Asylum

They built it out of stone—dark gray stone, pried loose from the unforgiving mountains. It was a house for those who could not take care of themselves, for those who heard voices, who had strange thoughts and did strange things. The house was meant to keep them in. Once they came, they never left.

Dan felt like he was going to be sick.

The narrow, gravelly road had been jostling his cab for at least five miles now, and that was on top of his first-day jitters. His driver kept cursing about dents and flat tires. Dan just hoped he wouldn’t be expected to pay for any damage—the trip from the airport was already expensive enough.

Although it was early afternoon, the light outside was dim thanks to the dense forest on either side of the road. It would be easy to get lost in those woods, Dan thought.

Still alive back there?

What? Yeah, I’m fine, Dan said, realizing he hadn’t spoken since he’d gotten in the car. Just ready for some even ground is all.

Finally, the cab came to a break in the trees and everything turned dappled and silvery green in the summer sunshine.

There it was: New Hampshire College. The place Dan would be spending the next five weeks.

This summer school—Dan’s lifeline—had been the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel all school year long. He’d be hanging out with kids who wanted to learn, who actually did their homework beforehand and not up against their lockers in a messy dash before the bell. He couldn’t wait to be there already.

Out the window, Dan saw buildings that he recognized from the college’s website. They were charming brick colonials placed around a quad with emerald-green grass, perfectly cut and trimmed. These were the academic buildings, Dan knew, where he would be taking classes. Already a few early birds were out on the lawn tossing a Frisbee back and forth. How had those guys made friends so fast? Maybe it really would be that easy here.

The driver hesitated at a four-way stop; diagonally to the right stood a pretty, down-home church with a tall white steeple, then a row of houses stretching beyond. Craning forward out of his seat, Dan saw the cabbie flick on his right turn signal.

It’s left, actually, Dan blurted, sinking back down in his seat.

The driver shrugged. If you say so. Damn machine can’t seem to make up its mind. As if to illustrate, the cabbie banged his fist on the GPS display bolted to the center of the dash. It looked like the path it had mapped out for them ended here.

It’s left, Dan repeated, less confident this time. He wasn’t actually sure how he knew the way—he hadn’t looked up directions ahead of time—but there was something about that pristine little church that stirred a memory, and if not a memory, a gut instinct.

Dan drummed his fingers on the seat, impatient to see where he would be living. The regular dorms were being renovated over the summer, so all the College Prep students were being housed in an older building called Brookline, which his admissions packet had called a retired mental health facility and historical site. In other words, an asylum.

At the time, Dan had been surprised to find there were no pictures of Brookline up on the website. But he understood why when the cab rounded a corner and there it was.

It didn’t matter that the college had slapped a fresh coat of paint on the outer walls, or that some enterprising gardener had gone a little overboard planting cheerful hydrangea bushes along the path—Brookline loomed at the far end of the road like a warning. Dan had never imagined that a building could look threatening, but Brookline managed that feat and then some. It actually seemed to be watching him.

Turn around now, whispered the voice in his head.

Dan shivered, unable to stop himself from imagining how patients in the old days felt when they were checked into the asylum. Did they know? Did some of them have this same weird feeling of panic, or were they too far gone to understand?

Then he shook his head. These were ridiculous thoughts. . . . He was a student, not a patient. And as he’d assured Paul and Sandy, Brookline was no longer an asylum; it had closed its doors in 1972 when the college purchased it to make a functional dorm with co-ed floors and communal bathrooms.

Okay, this is it, said the cab driver, although Dan noticed he’d stopped about thirty feet shy of the curb. Maybe Dan wasn’t the only one who got weird vibes from this place. Still, he reached into his wallet and forked over three of the twenties his parents had given him.

Keep the change, he said, climbing out.

Something about rolling up his sleeves and grabbing his stuff from the trunk finally made the day feel real in Dan’s mind. A guy in a blue baseball cap wandered by, a stack of worn comic books in his arms. That made Dan smile. My people, he thought. He walked into the dorm. For the next five weeks, this was home.

If a new BMW in the school parking lot gave you clout at Dan’s high school, then Apple products and sheer volume of books seemed to grant the cool factor at NHCP.

That’s what they were supposed to call the program, as Dan quickly learned. The college student volunteers who were there to hand out room keys and help kids move in kept saying, "Welcome to NHCP! and the one time Dan actually called it New Hampshire College Prep," they gave him a look like he was sweet but simple.

Dan walked up the front steps and found himself in a large entrance hall. The enormous chandelier couldn’t overcome the darkness caused by all the wood paneling and overstuffed furniture. Through a grand archway across from the entrance, Dan spotted a wide staircase, and halls leading in on either side. Even the students bustling in and out did nothing to dispel the feeling of heaviness.

Dan started up the stairs with his suitcases. Three long flights later, he arrived at his room, number 3808. Dan put down his bags and opened the door, only to discover that his assigned roommate had already moved in. Or maybe filed in would be more accurate. Books, manga magazines, almanacs of all shapes and sizes (most tending toward biology) lay in neat, color-coordinated order on the provided bookshelves. His roommate had taken up exactly half of the space in the room, with his suitcases zipped up and tucked neatly under the closer bed. Half of the closet was already filled with shirts, slacks, and coats on hangers—white hangers for shirts and jackets, blue for pants.

