'Stupid. So stupid!' Eddie Korbyn thought for what felt like millionth time that day. He was pacing the small cell, trying to ignore the drunken singing coming from the cell on his right and feeling jealous about the bastard in the cell in front of him, who was snoring away. They were just two local idiots who will most likely be released in the morning.
Not so much Eddie.
No. Because he fucked up and let himself get caught. Before he even managed to establish anything. Most of the money his cousin gave him to start out in this sucky part of Victoria had been spent on booze and girls. And petrol, because hell, he needed something to start the fires.
He had one job. Only one... to mark out his place and get them some business. He was sure that as soon as he would've managed to take over a few small business, his cousin Dave would have sent him more money and support. Right now he only had a few guys at his disposal and they all scattered as soon as the cops appeared. Eddie was too busy trying to kick the shit out of a bit too spunky shop owner to notice in time and the bloody bastards left him there. Figures.
Eddie knew he shouldn't have trusted them, but then they were Dave's men. If nothing else, Eddie knew that his cousin already got a report on his situation. He wasn't sure if that was good or not.
On one hand, Eddie wanted Dave to send someone and bail him out. Perhaps a better lawyer might do. He knew the family had the money and they had already got a lawyer before for some of the family members.
On the other hand, Eddie was worried. He had managed to fail on his first solo mission, the one that was supposed to get him really accepted into the family business. Eddie hated that. He wasn't sure how many failures was Dave willing to tolerate... this one sure as hell wasn't the first one to happen to him. Far from that actually, which made Eddie so surprised when he heard the scuffle. There was a yelp of pain, the sound of something firm hitting flesh then a thud. Eddie had already crossed the cell and plastered his face against the bars, curious.
"What-" he watched with a frown as a masked figure leaned over a body. He shut up, but it was too late. The figure heard him. The man's head rose and Eddie froze. There was just something...
"Tee?" he uttered after a second, when the man shot him a smirk and Eddie saw the crooked front tooth.
The man hissed, shooting a look around then marginally relaxed his shoulders and left the unconscious cop lying face down on the floor. Another man that Eddie didn't instantly recognize knelt down next to him and started patting him over, searching.
Tee, or rather Thomas, though Eddie never called him that, stepped right up to the bars, giving Eddie a somehow disproving look.
"Really man? First solo and you fuck it up?"
Eddie suddenly felt all of three years old instead of twenty eight.
"It wasn't my fault," he started but Tee shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh.
"I don't bloody care. And it's not me who you need to explain to. Dave is waiting for you... rather impatiently," Tee said and Eddie felt a shudder of apprehension. That meant Dave was pissed. Of course he was. Dave had quite a temper on him as it was. Eddie didn't really fancy facing him after such a fuck up.
"You didn't have to come," Eddie hissed. "I-"
"What, you had it handled?" Tee snorted then turned towards the fallen cop and the other guy.
"What the hell is taking so long?" he asked impatiently.
"Gimme a minute for hell's sake. Or do you think I enjoy patting down a copper?"
"Mike?" Eddie uttered, startled to recognize the youngest addition to the family. Mike shot him a glare.
"Shut the fuck up!" he hissed, clearly not appreciating his name being spoken.
Tee rolled his eyes.
"Come on. As if anyone here will have a chance to identify you," he stated with a smirk.
"Why the hell are we wearing these stupid masks then?"
Tee shrugged.
"Psychological effect. They don't have to know," he winked playfully. Eddie blanched.
Did it mean what he thought it meant? Did his cousin order this stint set on killing whoever was present? Eddie wouldn't put it past the man, but it still made him shudder. Tee shot him a look and Eddie knew that however apprehensive he might've been, it didn't matter. It was either following Dave's orders or perishing with everyone else.
"Gotcha!" Mike called out jubilantly as he finally found a set of keys. He pulled them off of the unconscious cop with a rattle then threw them at Tee.
The rattle of keys in the lock managed what words and grunts didn't. The snoring and the drunken singing had came to a halt. Eddie noticed two pairs of eyes watching through their respective cells, curious and only half aware of what was happening.
