Sanctum (21 page)

“Oh my God, yuck,” Jordan groaned. “It smells like a wet dog exploded in here.”

“Sh-hhhh.” Dan didn’t mean to hiss at him so loudly.

Jordan ignored him, sighing. “And to think I could be getting wasted on Goldschläger and introducing some adorable, uninitiated freshman to
Galaxy Quest
right now. . . .”

Farther in they found a living room, still furnished, with a low circular table and a few couches covered in awful psychedelic fabric. The carpet was worn and shaggy, with a myriad of alarming stains. Glass bottles were tipped against the base of the couches, and the walls were decorated with paddles, letters, pennants . . .

“This must have been a fraternity,” Micah said, puffing out a thin laugh. “I wonder what they did to get shut down. I heard a few of the ones on campus had to be busted for meth labs back in the eighties.”

“Ugh,” Abby groaned, flipping the page on a vintage
Playboy
calendar pinned to the wall. “Classy.”

“Split up,” Dan said. “We have to be back on campus soon.”

Jordan had picked up an empty bottle and given it a sniff. He let the bottle drop where he had found it. “I should not have done that. . . .”

Micah stopped roaming the living room and turned to give them each a long look, his mouth slightly open as if something major had just dawned on him. “You guys seem like you’re looking for something in particular.”

“I’m just . . . a serial killer buff, that’s all. It’s like a hobby of mine.” Dan winced. Probably not the best lie to come up with when he had Micah out with them breaking and entering. “I’ve always wanted to solve a cold case, you know? Be the hero, maybe solve that missing-girls case or whatever . . .”

“And you think one of them lived here? In a
frat
?” He sounded understandably dubious.

“Not
live
lived here. The article said it was, um . . . uh . . . her last known whereabouts.”

“Oh.” With a shrug, Micah leaned down to inspect one of the retro coffee tables. “Hey, man, we’ve all got our hobbies. Just, uh, give me a heads-up if we’re about to be axe-murdered or something.”

“I think asbestos poisoning is a better bet,” Jordan mumbled.

“On that note,” Dan said wryly, “I’ll check the basement.”

This turned out to be easier said than done. Either the door was locked from the other side or the mechanism inside had jammed. Just his luck. Dan put his shoulder into it, slamming his weight against the door, once, twice . . . On the third hit the door gave, and a powerful stench of age and rot wafted up from below. He wanted to vomit and then run, but Felix had sent them there for a reason. There was no turning back now.

Dan covered his nose with his sleeve and carefully descended the stairs, illuminating and testing each one before going on to the next. The smell worsened the deeper he went, and for the first time that night he wondered if he was going to find something more than papers or photographs—something he wasn’t prepared to handle.

At the bottom of the steps he shined his phone around, finding an old camping lantern sitting on an overturned crate. He twisted the knob on it, sighing with relief when a light jumped in the glass canister, filling the basement with a warm, spotty glow.

He turned, slowly, his fists clenched, his fingernails biting deep into his palms.

The first thing Dan saw was the chair, iron and rusted, with manacles attached to the arms and legs. An intense wave of memory came over him and he froze.

It wasn’t a body, but already he could tell that this was a terrible place. Lantern light bled across the room, flickering and fleeting, but finally steadying enough for him to see the table behind the chair, and beyond the table what looked like an old blackboard stand. Dan hadn’t seen one of those since grade school—most classrooms had updated to plastic boards and markers after that.

His hands shook as he approached the table. It was littered with photographs, papers, and note cards. It looked as if someone had come here searching for something, scattering pages and stubs of pencils to the ground under the table.

Dan picked up one of the faded photographs. It was black-and-white, with two men seated in a formal setting, shaking hands. His skin felt suddenly icy as he noticed the man on the right had his face completely scratched out. It reminded him instantly of the picture that had started it all, the one he found waiting in his dorm room in Brookline.

He stuffed the photo in his pocket and started to pick over the pages on the table. Most of the notes he found were illegible, scribbled in a doctor’s shorthand that looked more like random squiggles than actual sentences.

The pages fell out of his hands as he discarded them, the rustle of stiff paper on stiff paper sounding like a voice whispering,
Hurry, hurry
.

His eyes were drawn again to the blackboard. Just two words had been scrawled on it in grayish chalk.

TURN AROUND

“I wish,” Dan muttered, ragged. “But I’m not done yet.”

Turn around . . . He let the words ring in his head. The more they repeated, the more he felt certain there was something here he was missing. Manacled chair, a table of notes and photos that someone had frantically searched . . .

“Turn around,” he said again, this time with a wry smile. “Not me,” he said, leaning across the table and pushing at the blackboard. “You.”

The hinges moaned, but the board spun slowly, gaining momentum as the weight fell toward the back. He had to push again, a little harder, to get it facing all the way around. Dan couldn’t suppress a gasp of shock.

He fumbled for his phone, knowing this might be his only chance to record what he was seeing. Quickly, he snapped the clearest photo he could, hoping there would be enough light with his flash to capture everything.

It looked like a map of sorts, the kind of diagram a detective might use to keep track of the many leads in a case. Photographs, papers, and charts had been fixed to the board haphazardly, with strings leading between each piece, perhaps denoting connections. Some of the strings were red, others were white.

Dan pressed himself up close to the table, squinting, trying to read and absorb as quickly as he could—there was no way the photo had captured
every
detail. Overhead, he could hear the scraping of feet. His friends must be growing restless—they’d come looking for him any second. Although this, he decided, was something he would definitely need to share with Abby and Jordan.

He skimmed over patient charts, each accompanied by photographs of young men seated in that manacled chair. The notes were endless.

Patient uncooperative
. . .

As per Kentucky
. . .

Patient shows promise
. . .

