Page 44 of The Devouring Time

“What if it’s where I belong, though?” I don’t want to be locked away, but… “I acted completely out of character for over a year. I ordered some sort of-of goons to steal the Lettere Segrete from Miss Lovejoy, I probably arranged for Mr. Pearce to be killed—or did it myself. I joined a cult, for heaven’s sake! Then I lost all memory of it and reverted back to my normal self.” My shoulders slump. “Maybe I should be confined.”

Adrian’s fingers tighten convulsively on mine, but his voice remains calm. “If you feel treatment is the best course of action for you, then I’ll support your decision. Let’s see what we find out first, though.”

I’m desperately glad I’m not going through this alone. Without Adrian, I would have just stumbled back to my apartment in a mix of confusion, panic, and despair. Or, more likely, would have been assassinated long before I reached New York again.

I nod, and Adrian lets go of my hand. “Let me pay the check, and we’ll go to the telegraph office.”

30

Since it seems unlikely we’ll be able to arrange a meeting with one of the hospital’s psychiatrists before tomorrow, we secure a hotel room before sending the telegram. With nothing more pressing to do, we take the afternoon to explore the town. Away from the site of the Great Fire, there are still a number of old buildings standing, and Adrian seems as interested in their historical nature as I am.

Eventually we wander in the direction of the waterfront, admiring the architecture near Derby Wharf. We pass in front of Hawthorne’s famous House of Seven Gables, now a museum rather than a residence, then put our backs to it and gaze out over the restless water of the harbor.

The thought pops into my head that this might be the last time I ever see the ocean, if I end up confined to an asylum. I need a distraction, so I say, “May I ask what drew you to investigating fraudulent insurance claims?”

Adrian’s eyes remain fixed on a ship slowly making its way into port. “I needed a job when I got out of the service, and I didn’t want to be a porter or an elevator attendant. My dad wrecked his health collecting garbage, so I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps. Fortunately, one of my cousins already worked for Grayson and Bell, and told me they were hiring. Not just White men, but all sorts: people who could pose as servants, or caterers, or whatever the job required.”

He pauses, and his brow furrows a bit. “Strange to think, without that chance encounter, I’d be doing something else right now. We’d never have met.”

“If James’s mother’s dog hadn’t tangled its leash around her, I’d never have gone to Hart’s Leap,” I agree gloomily. Damn the creature.

“And you’d be the one dead in his chair at Forgotten Folios.”

The suggestion comes as a shock, though in retrospect it should already have occurred to me. “Oh. I suppose so.” I shake my head, clearing it. “But we were talking about you.”

“True.” He glances my way, then back to the boats. “Maybe I would have become a sailor instead. Our little trip to France woke a desire to travel in me. I might even now be helping to unload cargo on a dock in Singapore. But, as it was, I interviewed with Grayson and Bell, they gave me the job, and here I am. The pay is good, and I like the challenge. Every case is different from the last in some way or another. Though, as I remarked earlier, most aren’t quite as exciting as this one.”

We stand in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts, until the threat of rain drives us back to the hotel and dinner.

We receive a reply to our telegram in the late evening, welcoming us to visit the asylum tomorrow after lunch and instructing us to ask for Dr. Maynard North.

My sleep is troubled once again, and I awake with a start several times, though whatever dreams I have dissolve on waking. At least I don’t seem to disturb Adrian, tucked in his narrow bed on the other side of the dresser.

A part of me would love to slip in under the sheets beside him. To wake him with a kiss on the lips. Or perhaps with my mouth on his prick…

I roll over, pull the blankets over my head, and resolutely wait for dawn.

31

The next day, we have a leisurely breakfast, then make for the train station. It’s a relatively short journey from Salem to Danvers, and after arriving we hire a taxi and make for Danvers State Hospital—formerly called the Danvers Lunatic Hospital. The name may have changed, but its function remains the same.

My heart beats fast and my palms sweat as the taxi approaches the low, wooded hill the hospital stands on. Then the brilliant foliage parts, revealing our destination.

Adrian lets out a gasp. The building is enormous, a monster over a thousand feet from end to end, set atop the hill like a crown. Its clock tower and finials rake the bellies of the low clouds, the red brick of the walls dull as old blood.

My pulse races and a wave of dizziness sweeps over me. The sensation of being dwarfed by the massive architecture feels familiar—or no, like an echo. As if this is just a poor facsimile of…what?

“Don’t let any of the crazies out,” the taxi driver says jovially, as he pulls onto the circular road surrounding the asylum. A few moments later, he halts in the drive in front of the central portion of the building. “You want me to wait? Or are they locking you up?” He laughs at his own attempted wit.

“We’ll be here a while,” Adrian says, and pays him. The taxi roars away as soon as the doors shut behind us.

“Are you all right?” Adrian asks in a low voice, concern on his handsome features.

“I have to be.”

He claps me on the arm, and we climb the steps to the front door. Inside, the reception room is immediately to the left. When we stick our heads in, the receptionist hurriedly shuts the book she was reading and slips it into a drawer. “Can I help you?”

Adrian subtly motions for me to take the lead. “Er, Mr. Sterling Caine and Mr. Adrian Evans, here to see Dr. North. He’s expecting us,” I add quickly when she seems about to object.