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Gravel crunched under Dan’s shoes as he got out and stared ahead into the clinic. He shuddered, struck by the same sense of foreboding he’d felt when he first set foot in Brookline. He couldn’t believe this was an actual, functioning mental hospital, where people still went for treatment and even, in some cases, long-term stays. Maybe this summer he had been one more fainting spell away from just such a fate. He put his hand in his jeans pocket and closed it around the familiar shape of his pill bottle. It felt like an anchor, like a ward. He was seeing a counselor and keeping up with his meds; there was no reason he couldn’t live a normal life.
Why couldn’t Felix do the same?
Right. Normal. Because having nightmares every night and obsessing over your dead great-uncle is completely normal. And bonus! Your best friends are receiving threatening messages.
As he walked up the driveway to the front entrance, Dan glanced at the windows on the first floor. A face peered out at him, stark and white, and for a second he could swear it was Warden Crawford’s, smug smile and all. But another step closer, Dan realized it was only a docile old man.
A nurse in tidy blue scrub pants and a chunky-knit sweater greeted them just inside the door. There was another series of gates here, though smaller, and the nurse asked Dan to empty his pockets and step through a metal detector. He handed over his wallet, his keys, and his water bottle, then gave her his medicine quickly, hoping she wouldn’t ask him about it. The nurse just took his things and put them in a plastic bag, then labeled it.
“You can have these back when you’re all done,” she said.
Another wave of dread overcame him, this one harsher than the last. Without his things, Dan felt that much closer to being a patient instead of a visitor. But the nurse smiled and directed him through the security gate, chatting amiably as she led him down the brightly lit halls.
“I’ll wait here in the lobby,” Mrs. Sheridan told him. “You go on ahead.”
Dan paused. “Are you sure? He probably wants to see you.”
She shrugged her tiny shoulders and looked anywhere but at him. “No. He’s seen enough of me. He only wants to see you, I think.”
“You’re the one Felix keeps asking for?” The nurse furrowed her brow, giving Dan a closer look. Her name tag said “Grace.”
“I am, yeah. We know each other from summer school.”
“He was doing so much better,” she said with a sigh. They rounded a corner, leaving behind the lobby and Mrs. Sheridan. “Nobody really comes to see him except his parents and the occasional teacher. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see a friend. His room is just down this way. You’re Daniel, right? He talks about you all the time.”
“Dan,” he corrected instinctively, “but … yeah. He does? That’s … really something. What does he say about me?”
The nurse was slightly shorter than him, and had to look up to meet his eyes. She leaned against the doorframe and chuckled. “All good things. That you were always so kind to him, and one of the only real friends he’s ever had.”
Dan’s face burned. Felix rarely entered his mind these days, and when he did, it wasn’t for pleasant reasons. His pace slowed, his hands sweating again as he hid them in his pockets. Maybe he should’ve visited sooner, cared more.
Nurse Grace coughed politely, nodding toward the door.
“Ready to go in?”
“Sure …”
“There are a few rules, obviously,” she said, taking out her passkey. “Don’t touch the patient, don’t accept anything from him to take out of here. We’ll be observing, of course, in case he becomes overstimulated or upset. I need verbal confirmation that you understand these rules.”
“I understand,” Dan said.
He swallowed uneasily. The last time he had seen Felix face-to-face, it had been in an operating theater, and there’d been a scalpel flashing between them. The door beeped softly as the nurse used the passkey over the electronic lock. A soft hiss, a click, and the heavy white door swung open. They stepped into a small antechamber with a few plastic chairs and a glass window that looked into the adjoining patient room. There was Felix, sitting behind the observation panel, dressed in crisp white flannels with blue pinstripes. His hands were folded in his lap, resting on a checkered blanket. He was looking out the actual window, the one with bars over it, his eyes far away.
This was not the same tidy, upright Felix Dan remembered—it seemed as though he had shrunk, now just a frail husk of the muscle jock he had become over the summer. All the weight Felix had put on from his strict diet and exercise regimen seemed to weigh him down now, his whole body drooping toward the floor.
The nurse let Dan through another electronically locked door into the room with Felix. Dan heard the door whisper shut behind him and lock into place. It seemed as though all the air rushed out of the room, leaving them in a cool, hermetically sealed box.
Felix didn’t even turn at his entrance, though Dan saw the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his thin lips.
“Hello, Daniel Crawford,” Felix said calmly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
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An empty chair waited not far from where Felix sat gazing out the window.
It wasn’t a padded cell, exactly, but Dan would hardly call it a living space. An antiseptic scent permeated the room—it smelled like every high school bathroom Dan had ever been in. The only object with any personality whatsoever was the blanket draped over Felix’s lap; everything else was either white or pale blue.
“Hi,” Dan said, meandering awkwardly to the chair. He sat down, fidgeting. “Your, um … your mom sent me a letter. She said you wanted to see me. Or maybe want is a strong word. You were asking for me, is what she said.”
