Amanda Stevens - The Abandoned

“I told you, I don’t know anything about that murder.”

“Then tell me what you know about Jared Tisdale.”

Ree didn’t want to tell him anything, but she was wise enough to realize that she’d better give him something.

She nodded and shifted her messenger bag to the other shoulder. “I volunteer at the Milton H. Farrante Psychiatric Hospital. Night before last one of the nurses asked me to deliver a package to Dr. Farrante’s office. Just as I got there, I saw a man coming out of Dr. Farrante’s office. It was Tisdale, but I didn’t know that until I saw his picture on the news yesterday morning.”

“What time was this?”

“Around nine, I think.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No. It was a very brief encounter. He brushed by me on his way out. I spoke with Dr. Farrante for a moment, left the package, and then went back to work. That’s all I can tell you. I don’t know if it’s important, but I thought it might be helpful in establishing a timeline.”

“That’s very civic-minded of you,” he said. “Did you speak to Dr. Farrante about this?”

“No. I haven’t been back to the hospital. As soon as I saw the news report, I went straight to the police.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” His gaze narrowed and darkened, his focus so intense, Ree had to glance away.

She pretended to check her phone. “As I said, it was a very brief encounter. Now if you’ll excuse me…I don’t want to be late to my next class.”

To Ree’s surprise, he made no attempt to detain her. She ran down the steps and only glanced back when she got to the bottom. Detective Devlin was nowhere in sight.

Ree had a shift at the hospital that night and for the first time since she’d started working part-time jobs at sixteen, she considered calling in sick. But she was already on Devlin’s radar—Dr. Farrante’s, too, unfortunately—so the best thing to do was continue her usual routine. Act as though nothing had happened. Hopefully, Tisdale’s killer would soon be caught and she could fade back into the woodwork. There was still the secret involving Violet and Ilsa to uncover, but nothing could be done about that without calling too much attention to herself. For now, her curiosity and sense of justice would have to be put on hold.

The evening went smoothly enough until Trudy summoned her to escort Alice Canton back to her room. Remembering how Alice had reacted to her two nights ago, Ree almost expected the woman to shy away from her. But instead Alice docilely followed her down the corridor, even humming under her breath as though she hadn’t a care in the world. When they got to her door, however, she turned to glance warily over Ree’s shoulder.

“Where is she?”

“Where is who?” Ree asked.

“The girl in the blue dress.”

Ree’s scalp began to prickle. “I don’t know.”

“She’ll come back.” Alice warned. Then she leaned in and lowered her voice to a terrified whisper. “They always come back.”

More than a little spooked, Ree settled Alice in and then hurried back up to the front desk.

“What’s the matter with you?” Trudy asked. “You look as if you just saw a ghost.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Ree muttered.

Trudy didn’t seem to hear her. “I need a favor before you sign out.” She shoved a thick stack of folders across the counter. “Apparently, Dr. Alden’s researching another book. He finished with these files two days ago, but nobody on days can be bothered to return them. They belong in the dungeon. You know where that is, right?”

Most of the patient records were computerized, but the archived files were stored in a separate wing in a basement-level room dubbed the dungeon. Where that designation had originated, Ree didn’t want to speculate.

“I don’t have access,” she said.

Trudy glanced around. “You didn’t get this from me.” She scribbled a number on the back of a note card and handed it to Ree. “Not that it matters. Nobody’s likely to be down there at this hour and the code changes every week. Just leave the files on the counter and skedaddle.”

The corridors were eerily silent as Ree made her way to the dungeon, but every now and then she could hear the distant wail of a restless mind. As she hurried along on her mission, she began to get the creepy sensation of being followed. Time and again she glanced over her shoulder, but the long hallway behind her was empty. She’ll come back. They always come back.

Gooseflesh quilled the hair at her nape. Ignoring a draft that could only be coming from the air-conditioning vents, Ree tapped in the code and entered the dungeon. The chill followed her in.

She gave herself a pep talk as she reached for the light switch. A moment later, the fluorescent bulbs flickered on, casting a harsh glow over the room. The area was large and well-organized, very different from the archives at Emerson. Above the long rows of metal storage cabinets, she could see darkness through the bars installed over the narrow windows.

Her sneakers made barely a sound as she moved along the tile floor. She placed the folders on the counter and started to turn. Something caught her attention, a sound that might have been a whisper.

Ree forced a laugh. Keep it together, girl. There’s nothing down here but a bunch of ancient files. Decades of recorded misery.

Then, whether it was a hallucination or another figment of her imagination, Ree couldn’t say, but suddenly she had a very clear vision of being in that room. An image formed in her mind…a young woman strapped to a gurney with electrodes attached to a metal apparatus fastened around her head.

Where is my baby? What have you done to her? Please don’t hurt her! Please don’t do this to her!

On and on the woman babbled until a long needle was inserted beneath one of her eyelids. And then her screams became incessant.

Ree clutched her head, trying to quell the disturbing tableau. It was an image from a movie, no doubt. Something that had been tucked away for years in the far recesses of her mind.

Again, she turned to leave, but something suddenly occurred to her. There was a very good chance that some of Violet Tisdale’s early records were stored down here. Confidentiality in the mental health care profession was sacrosanct so rummaging through patient files wasn’t something Ree took lightly. But this was an opportunity that might not come again.

A cursory examination revealed the files were sorted by decade. Ree had no idea when Miss Violet had first been committed. The only specific date she knew was Ilsa’s tenth birthday—June 3, 1915. Professor Meakin said she’d run off to Europe when she was seventeen, which would have been sometime in 1922. Assuming Violet had been born at a later date, the most logical place to start a search was the year of Ilsa’s disappearance. Then Ree would work her way forward until and if she found something.

As it turned out, she needed to search no further than 1922. Everything she wanted to know was in a file labeled Ilsa Tisdale .

Ilsa had also been a patient at the hospital.

It took Ree a moment to absorb the significance of that revelation. At the age of seventeen, Ilsa had been committed by her father, James, and by her doctor, Milton Farrante. And she had remained confined until her death seven years later.

Ree read through the file, so engrossed in Ilsa’s tragic history that the swish of the door barely registered. She had no idea anyone was about until she felt an icy touch at the back of her neck. A warning…

A split second later, the lights sputtered off. Ree slanted her head, listening. She heard nothing at first and then a few feet away came an infinitesimal shuffle. Stealthy and determined, someone was closing in on her.