm looking at. Finally, I realize: a few seconds ago, the transmitter experienced a massive overload, as if it suddenly started sending hundreds of messages at once, all on the same wavelength. I have no idea what could have caused that to happen, but as I check the back-up scanner on my laptop, I see that the signal is already fading. It's gone low before, of course, but it's never done anything like this and it's definitely never faded to complete silence.

  "Come on," I say, trying to find a setting on my equipment that might have gone wrong. Eventually, though, I realize that the signal has just died. After all this time, the signal has completely stopped. Even when it briefly vanished before, there was always a holding tone, but now there's nothing. It's as if the transmitter just disappeared off the face of the planet. Staring at the equipment, I sigh. All that work, and now it looks like my target has just vanished. When I get home, I'm going to be a laughing stock. Sure, I have the archived recordings, but they don't seem to mean anything. I won't even get a decent paper out of this whole thing. Not if the -

  Just as suddenly as the blast of noise, there's a quiet beep. Then another. The signal's back, but it's significantly quieter now.

  "Huh," I say, feeling intensely relieved as I lie back on the ground and stare up at the night sky. I guess this is how Captain Ahab felt in Moby Dick every time he thought he was getting close to his target. This signal is insane, constantly challenging my assumptions. Every time I think I understand what it is and where it's coming from, it manages to find a new way to confound me. Staring out across the lake, I can't help but recognize the irony. This signal is all around me, yet I can't see it. Whatever it is, I'm starting to think I'll never be able to track it down. At the same time, the difficulty of the project is what attracted me to it in the first place. If I give up now, I'll never be able to forgive myself.

  One thing's certain, though. That surge blew some of my equipment, so I'll have to head back to civilization and re-stock. I guess I was already running low anyway. Sighing at the thought of the long journey, it occurs to me that maybe it's not worth the effort. I mean, everyone has to know when the time's right to give up, don't they? I could go back to Boston, sit in a nice comfortable laboratory and conduct all sorts of useful experiments, eventually picking up my PHD after a few years. Sure, I'd be going through on rails, but maybe the easy option is worth considering. After about ten seconds of thinking like this, though, I realize that there's no way I can ever do that. I'm going to get to the bottom of this EMB-57 signal, no matter how long it takes.

  Well, at least until my research grant runs out.

  I go back into my tent and sort through my provisions until I find the single can of beer I brought with me. I'd hoped that I'd be able to drink this can when I finally tracked down EMB-57's source, but I guess I deserve it now. Cracking the can open, I take a sip. Damn it, I knew this project would be difficult, but I was hoping I'd make a breakthrough sooner. It just feels like I'm swimming against the current. Then again, it's hard not to imagine how great it'll feel if - no, when - I finally track down the source of the signal. Until then, I just need to go and get the replacement equipment. I look up at the night sky. I'll set off first thing in the morning. Eventually, somehow, I'll find the source of that signal, even if it's the last thing I ever do.

  Part 1:

  The New Girl

  Prologue

  The gun fires once, there's the sound of his body hitting the leaf-covered forest floor, and then everything goes completely silent.

  I just stand there, feeling the cold gunmetal in my hand, my finger pressed against the trigger. I'm completely unable to move; it feels as if passing angels have put their hands on my shoulders, stilling me, forcing me to stay and face what I've done. They want me to be found like this, with a thin wisp of smoke still rising from the barrel of the gun, and my little brother's body at my feet.

  I could turn and run. I'd probably get quite far before they tracked me down. Eventually, though, they'd drag me back here and force me to face the evil I've committed. I can't stand the thought
of being forced, kicking and screaming, back to this place. I'd rather just wait here and show them that I understand. Besides, they'll want to know why I did what I did. If I'm to stand any chance of making them accept that I was justified, I have to stay and face them. This is the test.

  So far, this is nothing like a movie. On the forest floor, my little brother's body is completely still. The only movement is a slow trickle of dark red blood that seeps from the wound in his skull. I expected his head to explode when I shot him, but all that happened was that the bullet went straight in and out again, leaving behind a single, growing red spot on his forehead. He didn't scream; he didn't struggle; he just dropped to the ground and that was that. In the end, it was remarkably easy. I just pulled the trigger and he died.