"Get lost losers!" Tee barked at the two men. The one who had slept up until now gazed blearily at them. Tee bared his teeth and pointed his gun straight at the man's face. He blinked, slowly raised his arms and took a step back. Without a word the man had settled back on his cot and turned his back towards them. It was clear he didn't want any part in this.
The drunken one was the exact opposite however. The singing might've stopped, only for the barrage of words starting up instead.
"Hey hey boys, why dontcha open this door?" the man asked, drawling the last world even as his hands rattled the bars impatiently.
Tee shot him a glare of disgust, but decided to ignore him. Mike wasn't as gracious, definitely not after the drunk got a bit fed up and spat towards him. He grabbed the cop's baton and smacked it forcefully against the fingers treaming the bars. The drunk howled in pain, spitting out a string of curses as he fell back, clutching at his hand. Eddie was sure at least one of those fingers must've been broken. He grimaced but didn't comment. Tee had just found the right key and the lock popped open. Despite his misgivings, Eddie was happy to step out of the damn cell. It was making him claustrophobic.
"Do you know what they have on you?" Tee asked, leaning against the open cell door.
Eddie shrugged.
"Some of my stuff... fingerprints I think. The... the tapes. From interrogation," he added, looking away in embarrassment. He didn't say much, but the cop managed to trick him... and he might've let something slip. He wasn't even sure what but he knew they had it on tape.
Tee didn't say a word, he just nodded. He most likely expected that.
Mike shot him a glare though.
"What now?" Eddie asked as he now stood only a feet or so from the cop lying on the floor. He could see the man was still breathing, the only obvious injury a splotch of redness running down his neck from where Tee struck him with the gun.
"Now you strip and change clothes with him," Tee said, pointing at the cop as if it was the most normal request.
"What?"
"Are you deaf? Strip! You are about the same size. And we can always use a cop uniform for later."
Mike chuckled.
"Oh yeah, that might be fun," he said. Eddie grimaced. Last thing he wanted was to go swapping clothes with an unconscious guy, but knew better than to oppose Tee. He was Dave's right hand man after all. One mean son of a bitch Eddie didn't want to cross, especially not in his current position. So he squatted down and started pulling off the cop's clothes.
"A bit of help?" he asked after a moment, realizing it was anything but fun to get clothes off of a dead weight.
"What, ya don't know how to do it? Just treat him like one of your lady friends," Mike noted with a sick smirk.
Eddie scowled.
"Dunno what you're doing, but my lady friends are usually awake and quite willing to help," he added.
Mike snorted, opening his mouth for some smart retort most likely, but Tee was losing patience.
"Shut up both of you and get on with it!" he barked, waving his gun, then smacking it against the bars as the drunkard in the cell resumed his wailing over the smashed fingers.
"Shut the fuck up or I'll break your other hand too!" he threatened. "Move it!" he spat back to Eddie and both he and Mike scrambled to do as they were told.
After several minutes of struggling, they had the cop stripped to his knackers and socks. Eddie had somehow proceeded to put on the uniform, feeling weirded out by the prospect. Also kind of like a kid, when they were playing cops and robbers and he somehow managed to land the role of the copper. In their community, it meant that he was usually the first one to be killed in the game. Unless he played the crooked cop card. Then he could join the other kids in the true fun.
Now he had to dress up as a cop to be able to join the group. Wasn't that just ironic.
"What about him?" Mike asked, his eyes glinting with some sick excitement as he watched the uniform divested cop, still unconscious and helpless on the floor. Eddie haven't noticed until now, but Mike had pulled out his hunting knife and was running his fingers over the blade almost absentmindedly.
"Now you put Eddie's clothes on him," Tee said, to the surprise of all.
Mike froze.
"What?"
"Put those clothes... back on him," Tee said, carefully annunciating, as if talking to someone hard of hearing. Or thinking.
"Why? We can just cut the pig right here-"
"Fucking hell, do as I told you! And put away that stupid knife before you cut off your damn fingers," Tee said with a flash of disgust. Mike glared.
"Dress him up yourself if you want. I'm not a damn butler."
Eddie could see this wasn't going to end well. Mike was too young and hot headed and Tee was... well. He didn't take well to that. He wondered what the hell was Dave even thinking, sending these two out together.