It looked like the guy had been living here for weeks.

Dan hauled his suitcases onto the unclaimed bed, then checked over the furniture that was his for the summer. The bed, bedside table, and desk all seemed to be in good condition. He opened the top desk drawer out of idle curiosity, wondering if he would find a Gideons Bible or maybe a welcome letter. Instead, he discovered a small slip of what looked like film paper. It was old, faded to the point of being almost completely bleached out. Faintly, he could see a man staring up at him, an older, bespectacled gentleman in a doctor’s coat and dark shirt. Nothing about the photo was all that remarkable, except for the eyes—or to be more accurate, where the eyes had been. Messily—or perhaps angrily—someone had scratched them out.

"Daniel Crawford?"

Dan spun around with the photo still in hand. A lanky teenager stood just inside the doorway, dressed like a door-to-door missionary in a starched white shirt, dark tie, and pleated trousers.

Hey, Dan greeted him, waving a little. You my roommate?

It looks that way, yes. The sentence came out more earnest than sarcastic. Felix Sheridan, the boy added. Did I startle you?

No, no, I just—I found this photo. . . . At least I think it’s a photo, could be a postcard or something, I guess. Anyway, someone went to town on it. It’s pretty freaky. Dan held up the picture and shrugged. It didn’t seem like an ideal icebreaker, but then he never was very good at first impressions. Did you get one of these? Maybe it’s part of a scavenger hunt or something.

Nothing like that, no. Felix blinked his milky-blue eyes. I got my new student pamphlet, dorm safety information, and the course catalog. But that all came in the mail a few weeks ago.

Yeah, I got all that, too. Dan shrugged again awkwardly. Just wondering. No big deal.

Dan put the photograph back in the drawer and shut it. Surely he could get by this summer without ever opening it again.

I could scan the picture and research it for you. Easy enough, really, just a reverse image search. Although actually, now that I think about it, it sort of reminds me of—

Thanks, but never mind, Dan interrupted, wishing he hadn’t brought it up in the first place. Hey, isn’t there some welcome party or something we’re supposed to be going to?

If you’d allow me to finish . . . , Felix said calmly, then waited an extra-uncomfortable beat. I was going to say that it reminds me of some photos I found downstairs.

Wait, seriously? What do you mean? Dan couldn’t help it; his curiosity was piqued.

There’s this abandoned office on the first floor, Felix explained. I think it belonged to the old asylum’s warden or something. There were papers and pictures and things just sitting out for anyone to see. The sign down there said it’s supposed to be off-limits, but the lock on the door was busted.

You actually went inside? Dan wasn’t a rule breaker, but then, based on the little he knew about his roommate so far, he wouldn’t have guessed that Felix was either.

Felix nodded. I was just there, in fact. And I didn’t look too closely, but I’m pretty sure there were some photographs like yours.

Not mine, Dan thought with a shudder. I’m just the unlucky guy who found it.

Maybe you should check it out for yourself, but I have to warn you, the place was pretty unsettling, to put it mildly.

Felix didn’t seem unsettled, though. If anything, standing there blocking the doorway, he looked like he was offering Dan a challenge. But Dan had other things on his mind.

So, about that party? he said.

Felix stepped inside and went over to the closet, his hand going right to a navy blue blazer. Indeed. He joined Dan at the door. Have you run into many girls yet? Our floor only seems to have a handful. But I’m betting there will be more at this party, eh, Daniel?

Dan stared at his roommate, trying to add up all the things he’d just learned about him into one coherent person. He wondered if everyone at this program would be so full of contradictions. In theory it would make for a refreshing change of pace from high school, where everyone Dan knew was so predictable. In theory.

I’m sure there will be girls, yeah, but . . .

Felix watched him expectantly.

Listen, I’m not much of a wingman. You might have better luck chasing girls on your own. It made him feel a little jerky, brushing Felix off like this when he was just trying to be friendly, but Dan found himself wanting to keep his roommate at arm’s length. Especially when it came to girls.

Fair enough. Probably better if we’re not fighting over the same ones anyway, am I right?

Dan let out a tiny sigh, nodding.

The hallways were jam-packed with kids still moving their stuff in. Many were milling around in groups, talking. Why couldn’t Dan have ended up with one of them for a roommate?

Look, Daniel Crawford, Felix commanded, pulling him to a stop when they reached the main entrance hall. He pointed out the front door to where students were heading across the lawn. "Girls. Enough for both of us."

Gently disengaging his arm from Felix’s clammy grip, Dan went through the door. The day would improve. It had to.

Well, I feel like a grown-up, how about you? Dan took another bite of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream.

Felix stared blankly. I’m not sure I know what you mean.

I mean this. Dan held up the little paper dish of ice cream and danced it side to side. This whole ice cream social thing. Feels like . . . I don’t know, like we’re little kids again at a birthday party. He eyed the tiny wooden shovel that had come with the cup. It only made him feel sillier.