  No-one will understand, though. Little children are supposed to be innocent and sweet. Nobody ever believes they could do anything truly evil. My parents have always seen me as the difficult one. The weird one. The plain one. They'll see me standing over Taylor's body and they'll immediately assume it's all my fault. I understand that, but if only they'll let me explain, I can show them that this was the right thing to do; if they'll just give me time to tell them what Taylor was doing, and why he had to die, surely they have to know that I had to do this. I had to save the world.

  I can hear them coming now. Their voices raised, they've heard the gunshot and they're racing through the forest. They'll be here any second, coming up behind me and seeing the terrible scene. I can already feel the tears in my eyes, but I have to hold it together. I can't cry, not yet. I have to stay strong, so that I can explain myself. If I start crying, they'll just see me as a monster and I won't be able to make them understand the truth. I have to keep my eyes dry, but they're here now. They've seen what's happened, and as my father pulls the gun from my hand and pushes me aside, my mother's screams ring out through the forest.

  Dear God, why did you make me do this?

  Chapter One

  The heavy metal door slams shut behind me, leaving me staring down a long, deserted corridor. The whole place is silent. For a moment, it's possible to believe that I'm the only one here. That'd be nice. I'd like to be alone. I deserve to be alone.

  "Move," says a voice behind me, and I'm shoved forward. I grab onto the wall to avoid falling over, and I turn back to the guard who towers over me. "Something wrong?" he asks.

  I stare at him. I feel like I should say something - maybe a witty comment or a cutting remark - but my mind is blank. It's been blank since... I'm not sure when. Everything's foggy, and I'm having to focus on the simple things, like my name and where I am and how to breathe; the complicated things, like cause and effect, are way beyond me.

  "Keep moving," the guard says, stepping forward. He grabs my arm and pushes me along the corridor. I trip and slam onto the hard plastic ground, but I'm immediately hauled back up onto my feet. "Keep. Moving," the guard snarls, getting right up in my face.

  I nod, trying to get him to see that I understand, hoping he might cut me some slack. But he just pushes me again, and I fall flat on my back, the back of my head bouncing a little on the floor. A single thought pops into my mind: have I been drugged?

  "Get up," the guard says, staring down at me. "Radford, get on your fucking feet."

  I stare up at him. I know I have to get up, but somehow I can't get all the movements together. I manage to roll onto my stomach, but all I can do is reach ahead and hope I'll manage to achieve something. I start crawling, hoping it might be enough to satisfy him. After a couple of seconds, I'm hauled up again by the scruff of the neck, and this time the guard carries me quickly along the corridor. I reach out to try to grab hold of the wall, but I'm too weak and eventually I just let my arms fall limp.

  "Who's this one?" asks a female voice as we turn a corner.

  "Room five," the guard says.

  "The new girl?" the female voice says, already getting further and further away. "I'll get the kit."

  I try to look back, to say something, but it's already too late. I want to explain everything to them, to make them understand, but they won't give me a chance. No-one's given me a chance since this whole thing started. The guard is carrying me so fast, I don't have time to think properly. If only my mind wasn't so foggy and blank, I'd -

  Suddenly, as we walk around another corner, my head slams against the wall. I'm not certain, but I think I black out for a moment. When I come around, I'm still being carried and I've lost all hope of struggling. All I want is to be put down on the ground somewhere. Anywhere. I just want to be left alone. No people. No voices. Nothing and no-one around me.

  "Room five," says the guard, stopping for a moment as he unlocks what sounds like another heavy metal door. I hear the beeping sound of a number being punched into a keypad, followed by a large lock sliding across, and finally there's an ear-splitting sound as the door swings open and I'm literally thrown inside, landing hard against the floor.

  Behind me, the door is slammed shut, and everything falls silent.

  Alone at last, I guess.

  Time passes. Loneliness settles around me, like a fine layer of dust.