Easiest way to douse the fire though was to get moving. And the faster they did what Tee planned, the faster he could be out of this place. Somehow, having the uniform on just made him more nervous. More out of his element.
So he knelt down and started trying to pull his own trousers on the cop. It was even harder than getting them off. He cursed and grunted until Tee snapped impatiently at Mike to give him a hand or he will have a word with him outside. Mike looked as if he would have preferred the chance to go fist to fist against Tee but after a few seconds of the glaring contest some of the blood must've actually reached his brain, because he saw the light. With grumbling, he joined Eddie in the effort. Pants done, they moved to the shirt. Eddie was just propping the cop up into a sitting position, while Mike was pulling angrily on his arm, trying to manoeuvre it through a sleeve. Eddie could swear he heard a snicker come from Tee but he didn't look up.
He felt the body in his arms suddenly stiffen and knew that the cop was coming to his senses. That perhaps he had been awake for some time now.
He didn't get a chance to cry out a warning. As soon as the body stiffened, the cop smacked his head backwards, hitting Eddie square in the face with the back of his skull.
Eddie felt blood and pain bursting from his nose as he yelped, letting go of the cop and reaching up to his face in pain.
He wasn't sure what happened in the next moment. Tears sprung into his eyes and he had them shut tight, teeth gritted to stop the string of curses running through his lips. He didn't see, but he could feel movement. He heard cursing, the sound of smacking. A pained scream, a heavy boot landing on something. A crack of a bone... then silence.
He was panting, unable to breathe through his nose, but he wasn't the only one.
"Fucking pig, he fucking stabbed me!" Mike wailed and Eddie managed to open his eyes. He had to blink a few times but he made out the gruesome picture.
Mike was sitting on the floor, back leaning against the corridor wall, both his hands clutching at his leg, holding something. There was blood seeping through his fingers, smears of blood on the floor, leading to the fallen form of the cop.
The man was once again unconscious. His chest was still rising and Eddie could hear an occasional moan escaping the bloodied lips. The man's right hand was a mess and Eddie thought Tee must've stomped on it at some point. Good. The bastard deserved it, for breaking Eddie's nose.
"Fucking hell!" Mike kept wailing and Eddie moved onto his knees. Tee was cursing, looking at Mike's leg and Eddie saw it was the hilt of the knife embedded in his thigh that he was holding.
"Stop with the noise! It's all your fault you idiot. If you had put that knife away, he would've done squat."
"My leg! Tee, my leg!"
"Yeah yeah, I can see. Hold still," Tee said and without any warning he pulled the knife out. Mike screamed, then promptly passed out.
"Bloody hell!" Eddie cursed and scrambled to his feet. "What the hell? You can't do that!" he said, his own bloodied hands reaching towards the ugly wound in Mike's thigh.
Tee just shrugged.
"It's either a scratch or he's dead anyway. We don't have time for theatrics. Bandage it up with something. We need to move."
While Eddie looked around frantically trying to find something to use as a bandage, Tee had grabbed the unresponsive cop by the arms and dragged him into Eddie's cell. He didn't bother putting him on the cot, though he did grab a pillow and pulled off the case.
"Here. Use this," he said, throwing Eddie the pillowcase. "I swear, I must do everything around here," Tee grumbled.
Eddie wanted to have some choice words but thought better of it. Instead, he wrapped the bleeding wound as tight as possible. It was bleeding, but wasn't spurting and he thought Mike might even survive this. When he tied the knot, the man underneath stirred, letting out a pitiful moan. Eddie tried not to feel just a bit of glee over that. He never liked Mike after all.
Tee had in the meantime locked the cell door and stashed the keys in his pocket. Eddie caught him staring at the unconscious copper and he could see the gun in his right hand leaning against the bars, finger brushing over the trigger.
Eddie leaned a bit harder on Mike's thigh, eliciting a moan. Tee turned to look at them, pulled out of his contemplation.
"What now?" Eddie asked, running a hand over his face to brush away the blood from his nose.
