My father’s passion was architecture.
He built our house just outside the hidden red oak forest. It was a vessel for trapdoors and hidden compartments. He once said—A home isn’t a home unless you can hide your secrets deep within it.
Before his mind spun freely into madness, he wanted us to live deep in the heart of the red oaks. He planned to design a house on the cliff overlooking the lagoon, directly around the biggest red oak there, with the trunk as the core of the house.
And as I slip into my evening dress, removing my navy-blue asylum uniform, the stockings, and the leather heels—I wonder if I could still do it. He must have had blueprints for this dream home; he must have had it all planned out. My bedroom reminds me that this is not my life. The pink satin bedsheets, sheer canopy, and dazzling jewelry sparkling in the glow of the fireplace.
Niles was right. I’d rather have a love that did not need a feathery bed to sleep on.
This—is not my life.
~
I’m standing in my basement again. My feet are cold against the floor, blood dripping from my nose down my chin. I wait outside the small door, sitting at the height of the small rectangular windows. The wait seems to puncture my nerves with excitement. The emotions are confusing. I’m anxious and eager, all the while being terrified of the dark. So I scream. I scream for help and pound on the door with my small fists. I beg to be saved.
With a break in the air, and a gust of wind, the door opens, and a hand reaches down for me to take it.
~
“You sleep like an earthquake.” A curious voice, muffled from a distance.
I roll on my side. Aurick?
“Do I need to barge in and wake you up?” he asks from behind my closed bedroom door.
I smile sleepily. “Come in, lurker.”
He opens the door, pokes his head in with a mischievous smirk.
“I received a call after you fell asleep. From a council member at Emerald Lake Asylum.”
My body tenses, ridged between my shoulder blades.
“What did they say?”
Aurick shrugs as he stirs his cup of coffee. “They want you to meet a… Patient Thirteen?”
Something like a whistle and scream bursts like cannons from my throat. I launch myself out of bed, digging through my makeup to get ready. I’m delighted; I’m more than delighted. I’m swelling with every atom in my body dripping with happiness. Why? Yes, that would be the question. The daunting room at the end of the hallway. The room other conformists never enter. Only Suseas, who I saw leaving in tears and a full breakdown.
Why? A mystical calling? A shadow of whispers seducing me into finally seeing the mystery that is that room? Perhaps all of the above.
My cheeks are warm and probably bright red, and my fingers are tingling.
“I take it this is good news.” He chuckles from the doorway.
“It’s wonderful news.” I shake my head in disbelief.
This is for you, Scarlett.
~
“I’m nervous,” I say.
The last time I saw Chekiss, his eyes were sunken with dark, ashen rings underneath, shaped like small boats. His lips were chapped and splitting. But since he’s spoken, the simulated drownings have stopped. Pigmentation has returned to his cheeks. The storms have parted from his sad, drooping eyes.
“I’m nervous too.” He sympathizes with me but seems nervous in a different way. “I miss talking to you.”
I smile at him. I couldn’t agree more. It’s sad that I’d rather talk to some of my patients than any sane person in this world. “I miss you too, Chekiss.”
He stares at me for two seconds, pulling back his lips like he’s trying not to say something he shouldn’t. “I don’t think you should go in that room, Miss Sky.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t think you’ll ever be the same again if you go in there.”
That thought seeps into my gut with a sting. “What makes you think that, Chek?”
He rubs his dry hands together, making a crisp, papery sound. “I need to know if I tell you what I know, you’ll stay cautious, not curious.” He bargains his knowledge wisely.
I straighten in my chair a little. I need to know everything I can before I walk into that room blindsided. “I promise—I’ll be careful.”
“This patient is the only patient to ever admit themselves. And… the council is petrified of them.” Uneasiness drops into the pit of my stomach like uncooked meat.
“How do you know they’re terrified of Patient Thirteen?”
“There are six council members, and in the beginning, they all visited Patient Thirteen at least once at some point.” Chekiss pops his knuckles and starts to frown. “It only took once for most of them to never pay a visit again, and take every security precaution there is to make sure Patient Thirteen can never get out.”
“Why would anyone admit themselves to a place like that?”
“Peculiar, isn’t it?”
~
I had a plan going into this. I’d meet with Chekiss. I knew he could give me small pieces of information to prepare me for Patient Thirteen. But there is one other person that would ideally have more information than anyone. Sern.
Patient thirteen had a dedicated conformist. Sern left that room with her neck fractured and her mind in bits. She now resides in a separate wing of the asylum.
I stand in the doorway, studying her appearance before she notices my presence. Her dark skin has a gray undertone, even beneath the yellow glowing sconces. She scratches at the frizzed bun on her head while absently staring at the stone wall across from her bed.
“Who do you work for?” she asks, still stuck in her glazed trance.
Even though she did not shout, I can tell that she is a loud woman based on her husky voice and wide eyes. The kind that tells stories too loud in a group setting. A trumpet of a voice. And despite her messy, matted brown hair and her crusted lips—she used to be an upstanding citizen. A pinnacle of the lady-doll regimen.
“I work here,” I answer.
A muscle in her brow flinches. “And you weren’t followed?”
I shake my head. Followed?
“Good.” It’s here with the wilting of her lids, the lack of energy to even look back at me, that I realize I’m not seeing a form of lunacy. I see she’s locked away in a coffin of depression.
“Sern, I need to ask you a very important question.” I walk toward her bed, cautious with light footsteps.
“You’d be wise not to take another goddamned step.” Her voice is low and deep, like a woman scorned by the betrayal of a man. “Your name.”
My footsteps freeze in place. “Skylenna,” I say.
“Skylenna?” She’s still like an oak tree in winter. “That’s your name?”
I nod with pinched brows.
Sern looks uneasy, swaying side to side like a canoe on a choppy lake. “And you work here?” She finally exhales.
“I do.”
“That took less time than I thought.” And for a moment, almost a flash of lucidity crosses her face—as if the rest of this were a performance.
“What does that mean?” I lean against the stone wall, grazing my hands over its rough, bumpy texture.
“Can’t say. They listen to every word.” Her dark index finger taps against her white patient gown.
“I’m meeting Patient Thirteen today, and I have questions.” I don’t have time for this. I need to get straight to the point before I have to go meet this mysterious figure.
Her body is marbleized into place. Eyes wider than before, chapped lips parting in disbelief.
“Patient Thirteen,” she repeats. Eyes tracing a spot on the wall, gears and cogs shifting beneath her skull.
“Do you have any advice or information you can share that can prepare me in any way?”
Her charcoal eyes brim with tears, and by the trembling of her chin, she’s fighting to hold a cry in. “This—” She chokes on her words, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “This could be over soon, then.”
I swallow. Please, just give me something. Anything! “Is it true this patient fractured your neck?”
Another deep breath.
“What do you know?” I ask again.
She turns to look at me, but this time, her eyes are clear, like a bath before it’s been soaked in. “Miss Ambrose?”
I freeze. I never told her my full name.
“Don’t be frightened. He’s been expecting you.”