  I feel like I'm dead. I feel like every ounce of energy and fight and sense has been drained from my body, and now I'm just a husk. Sure, my friends and family might look at me and say "Yeah, that's her," but if any of them looked in my eyes, they'd see that there's no-one home any more. To all intents and purposes, I really am dead. Really, truly, totally dead. And that's fine. I don't mind. Just so long as everyone leaves me alone.

  "Hey," says a voice nearby, cutting the silence of the room. It's a fragile female voice.

  I try to look up, but I'm too weak. In fact, it's hard to believe I'll ever be able to move again. I'm just a body on the floor, waiting to be picked up and thrown about by anyone who cares to get me out of the way. I don't mind: I'm happy just to stay here and hopefully not get hurt anymore. Death can't come soon enough, and it feels like the end is coming. Maybe just a few more seconds...

  Slowly, I feel arms wrap around me. Whereas the guard's arms were big and heavy, these arms are thin and bare and weak; whereas the guard was able to haul me up and carry me, these arms struggle to pull me off the floor and onto a bed. I can barely even keep my eyes open, but I can just about make out a vague, fuzzy shape holding me. As she struggles to get me onto the bed, I can hear her huffing and puffing through the effort. Why's she even bothering?

  "There," she says eventually, pulling a sheet over my body. "At least you're not on the floor."

  I open my mouth a fraction, trying to say "Thank you." Nothing comes out, of course, but it's a slight improvement. A couple of minutes ago, I wouldn't even have been able to open my mouth at all. Am I slowly getting stronger? I hope not. That would seem cruel. Why get stronger now, of all times, when I'm only going to get weaker again? I just want to fade away forever. Somewhere at the back of my mind, there's the memory of everything that's ever happened in my life. I don't want that memory to ever come back. That's why I just want to die. Plenty of other people will remember what I did. It's not necessary for me to be alive. What was it that the judge said? My crime will live in infamy. In other words, people will remember me...

  "Thank you for picking me up and putting me on the bed," the female voice says, sounding a little sarcastic. "Oh, don't mention it, weird girl. Glad to be of help. Don't worry about saying anything. My name's Kirsten, by the way. Nice to fucking meet you." There's a pause. "Ungrateful, much?"

  I make another attempt to speak, but it's still too difficult. Even breathing is hard right now. I find it impossible to believe that I'll ever do anything in my life other than fade away on this bed.

  "Duodraxadine," the girl says, suddenly putting her face close to mine and sniffing. "I can smell it on you. Maybe five percent Hexadrall mixed in. Enough to take down an elephant. You'll be like this for a few more hours, but you'll be up and about by morning. That's assuming they don't come and give you another dose. It all depends on
how much of a threat they think you are." She leans in even closer, and now I can feel her breath on my skin. "How much of a threat are you, anyway? Should I be concerned?" She pauses. "Hopefully not too much. I mean, you're in here with me, right? No offense, but if you try anything, I'll fucking kill you, do you understand? I will literally smash your head open and smear your brain across the wall. And then I'll piss in your skull until it overflows out your mouth and eye sockets. You got that?"

  I move my mouth a little, trying to speak. It's useless.

  "You're fucked up," the girl continues. "Don't get me wrong, but you're seriously like... I mean, your face is so out of it. Can you even see me?"

  I try to focus on her, but everything's still blurry. I don't know what drugs they put into my system, but all I can make out of the girl is a giant fuzzy blob hovering close over me.

  "They must have given you a double dose," she says, sounding fascinated. "That means they must think you're seriously dangerous. Dude, well done. You've got a high score already." I hear her moving away, but then she comes back close again. "Remind me to talk to you about this when you're awake, yeah? I want to know all about it. I want to know who you are, where you're from, why you're here and what the fuck is wrong with you. 'Cause I can see one thing real clear. You're special. I thought I was the most dangerous one here, but it's blatantly you. Blatantly."

  With that, she's gone. I stay on the bed, and after a while I realize I'm drooling from my open mouth. I try to close my lips, but it's too much effort: I'm like a god-damned vegetable. I'm helpless. The only thing I can do is surrender to the crushing pressure of sleep, and hope and pray that they've accidentally over-dosed me so that I slip into a coma and then, from there, into the perfect nightmare of death.