"Do try not to ruin the damned uniform first, huh?" Tee snapped. Eddie would have snorted if his broken nose hadn't made it impossible. The front of his uniform was already spattered with blood and there was also a bloody handprint on his trousers as he unconsciously rubbed his hand on it. While the dark material did a good job at hiding the blood, it was still pretty visible. Eddie would very much prefer the ability to breathe freely.
"You're both pathetic," Tee shook his head, then waved his gun. "Time to go. We need to look around and make sure there's no evidence linking back to the family."
"What about him?" Eddie asked, nodding towards Mike. He was starting to come back, though that was hardly a win as his first words were a string of curses aimed at Eddie's parentage.
"We can hardly leave him here now, can we? Help him up. He came all this way to help you out, least you can do is return the favour, right?"
"Right," Eddie grunted even as he was leaning down and propping up the half unconscious man. It took almost as much effort to get him back up on his feet as it was to strip the cop. Eddie was seriously starting to think that nudging Dave to give him this chance and let him prove himself was one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Mike's pained grunts and moans right next to him seemed to just strengthen that feeling.
For a whole minute they just stood in place, backs pushed against the wall. The torch in Bill's hand was shakily pointing towards the space they had just evacuated. All they could see was a mess of metal and dust.
Charlie coughed and grimaced, his lungs already irritated. He turned away, not wanting to breathe the dust and dirt in the air. The coughing made the pain in his ribs worse and he was already sore enough.
"Let's... go," he said, pulling Bill's left arm more securely around his shoulder and turning them both towards the unknown darkness.
Bill grunted and took a stumbling step, but they weren't yet synchronized. Charlie didn't move fast enough and Bill's broken leg involuntarily touched the ground.
"Bloody hell!" Bill cursed and Charlie stopped and let Bill pull away and lean against the wall to get his bearings.
"Maybe we should stabilize that leg first," he mused, remembering how the medics made sure not to move Lawson's leg when getting him into the car. While Bill didn't have an open fracture, Charlie thought that securing the leg might be a good idea. But what to use?
"If you touch it, I'll beat you with the torch," Bill growled, but the pain in his voice made the threat seem like empty words.
Charlie ignored it, trying to find something they could use. He thought perhaps he could use some metal pieces from the debris behind them, but one look into the utter mess changed his mind. All he needed were two straight pieces...
Charlie's hand reached to his belt. There it was... still safely tucked in the holster.
"Do you have your baton?" Charlie asked, casting a glance down Bill's form and reaching towards the item before Bill could.
"Hey! Hands off!" Bill protested but Charlie already had what he wanted. Now he needed something to tie it together...
"I'll need your belt as well," he said after a second. He was pretty sure trying to take that off without Bill's consent would end up in a black eye and a broken nose, even in Bill's current state.
"Like hell I will!" Bill grumbled, putting one hand protectively on his belt, and aiming the torch at Charlie as if it was a loaded gun.
Charlie let out an irritated huff.
"Look, we can hobble around like idiots, but if you keep stepping on that leg it might just snap. I also doubt it feels all that good hanging like this."
Bill's silence was enough of an answer.
"We will move faster once it's done. Or do you want to stop every second step?"
Bill grunted then let out a heavy, painful sigh.
Charlie thought he was gearing up for an argument, but then he saw Bill's hand move towards his belt, undoing it clumsily.
"If my pants fall down, you won't get out of this hole alive Davis, I swear," Bill grumbled as he was handing over his belt and pulling at the waistline of his pants, trying to reassure himself it would hold.
Charlie held back a chuckle, but let an amused smirk touch his face.
He did the same as Bill, now slightly regretting the lack of food. His pants seemed to threaten slipping down, fortunately they stopped at his hips. Grimacing, Charlie helped Bill sit down on the dirty floor. Squatting down, he looked at Bill. He was of half mind to take the torch from his hands just in case he felt the urge to come good on his threat and smash it against his head as soon Charlie touched his injured leg. But he needed his own hands free and someone to hold the torch and aim the light.
"I'll try to be careful, but this might hurt. Try not to kill me in the process?" he warned Bill and waited for his unhappy assent.
"Stop gabbing around and just bloody do it!"
Charlie rolled his eyes, then went to work.