Felix swiveled to observe him. No more glasses, just his mother’s thin, steep nose. Were Felix’s eyes always so huge and staring? Dan saw his own face reflected back at him, glinting in Felix’s stare.
Felix twitched as if to shrug. “No more spectacles. The frames, you see, could be snapped and used for self-harm. I now use contacts instead.”
Dan nodded, clasping his hands together and forcing them down on his leg.
“Personally, I think sawing through the carotid artery with a piece of jagged plastic would be a crude and inefficient way to die, but I’m told it has happened before and so …” Felix tapped just under his right eye. “Safety first.”
“I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”
“You don’t look well, Daniel,” Felix observed matter-of-factly. “Sleep proving elusive?”
“Nightmares,” Dan explained. He didn’t see any point in being coy. Felix wasn’t coping with the aftermath of Brookline and neither was Dan, no matter how much he might try to pretend otherwise. “But I bet you know that already.”
Felix nodded, looking out the window again. “I do, I do … The nightmares are what hurt the most. I dream of all the sculptures I had yet to make, and even though when I have control over my mind, I know that wasn’t really me, those failures still haunt me. But I’m sure you understand. You’re special, too, special like me. You see things you shouldn’t be able to see. You know things you shouldn’t be able to know. Things like other people’s memories …” He paused, smoothing the blanket across his legs. “The doctors here do what they can. The violent urges are gone. But the dreams, the burning in my head, that will never go away. A bright burning star … It burns when my eyes are open and when they’re shut. It burns right now when I look at your face.”
“I’m sorry? You lost me for a second there. You know what? Never mind. Honestly, man, I don’t know what to tell you. I thought once we left that place the nightmare would be over for good.”
A short burst of laughter almost caused Dan to fall out of his chair. He hadn’t expected Felix to laugh, let alone so suddenly. Then Felix fell silent, pursing his lips.
“That was very naive.”
“I guess so,” Dan admitted. “Still, there are worse things than being naive.”
Felix leaned forward, gesturing for Dan to do the same. When he did, a waft of strong soap smell hit him hard. Felix grinned, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. He laughed again, almost gleefully, as if a secret waited to burst out from behind that toothy grin. “Are there?”
“What do you mean?” Dan whispered. He glanced over Felix’s shoulder at the observation glass. Felix burbled out another high-pitched laugh, then squinted, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” Dan added.
“It’s … It’s all right now. I … The star burns but I … Yes, I can hold on for just long enough.” Felix leaned in even closer—any closer and his chin would have brushed Dan’s shoulder. Dan was so riveted, he almost didn’t feel the object that fell on his leg.
“Don’t let them see it,” Felix hissed. “Cover it with your hand. There. There, that’s good. Don’t let them take it from you. If they take it, you’ll never find your way, and then it’s trouble for me. So much trouble for me. More burning.”
“What is it?” Dan pressed his hands over … a card? A letter?
“Follow them, Daniel. You’ll see. You’ll see!” Felix rocked back into his chair, covering his face with both hands. A half-choked cry escaped. “Forgive me, Dan. What we did to you … Awful. Terrible. I don’t know if it can be undone.”
“What? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Dan looked around frantically, and just as he expected, he heard the lock mechanism on the door click. The nurse was coming. “I think we need help here!”
“Follow them,” Felix sobbed through his fingers. “Follow, Daniel!” Every word sounded as if it were being tortured from his throat. “It’s okay to be afraid!” he cried. “I’m afraid all the time.”
Nurse Grace rushed in behind Dan, pushing on his shoulder. “You’ll need to leave now,” she said, then kneeled down in front of Felix. “Please,” she said as an orderly appeared to escort Dan out. “It’s time for you to go.”
Dan stood, numb, and backed away, watching as Grace tried to sooth the frantic Felix, who clawed at her shoulders, pushing himself up until he could see Dan again.
“Follow, Daniel! Follow! It’s time for me to wake up now. Wake up, Felix! Wake up!”
The sound of Felix’s screaming echoed in his head, following him out into the corridor. A male nurse guided him back out to the main hall and Dan slumped along behind him, carefully palming the note Felix had slipped him. He flicked it into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie just as they reached the lobby. Mrs. Sheridan stood up from a low, worn couch. Dan didn’t say a word, but the corner of her lips began to tremble.
“Do you think it helped?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know, maybe,” Dan said. His cheeks burned with the lie. “No, I don’t think it did. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Sheridan nodded, placing a shaking hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for trying.” Without another word, she turned and led him to the security gate. Dan picked up his bag of personal items, lost in a haze.
Nurse Grace appeared just as they reached the doors to the outside. She pulled Mrs. Sheridan aside, speaking to her in hushed tones. That was Dan’s chance to sneak a look at the card Felix had given him.
He turned to face the wall, his nerves buzzing with excitement and fear as he reached into his pocket and drew out the note.
