“What are we even doing here?”
I walk up the winding footpath, pretending I’m not quaking on the inside. Fake it until you make it and all that bullshit. This is the very definition of that saying.
“We need to look at the historical records,” I say, sensing eyes on us. “I couldn’t find anything online, so this is our final resort.”
The curtains twitch in one of the windows of the second floor.
Before Lily can say anything else, I quickly make my way up the steps and knock on the door. A gentle breeze sweeps through, lifting my hair from my shoulders, as a wind chime tinkles in the distance. I suppress a shiver, hoping for someone to open the door and let us in.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the large doors creak open to reveal a stern-looking elderly woman with greying hair and deep wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth.
She eyes us suspiciously.
Gwen steps forward. “We have an appointment with Dr. Hector.”
Glancing between us, she steps aside to let us enter. The air inside smells faintly of antiseptic and damp upholstery. I can sense Lily beside me, with her head down, following along like an obedient puppy without a backbone. A pang of guilt clogs my throat, but I force it back down.
Our friends would be alive if I’d listened to her initially.
We pass several doors until the stern woman stops at one and orders us in. I pass a patient muttering to herself, with greasy dark hair and sunken eyes. She briefly looks up, watching us, but then ducks her head again when she spots the stern woman, who stands with her spine erect and her hands clasped in front of her like she’s a strict headmistress at a boarding school from decades past.
We sidle in, shuffling awkwardly.
Large bookcases line the back wall, the shelves sagging from the weight of so many hardbacks and paperbacks with broken spines and curled edges. A fish tank sits in one of the corners with a lone goldfish swimming in circles, the soft sound of the oxygen pump filling the tense silence. Glancing toward the tall window, I spot a large filing cabinet.
Bingo.
I suppress a shiver while waiting for the woman to talk, feeling strangely like an unruly kid at school who has been called to the principal’s office.
She looks from Gwen to Lily to me, and her critical, assessing eyes fall down our bodies before settling on our faces. “I’ll see if he’s ready now.”
The moment she walks out, we exhale a collective sigh.
“That was intense,” Gwen mutters.
“So intense,” I agree.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore the call, already knowing it’s Dominic. He won’t be happy when he finds out about this little mission. But I didn’t want to have this conversation, so I snuck out while he was in the shower. He needs to learn sooner or later that I’m not some leashed pet he can control.
“How do we open it?” Gwen asks, tilting her chin to the cabinet. “I guess what we’re looking for is in there?”
I glance around, rolling my lip beneath my teeth. “We need a key.” Just then, footsteps sound outside, and my eyes widen. I dart inside a cupboard, knocking against cardboard boxes on the floor and a rail of…clothes.
“Fuck…”
“What the hell, Camryn?” Gwen hisses, but the desperate tone of her voice soon takes on a much more pleasant note when the door opens.
Heavy footsteps sound on the floor, and a man in a white coat whisks by. I only manage to catch a glimpse of him through the small gap in the door, but the moment his big build and graying sideburns come into view, my breath catches in my throat, and I blend with the shadows.
I can’t remember the last time I felt my heart beating out of my chest. We came here without a solid plan. Let’s face it: improvisation was always on the agenda.
My phone vibrates again, and I curse the fucking thing. Voices drift through the gap while I fish my cell out to switch it off.
You sneaking out on me is getting tiresome. Don’t test me right now, Camryn. Answer your fucking phone.
After powering it down, I slide it inside my back pocket before inching closer to the gap in the door. Gwen and Lily are seated at the desk with their backs to me.
Dr. Hector, a man in his late fifties with a thick mustache and bushy eyebrows, swings his gaze between them, looking bored. He already knows they’re wasting his time.