First thing he did was put both belts under Bill's leg, then arranged the batons so they were straight along the shin. Ignoring the pained hiss and a string of curses, Charlie pulled both belts as tight as he dared, securing the batons to Bill's injured leg. He checked the tightness, not wanted to cut off the circulation in the leg. Satisfied that he did what he could, Charlie sat back on his hunches, giving Bill a few minutes to gather his strength and get a handle on the pain.
Once he heard Bill let out a long, controlled sigh, Charlie got back up to his feet.
"Ready or do you need a bit more time?"
"I was ready before you started torturing me," Bill grumbled, but held out his hand, begrudgingly accepting the help. With Charlie's help he managed to get back on his feet, or rather foot. He was holding the injured leg a bit above the ground.
"Is it any better?" Charlie asked and was surprised when Bill answered.
"Yeah."
"Let's go then," Charlie said and moved under Bill's arm to serve as his crutch. The first few steps were awkward and for a moment Bill managed to put all his weight on Charlie.
Charlie hissed.
When they finally found some balance and neither of them felt like taking a header, Charlie felt almost like laughing. They were a sore pair. Bill seemed to have come to the same conclusion. He snorted.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Bill asked gruffly when Charlie halted, positioning Bill's arm so it wasn't pressing against a sore spot on his shoulder.
"I really hope you're not about to keel over, cause I'm not hauling your ass anywhere."
Charlie rolled his eyes.
"Right. I wouldn't expect anything else. Ready to go?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't betray any of his discomfort. It was one thing to feel like he was run over by a car, something else to show it in front of Bill Hobart. The man wasn't exactly the caring type and last thing Charlie needed was relentless teasing for showing some kind of weakness.
Bill didn't move and Charlie was suddenly blinded by the torch.
"Bill!" he growled, pushing away the irritating thing then rubbing at his eyes, trying to clear them from all the stars peppering his vision.
"I need to know I can lean on you, Davis," Bill stated and his voice was uncharacteristically void of sarcasm.
Charlie was a bit taken aback by that. He could feel the tension in Bill's body and thought that perhaps he could risk being upfront this time.
"I'm fine. Just a few... bruised ribs."
Bill snorted.
"Maybe you should drink more milk. Your ribs are awful brittle, old man," Bill joked and Charlie huffed.
"That's rich, coming from a guy with a broken leg."
"A staircase fell on me," Bill protested.
"Same here," Charlie grunted.
Bill grumbled something under his breath but stopped pestering him. It was clear he was biding his time and Charlie could sympathize with that. A shiver ran down his spine at the mere thought of having to start down the dark, unwelcoming corridor. But there was simply no other way out. Perhaps it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.
"Alright. Do you want to give me the torch or keep it?"
"I found it, I keep it," Bill said matter of factly. Charlie wasn't about to argue. He could use one free hand, just to balance them out. Or to punch someone popping out from behind the corner. Whatever was needed.
"In that case... shine it around. I want to see where to go."
Bill had so far kept the light trailed either at where they came from or on the floor right ahead of them. As if he was afraid to see what lie ahead. Now though there was no choice.
The light had made a slow arc around them and Charlie's eyes took in a proper view of their surroundings. He wasn't exactly thrilled about it.
The walls, previously most likely painted in a green or yellowish colour were now a shade of grey. Paint was peeling off in huge chunks, showing behind cold and musty concrete. There was mould where the side wall met the ceiling. Charlie could see a row of clunky lights, or rather, ruined fixtures, hanging above them. Some still had light bulbs, most though were broken. Like everything around, it seemed.
The floor ahead of them was littered with pieces of wood and plaster. It looked as if someone really angry took a chainsaw and decided to make plywood of all the doors. Charlie swallowed. He didn't like passing by closed doors, not knowing what lie behind, but in this case... he would have most definitely preferred that. It seemed though as if fate and some past visitors didn't want to allow him that small mercy. As far down the corridor as Charlie could see, there were dark doorways, without doors. Just waiting for them to pass by.
"Shit," he said unconsciously and felt an imperceptible shiver run through Bill's frame.
"Yeah," Bill conquered. "Shit about covers it," he said and moved the light until it landed on a big, crooked board plastered on the wall next to the first room they were about to pass.
