The Garden of Dead Dreams by Abby Quillen Read Free Book Online Page A

pushed the piece of paper into her pocket, and raced into the great room.

Chapter Six
    Etta found the only vacant chair at the end of the back row, next to Chase Quinn.
    “Hi Chase,” she whispered.
    He didn’t turn.
    She sat up in her chair, trying to see over Mallory Chambers’ head, and scanned the room for Olivia. She hadn’t seen her roommate all afternoon.
    Director Hardin stood in front of the hearth. His stately voice always made what he said sound significant, except Etta had no idea what he was talking about. She must have missed something, because he wasn’t making any sense.
    “Chase,” she whispered and then tapped on his arm.
    Chase glared at her.
    “Sorry, can you tell me, did I miss something?”
    Chase rolled his eyes and shrugged, turning his gaze back to the director.
    Etta stopped herself from sticking out her tongue at the back of his coppery head. Instead she tried to focus on what Hardin was saying, no matter how little sense it made.
    “Carry on with your scholarly activities. Do not hesitate to wander the grounds, but please travel in pairs and groups.” Hardin’s eyes wandered toward the ceiling. “Galen was always unstable, but he had good times and bad. He could be coherent. However, by the time he was admitted into the Oregon State Hospital . . .” A tremble seemed to ascend through Hardin’s body then his head quivered, and he let out a sigh. “He was delusional—dangerous.”
    A gasp came from somewhere in the crowd, and Etta felt her own heart thumping against her chest.
    Hardin’s eyes softened. “Now, let’s not panic, students. We are not certain that Galen has been trespassing. We were notified of his release from the hospital five months ago. Since then, we’ve been more vigilant than usual about securing the property, and we have reason to suspect someone has been camping near the west boundary. I must emphasize again: Galen was not released because he is better, but because the state claims it can no longer afford to care for those with his condition, with the budget cuts and whatnot.” Hardin’s eyes seemed to get lost on something behind the students. “Roosevelt Lodge was Galen’s home for a short while, and we expect he may return. Please do not under any circumstances speak to strangers, and report anything out of the ordinary immediately.” He looked at the ceiling. “Any questions?”
    In front of Etta, Mallory Chambers bolted to his feet. “Are you telling us, sir, that there’s a madman on the loose?”
    A darkness seemed to pass over the director’s eyes. “Mr. Chambers, name calling is unnecessary. However, yes, Galen should be considered . . . unstable.”
    A hand rose in the center of the room. Etta couldn’t hear the speaker. “Please stand and repeat your question.” Hardin’s voice seemed to be wearing down, as though he’d already grown tired of answering questions.
    Maura Wilkins’ black curls rose above the rest of the heads. “Sir, what about the party tomorrow? We’ve been working hard on the play, rehearsing every day, will this interfere . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    Hardin wrinkled his forehead. “The equinox party will go on as planned. That reminds me, if there are no other questions, I have an announcement.” He rifled through his pocket and pulled out a card. “Yes, yes, our chefs will need some help with food preparation. I know many of you have agreed to help with decorations or will be preparing for the dramatic production, but can any of you assist our chefs on tomorrow afternoon?”
    A hand rose in the front of the crowd.
    Etta straightened her spine and tried to see over all the heads, the rows of hair—straight, curly, a bald spot. Amanda Watson? Was it Mandy? She would be eager to spend the day flirting with Carl. Without thinking Etta thrust her hand into the air, and Hardin nodded in her direction.
    “Okay, Ms. Saxon, and whoever that is back there. Two should be sufficient.” He slipped the card back