But it was the cell phone on the concrete floor inside that snagged Austin’s attention.
Christy’s. The yellow case was plain enough.
He reached in and grabbed the phone. Pressed the power button. Dead. But why leave it behind?
It had been a long while since Austin felt the kind of concern that swept through him as he considered the possibilities.
He crammed her phone into his left pocket and crawled inside, moving as quickly as the low ceiling would allow. She’d probably made the frantic call from here before managing to kick her way out the other end.
At the far side he shoved the plywood into something that blocked its path. Another grunting shove and the wood slid, pushing several large barrels out of its way as it opened.
Another worry crossed his mind as he pushed the drums aside and stood. Someone had taken the time to slide the drums back in place. Christy, trying to cover her tracks? If so, why?
He stood in a boiler room, no doubt belonging to Saint Matthew’s Hospital. Rows of thick pipes hugged the left wall and ceiling.
If she made it this far she’d probably found her way to the main lobby and was already on her way home. But why hadn’t she returned for her locket or her phone?
He looked at his watch. Already late. Dr. Bishop was as punctual as they got. Austin would have to rebook the appointment.
He stepped toward the exit, hitting dial on his phone as he moved. The call connected to voice mail. He left a quick message saying he’d been delayed and would like to rebook as soon as possible.
Pocketing his phone, he slipped out of the boiler room and headed for the EXIT sign. He surged forward, passing beneath banks of fluorescent lights that buzzed in the ceiling.
He’d reached the exit, taken one step into the stairwell, and was already releasing the door when he heard the distant but unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice speaking urgently enough to stop him. A male voice rumbled through the walls, just barley audible. Again, fairly urgent.
For a moment his mind spun through a reasoning cycle that led him to the thought that this might be Christy. She hadn’t returned for her locket. She hadn’t called from a landline to say she was all right. She’d essentially broken into a hospital.
She was being detained?
He left the stairwell, eased the door shut, and crossed to the other side of the hall, letting the speakers lead him. The exchange became less urgent. The voices were coming from beyond the last door on his right. SUPPLIES, a black plastic sign read in print and braille.
He leaned close to the door and listened.
The girl’s voice came again. She was crying?
Austin twisted the knob quietly and slipped inside.
To his left, large gray cabinets lined two walls. A squat metal desk was shoved against the third. A single banker’s lamp, the only light in the room, cast an amber halo across the tabletop. Straight ahead, the room faded to a patchwork of shadows and a drawn curtain that hung from a track in the ceiling.
“And if I say yes?” He could hear the girl’s soft words clearly now, just beyond the curtain. It wasn’t Christy’s.
“I’ll let you out,” a gentle male voice said.
“I already know the way out. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I know.”
“You’ve seen nothing, Alice.”
“I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I will get out.”
“Not unless I allow it, which I won’t. I just explained the rules. Or weren’t you listening?”
“I don’t care about your rules.”
“Then you’ll suffer.”
“I’m used to it,” she said.
Austin felt his heart rate surge as the low voice chuckled. The old hospital was now a pysch ward. All he could think was that he was overhearing some craziness between two patients. It wasn’t Christy—he should just leave.
And he was about to, but what the man said next stopped him cold.
“If I say you’ll suffer, you will, make no mistake.”
Austin turned toward the curtain, reacting only to that part of
Learning to Kill: Stories