Bill and Charlie headed towards it in unison.
"Treatment room E101. Workroom therapy," Charlie read and Bill shone the light inside the room.
"Doesn't look... that bad," Charlie commented with a hint of surprise. He saw several tables with sewing machines, the remnants of what reminded him of a tailor's stove. There were no chairs or clothes, only dust and cobwebs covering everything.
"I didn't know they made them work," Charlie noted.
"Occupational therapy," Bill muttered and nudged Charlie to turn back towards the corridor. "I think some patients even got paid for work. The lucky ones," Bill's voice was tense and Charlie wanted to ask how did he know, but thought better of it. They had a long walk ahead and the last thing he wanted was to hear the history of the place. Not while he was stuck inside of it.
Moving ahead was a slow process. Made slower by the fact they had to manoeuvre around the wooden debris on the floor. Bill's one legged hopping wasn't exactly helpful and Charlie gritted his teeth constantly. Bruised ribs sucked on a good day, but having to haul another person around in the darkness, barely seeing under your feet made it tiresome very quickly.
Bill wasn't faring much better. Charlie could already feel the back of his shirt turning damp with sweet. Well, he hoped it was sweat. If Bill was bleeding or hiding an injury, they were screwed.
As they hobbled forward, the light kept bobbing up and down. Bill at least tried to keep it aimed ahead of them, so they could see where they were going. They had passed two more doors. Charlie didn't pause to read the description of the rooms. He didn't even want to catch sight of what lie inside, but it was hard. Both he and Bill made a wide berth when passing a dark doorway, practically hugging the opposite wall.
It was ridiculous. They were two adults, cops at that, in what was supposed to be a long abandoned psychiatric asylum. There were no ghosts, no patients. True, there might've been someone lurking around, someone who had a knife and who already used it on their cars. But Charlie couldn't really imagine that person hiding in one of those horrible rooms. He didn't want to.
Still, he couldn't avert his eyes completely and caught sight of several cots, separated by a wall of bars. He froze momentarily, trying to figure out the reason and function of such a place, but Bill nudged him forward.
"Step it up, Davis," he grunted. "We can't dilly dally. Lawson is up there, alone."
Bill was right. Charlie shuddered. Lawson was upstairs, walking the same horrifying corridor all alone, with a possible threat around the corner. They couldn't be losing time on things long gone.
"Yeah," Charlie muttered and focused on just moving in step with Bill. For a short while it was easy. His mind was just on taking one step after the other, keeping their balance and making sure neither of them stumbled over the mess on the floor. But turning his focus on movement made his mind focus also on other things. Like smells and sounds.
The smell... the mould and wetness had a tangy edge to it. Charlie felt as if it was slowly coating the inside of his nose, he could almost taste it in the back of his mouth. He ran his hand repeatedly over his nose, then grimaced when he managed to smear some of the blood from a cut on his hand on his face. Now the fresh smell of copper joined the mix and Charlie forced back the urge to heave.
He took a few breaths through his mouth but it barely made a difference. He let out a frustrated sigh... and that's when he realized how silent it was. The only sounds were their own footsteps and grunts. He could hear Bill's breath, as loud as if the walls themselves were alive and breathing.
Charlie shuddered.
"What's wrong?" Bill asked, and his voice cut through Charlie's momentary nightmare.
"Nothing," he said curtly. "Keep going."
Bill huffed, but didn't comment.
They kept walking. Charlie was trying to push the sound of Bill's breathing to the background. He wanted to hear something else... or rather, he didn't. Just the idea of there being a new sound, a sound that wasn't made by them, made his skin crawl. It was enough he already felt the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. He had to force down the urge not to spin around and make Bill shine the torch into the darkness. The sensation that they were being followed... that there was something hidden in the darkness, just waiting for them to step closer... it was overwhelming.
Another doorway, another entrance filled with shadows and the unknown lurked ahead. Charlie wanted to pass it with a wide berth, but he couldn't, not this time. There was a half busted door in their way. Charlie might be able to step over it, but Bill couldn't. They had to go left, right by the room.