They built it out of stone
. . .

Dan had dabbled in speed reading, but this wasn’t going to work.

Without thinking, he started to snatch up whatever he could reach, ripping down the charts and photos and cards. He could reconstruct the connections later with the help of the picture he took.

This is it. This is it. You’re so close now. . . .

At the bottom of the board, he noticed a packet of yellowed pages that were clipped together. Some kind of pamphlet, maybe, or a journal. Dan finished shoveling what he could into his coat and zipped it up, then made one final reach, taking the clipped-together pages.

Thunk . . . Thunk . . .

His pulse leaped.
Damn it
. Footsteps on the stairs. His time was up. Whatever this place was, he would have to make sense of it later.

“Well, I’ve seen enough dirty old jock straps to last a lifetime,” Jordan was saying, appearing next to the lantern. “How about yoooowhoa. What is this place?”

“Not a frat I’d recommend joining,” Dan replied. “Someone was running experiments down here. A lot of them.”

Jordan visibly shivered, then whispered, “Tell me you took photos.”

“Better. We should get somewhere private—without Micah. I need to show you guys what I found.”

The footsteps on the stairs, this time, were not slow. Abby thundered down the steps, colliding headfirst into Jordan, who turned at the last second and managed to sling an arm around her.

“We . . . need . . . to go!” she blurted in between gasps for air. She pointed to the top of the stairs. “I was . . . on the second floor, looked out the window. There are people. I don’t know . . . They’re everywhere. They circled the house!” Her eyes were huge in the lantern light. She clutched Jordan’s jacket, trying to tug him up the stairs.

Dan bent to snuff out the lantern and then followed them, each taking the steps two at a time. Micah waited for them on the first floor, his face pale as a ghost’s.

“I think I can figure a way out,” he said softly. “It’s . . . a plan at least.”

Glancing out the window, Dan could see the dark silhouettes of people perfectly stamped against the streetlights. One figure stood apart from the rest, in the center of a yellow pool of lamplight. Masked. Cloaked. The gaping, hollow eyes of the mask seemed to swallow him whole. As more and more of the figures stepped out of the shadows, Dan saw that they were all cloaked and masked. The Scarlets had found them. If this was some prank of Cal’s, Dan didn’t want to stick around to find out the punch line.

“Caroline was right,” Dan whispered, his throat tense, closing up and making it almost impossible to breathe. “They’re real.”

Micah crouched and led them to the side door that went back outside. They lined up under one of the windows. Through the rotted door slats, Dan heard a low hum that built and built, growing into a chant.

“What are they saying?” Jordan hissed, eyes darting behind his glasses.

Dan tightened his grip on the papers tucked against his chest. He felt sick.

“My name,” Dan said. “They’re chanting my name.”

Chapter 22

“D
on’t listen to them.” Micah’s hand was on his shoulder, grasping and shaking. It was probably a good thing, too, because Dan was feeling so nauseated he could hardly keep his eyes open. “Just get ready to run, yeah? Can you run?”

“Sure, of course,” Dan said, nodding. Another hand was on him then, Abby’s, and that was far more welcome. She touched his wrist, saying gently, “We’ll all hold hands. We can get out of here together.”

“She’s right. Stick together and get back to campus,” Micah said. “Ready?”

Dan nodded, holding tight to the many treasures he had found that night.

“Here goes nothin’, then,” Micah said, nudging open the broken door.

“Where are you going?” Jordan demanded.

“Out there. I’ll draw their attention, you just get the hell out of dodge.” He inched toward the opening door.

“
That’s
your big plan? How high
are
you?”

“Just run, would ya?” And then he was gone, off like a shot across the overgrown lawn. Dan forced himself up from the ground. He didn’t trust his legs just then, but he didn’t have a choice—Micah was already sprinting toward the street, and the cloaked Scarlets surrounding the house broke, chasing after him, swarming like a horde of zombies.

Dan watched them converge, gaining ground with each second, their red cloaks fanning out behind them as they gave chase.

“That’s our cue,” Abby said. She was the first to go, holding Dan by the elbow and Jordan by his wrist. She yanked them out the door, pelting toward the sidewalk as fast as her little Ugg boots would carry her.

“Slow down!” Dan said, struggling to match her pace.

“Keep up!” she countered.

Dan glanced to his left, over his shoulder, watching as Micah led what looked like a dozen red ghosts down the street. He shouldn’t have looked. He was never that coordinated to begin with, and now he was tripping, thudding to the ground so hard his teeth rattled. The papers he had been clutching to his chest flew up and away in a spectacular arc. Dan watched them go, flopping like a fish out of water as he tried to regain his feet.

“Leave it!” Abby screamed.

They had made too much noise, drawn too much attention. Some of Micah’s pursuers stopped and turned, watching for a moment that felt like years. Then they came for him, swift red shapes racing across the lawn, those horrible masked faces homing in on him.

“I can’t leave it,” Dan said, crawling on elbows and knees through the damp grass. He groped in the darkness, fingers growing slick and then muddy as he tried to find the lost pages. He could feel the nearing footsteps shuddering through the earth and into his chest.

A pair of Chuck Taylors zipped by, and Jordan with them.

“I’ve got them!” he shouted. “Now get your ass up!”

Both Jordan and Abby scooped him off the ground, lifting him by his elbows. Dan’s feet were already churning in midair. There was no time to gain his balance; Abby and Jordan whisked him away, avoiding the streetlamp at the corner. Dan didn’t dare chance another look—he knew they were still being followed.

His lungs burned; his eyes stung with tears from the cold air whipping past his face. One block flew by and then another. Dan knew they were headed in the right direction from the campus chapel steeple rising above the trees. In the distance, he heard the sounds of the carnival, twinkling music and laughter.