They were in Wilfurd Commons, a huge cafeteria-cum-ballroom located in one of the buildings off the quad. Above them a domed skylight let in the last traces of sunlight. The coming dusk gave the room a violet tint, while outside a fog was settling low to the ground.

I don’t connect ice cream to my childhood, Felix said.

That’s probably because you never went to any birthday parties. Dan immediately chided himself. He really had to be nicer, but conversation had so far been hopeless.

Personally, I was hoping I’d have a chance to get some advice on which biology classes to take, but I don’t see any of the professors associated with— Wait! I think that may be Professor Soams now. I read his dissertation on the evolution of microbial pathogens. . . .

Dan missed the rest of what Felix was saying, all too happy to see him wading through the crowd toward an elderly man in the opposite corner. Still, relieved though he was for the break from Felix, he was now painfully aware of being alone in a crowd.

Hoping that he didn’t look as awkward as he felt, Dan put another spoonful of the melting ice cream into his mouth. It tasted chalky, like medicine. The unpleasant smell of a burning cigarette wafted in from the open doors leading outside, and Dan felt himself clamming up.

Calm down, Dan, you’re fine, you’re fine.

A cold, prickly sweat gathered at the base of his neck. He felt dizzy, and the skylight spun. The whole room spun. He tried to grab the table behind him but missed and stumbled backward. Any second he’d hit the floor.

A strong hand caught him by the arm and pulled him upright. Whoa! Careful, slick, or you’ll be wearing that ice cream. Dan blinked and the world came back into focus. In front of him, still holding his arm, was a girl, petite, with large brown eyes and creamy olive skin. She was wearing a big button-down shirt that had splatters of paint on it over a tank top. Her jeans were ripped, and she had on a pair of heavy black boots.

Thanks, said Dan, checking his own shirt to make sure he hadn’t spilled anything. I guess it’s just a little too hot in here.

She smiled.

I’m Dan Crawford, by the way.

Abby, Abby Valdez, the girl said. They shook hands. Her grip was strong and warm.

Anyway, you said it. Abby snorted and tossed her wavy hair. It fell like a black curtain over one shoulder, purple and green feathers threaded into the curls. They could at least turn on a fan.

Right? So, um, what do you think of this place so far? Dan said. It seemed like a good, normal question to ask, especially after his decidedly not normal fainting spell. Dr. Oberst always told him that if he felt anxious in conversation, he should just ask the other person questions and let them do the talking for a minute.

I could live without staying in an old loony bin, but otherwise it’s cool. What are you here for? Classwise, I mean.

I’m going to study history, mostly, and maybe some psychology. What about you?

I’ll give you one guess, Abby replied with a laugh. And it’s not astrophysics.

Dan looked at the paint splatters on her shirt and the dark smudges on her hands, traces of pencil rubbed into the creases of her knuckles and palms.

Um, art?

Got it in one! Abby punched him lightly on the arm. Yeah, the studio classes here are supposed to be great, so I felt like it was a good chance to work on my technique before portfolios are due for college apps. But who knows, right? There’s so much to choose from. She spoke quickly, energetically, flitting from thought to thought with hardly a breath in between. Dan nodded and said Uh-huh at what he thought were the right moments.

Without discussing it, they drifted toward the open door.

You feeling all right now? Abby was saying.

How do you mean? Dan paused at the doorway. Outside, a glow-in-the-dark disk flew by. A dozen or so students were congregated on the lawn, playing another impromptu game of Frisbee.

Before? When it looked like you were about to pass out?

Oh, that. Yeah, I’m fine. I think it was just the heat, and I haven’t eaten much today. It was as good an excuse as any, considering he never knew for sure what triggered the episodes. Honestly, though, he was kind of glad it had happened this time—he wouldn’t have met Abby otherwise.

Dan pointed to the students running around on the grass. You into sports much?

Me? Abby laughed, playing with one of the feathers in her hair. Not really. At our school games I’m usually in the stands. I play the piccolo in the marching band. It’s not my favorite thing, but Pops says it’ll make me look ‘well-rounded’ to colleges.

I’ve never been one for sports either. They lingered at the top of the steps, watching the game. My dad’s a little disappointed. . . . He was big into baseball as a kid.

That was an understatement. His adoptive father, Paul, had gone to college on a baseball scholarship, and he’d pressured Dan into T-ball and then junior leagues before Dan finally broke down and told him he’d rather go to science camp.

"Well, if you’re here, then he can’t be that disappointed. You’ve got to have brain power just to make it in—" She broke off and started waving vigorously at a guy who was walking toward them. The guy strolled blithely through the Frisbee game, ignoring the players’ shouts for him to get out of the way. Dan looked between Abby and her friend, feeling his stomach sink. Not that he had any claim on her—he’d known her for all of ten minutes—but he had to admit he’d been pretty psyched thinking he’d met another person who’d come here alone, like him. Now he couldn’t help looking at stranger boy, with his broody hair and broody face and cool, broody clothes, and thinking, Well, I