Bill seemed to bear the same reluctance as Charlie. He was trying to keep the light ahead of them, but right now it was impossible. One could hardly pass a doorless room and at least peek inside. As if in silent agreement, they paused in front of the entrance and Bill shone the light inside.
"What the hell?" Charlie uttered after a second.
The room was filled with bathtubs.
Old, dirty bathtubs. Some of them had dirt inside, some had rust eating away at the legs. It wasn't as much the bathtubs themselves that made Charlie stare in wonder. It was the canvas sheets covering some of them. The questionable stains... the smear of what could've been blood across the side of one of the tubs. Charlie counted six of them. Six tubs with disintegrating canvas that looked more like torture devices than something used to keep clean. The ones where the cover was missing showed long restraints lying idly at the bottom of the tub.
The baths didn't have taps. They had a long bar on the sides, to which the canvas was attached. The rational part of Charlie's brain thought that perhaps the canvas cover was there to offer the patients some semblance of privacy during a relaxing bath. The scared and rather imaginative part of his brain though... that was coming up with thoughts he didn't care for.
There were two long hoses in the corner of the room, lying there half uncurled like a lazy pair of snakes. As Bill's hand shook, the light trembled too, making the shadows move threateningly. It looked almost as if the hoses moved, slithering towards them.
Charlie took a stumbling step backwards, dragging Bill with him.
"L-let's go."
Bill didn't protest.
As they sidestepped the fallen door, leaving the room with the tubs behind, Charlie caught sight of the plaque on the wall.
Treatment room 105. Hydrotherapy.
Charlie breathed in sharply. Therapy. Was this what they counted as therapy? It was clear from the canvas covers that whomever was put inside that tub was then kept trapped. He could only guess how much water had filled the tub with the hose, whether the water was icy cold or scolding hot. All he could imagine was an already scared person, trapped inside the metal coffin filling with water, scratching their fingernails against the canvas. All he could hear were the echoes of the ghostly screams that overpowered even the thumping of his own blood inside his head.
"I hate this place," he said, unaware he spoke out loud until he heard Bill's tight tone. "Me too."
Lawson was already heading down the corridor, dragging the rope and leaning more and more heavily on his cane when he heard the crash. He paused, standing still for well over a minute, just listening. He didn't hear any cries for help or screaming, if he didn't count the barely audible sound coming from the floor above. He looked back, seeing a cloud of dust coming from the doorway. He was almost ten meters from it... and he had walked slowly. Surely Charlie and Bill had enough time to get safely out of the way...
He had to believe that. There was no sense in returning and calling into the dark pit below. He had to trust his men and the fact he would meet them at the other end of the building.
Swallowing down the rock that seemed to have permanently lodged itself in his throat, Lawson resumed his walk. It should have been familiar by now... he had trawled down that same corridor for the third time in so many minutes. But the first time he wasn't alone... and the second time his mind was only on the safety of his men. Now though... now he was quite aware of just how wrong the place felt. Everything was off. Starting with the dank smell of rotten wood, damp walls and whatever waste was littering the floors and yes, the walls. It didn't help that the corridor had rooms from both sides and no windows. Lawson would have given anything for even a small source of the moonlight. Surely that would have made this hellhole seem at least a bit less... haunted.
The sounds weren't helping all that much. Or the lack of them. The sound of the boy or rather the tape that lured them inside had vanished the further he went, until it wasn't heard at all. Lawson thought he would be thankful for that, but the opposite was true. Without that sound or the company of his men, Lawson was enveloped by utter silence. The only sound was the echo of his own steps and the regular clank of his cane, combined with the too loud breathing. Was he always that loud? Or was it just his imagination?
There was a strange thumping inside his temples that sounded a bit too loud. Lawson gritted his teeth and shook his head.
'Stop this, you old fool!' he urged himself and remembered the night he and Lucien spent at the local cemetery, hidden in one of the tombs. They were scared out of their minds at first, all the crackling of the wood, the sounds of leaves moving in the wind, the animals. But after a while they got used to it and even managed to fall asleep, until they were woken by a real threat... the cemetery guard doing the rounds. He must've noticed their bikes by the fence or it was just stupid luck, but Lawson still remembered the mind numbing terror when a flash of light woke him up inside a tomb, followed by a shout of disbelief.
That memory brought back an important lesson though. It wasn't the dead or the ghosts he should be vary off... rather the living. And there was someone there who meant harm.
That thought helped him shake off the fear and the goose bumps.
There was a real, human threat. That was something Lawson knew how to deal with. He was not about to let himself get scared by things that didn't exist, by his own imagination. He was too old for that.
He just needed to stay alert and think.
Think about what the hell was going on.
If this had been a personal attack on his person, or one of his men... it was a poorly executed one. None of them was dead, and albeit Bill was injured, that was hardly something that the culprit might've counted on. After all... the staircase surely wasn't rigged to crash. Or was it? And if so, how did the person know they would pick that one?
Lawson felt another twitch in his stomach. What if the second staircase was rigged too? What if this was some kind of a sick game to satisfy someone's perverted dreams?
Trap a couple of cops in a haunted asylum...
Lawson shook his head. Not haunted. Just abandoned, he reminded himself strongly. Now the question was, why would anyone do it? Surely, they must know that if at least one of them won't report back to the station, the officer on duty would become suspicious and alert someone else...
Lawson frowned.
Who would Peter alert in this case? If both himself and Hobart were on the scene...
Well, he would surely call in someone off duty and send them out to the location. Or perhaps he would send out John Kelly, who was guarding the prisoners.
That would leave the station manned only by one person however... and Lawson could still see what that led to several months ago. He could still see poor Ned's body strewn on the floor between their desks, the blood pooled around his head. He could still hear Charlie's broken voice in the phone call he received that night.
Suddenly, he was hoping this was just a prank. That this was someone with a grudge against him or hell Hobart, hoping to get their fun by leaving them stranded at the asylum for the night. Maybe even making a point about it.
He really hoped in that, because the other option just made his stomach twist painfully. Did he misinterpret Peter's call?
He used the code for policeman in distress and requiring assistance. It was true that their system of codes still had much to be desired for. It seemed insufficient, most of the active codes too specific and the rest not specific enough. In complicated cases, they had to rely on the tone of urgency or additional information.
Peter said police in distress.
Could it mean he was the one in trouble?
"Bloody hell!" Lawson cursed out loud, startling even himself by the sudden noise echoing through the space. He made it back to the main hall and had to pause for a minute. His leg was throbbing and the weight of the rope wasn't helping the matter. He leaned against the reception desk to catch his breath momentarily. He waved around the torch, praying that the thing wouldn't give up on him. He looked around the hall. Nothing seemed to have changed. All was motionless... silent. It still sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine.
He forced back the urge to peek outside. He would have preferred to be walking the perimeter of the building instead, hidden in the darkness, using just the light of the moon and stars shining down. At least then he could hear the sound of crickets, feel the fresh air on his face. He would have preferred it to this.
But there was no saying if he could manage to get inside the building from anywhere else, and Charlie and Bill needed him. So he pushed back the discomfort and disquiet and headed for the east wing. The door was made from glass just like the one to the west wing. But that was hardly reassuring. The corridor took a left turn a bit earlier than Lawson expected. Once he passed the bend though, he found out why.
The east wing had been built a bit differently. While on the west wing the corridor was flanked by rooms on both sides, in the east wing it was just on the right side. The left... well. Lawson had gotten his wish.
The whole left side of the wing was made of a row of windows, facing the inner garden. Lawson could see perhaps eight or ten doors on the right... and in between the doors, there were benches. Benches and... statues.
Lawson wanted to close his eyes and count to ten, hoping that he would wake up. He didn't dare. He didn't dare to look away... he didn't dare to even blink.
Statues. Goddamn statues of all things... grey stone, covered in dust and cobwebs, but still with discernable human features. Lawson wished he could just turn around and walk home. He would gladly walk the twenty or so kilometres if it meant he would be as far from this damn place as possible.
Unfortunately, Charlie and Bill didn't have that choice. He didn't even want to imagine what this place looked like underground... but he knew if it was this creepy here, where he still had a choice of escape, it must've been hundred times worse below.
With that on mind, Lawson grit his teeth and took a step forward, towards things that haunted his nightmares since childhood.