No, not a note—a photo on heavy card stock. Black-and-white faces stared at him, vacant—two little boys in front of a striped circus tent. He was sure of it now: Abby’s and Jordan’s photos were connected. The photo in his hands was the missing link.
“What the hell is this?” Dan mumbled.
He flipped the card over to find rows of numbers scribbled hastily on the back. Felix’s voice echoed in his head.
Follow them, Daniel. You’ll see. You’ll see!
“Follow what?” he said aloud. “And to where?”
Under the numbers he found a single word: not. He imagined this photo in a line between Jordan’s and Abby’s, and he realized the message was only now complete. Felix must have sent them those pictures, then. Or maybe he had some help.
The hairs at the back of Dan’s neck stood up as he pieced together the sentence.
You’re not finished.
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Dan peered at his friends as, in two pixelated windows, they blinked into their webcams, momentarily mute. Abby pushed a piece of black hair behind her ear, flashing a thin wrist blotched with ink and paint stains.
“Poor Felix,” she murmured. There was a half-second delay between when her mouth moved and when Dan heard her. In a normal conversation, the effect might be comical. “I was sure he’d be at least a little better by now.”
“No way,” Jordan cut in, tossing his head of shaggy curls. He took off his thick hipster glasses and wiped them on his shirtfront. “I wasn’t hoping for anything with that kid. He tried to kill us, Abby. And now these pictures? Frankly, I almost liked it better when they just said ‘You’re finished.’”
“It sounds to me like he’s still haunted by what he did. You heard what Dan said—Felix wanted forgiveness. Even if he’s still … Even if he’s not better, it does sound like part of him is sorry.” She yawned, leaning closer to her camera, just close enough to show the dark smudges under her eyes. “Be cynical if you want, Jordan, but it’s not like you’re getting much sleep either.”
“Nope, but my calc grades are ridiculous. Who knew insomnia could be so great for your work ethic?” He forced a laugh. “Listen, Dan, I’m taking a look at these numbers for you, but I’m not promising much. It sounds to me like Felix has gone way, way off the deep end. Probably best just to forget we ever met the guy and move on. We can burn these pictures and never think about him again.”
“You didn’t see him,” Dan insisted. “He wasn’t just urgent … He was … possessed, almost.”
What we did to you … Awful. Terrible. I don’t know if it can be undone …
An icy stone settled in Dan’s stomach. Felix didn’t know if what could be undone?
“Not a word I like to think about in conjunction with that creep,” Jordan muttered. The camera caught a head full of hair while he looked down toward his lap. Over the microphone, Dan heard the scratch of a pen on paper.
“Jeez, I have got to get some sleep. These stupid numbers keep turning into blobs,” Jordan said with a sigh. “I swear the pattern looks familiar, though. It’s like it’s on the tip of my tongue … Freaking frustrating.”
“You can do it, Jordan,” Abby said, perking up in her video window. “If anyone can figure them out, you can.”
“I don’t know,” he replied. He really did sound exhausted.
“Let’s start from the top,” Dan suggested. “You said it’s probably a code of some kind, right? This is Felix we’re talking about. He was a wackjob, sure, but he was smart. A genius. We have to assume he gave me the code knowing it was something we could figure out.”
“I’m not even sure it’s a code anymore,” Jordan said. “They’re groupings, but there are so few of them. The way they’re spaced looks intentional, but …”
Dan had been so sure Jordan would know what to do with the numbers. The kid could solve a master sudoku puzzle in his sleep, or ace the kind of calc test that made Dan sick with stress. If Jordan couldn’t crack this puzzle, they’d be left with nothing.
“But what?” Abby prompted. She squinted into her webcam. Dan had emailed them both a copy of the numbers on the back of Felix’s photo, along with the image on the front.
“But I don’t know. Sometimes these things are crazy complex. Not like A equals one, B equals two,” he explained. “Maybe it can’t be solved on its own. We might need the cipher—”
“Did you guys hear that?” Abby suddenly whispered, glancing over her shoulder and into the dark bedroom behind her.
“Hear what?” Jordan asked absently.
“That voice.” Her eyes grew wide and she shrank back in her chair. “You really didn’t hear it?” she whispered.
Dan leaned closer to the computer screen, brows knitted with concern. “Hear what? Abby, I mean, are you okay? I didn’t hear anything.” He hadn’t. “Did you, Jordan?”
“No …”
Abby’s head flew to the side. “There it is again!”
Dan was beginning to worry. He didn’t hear anything but the impatient tapping of Jordan’s pen on his desk. “I really don’t hear it, Abs.”
She blinked, hard, trembling a little in the window on Dan’s screen. “It sounded like … Never mind.”
“Like what?” Dan prompted.
“No, it’s idiotic,” she said, sighing. “Forget it.”
“Abby. What did it sound like?”
She looked away from the camera. “My aunt. Lucy.”
All three of them went quiet for a moment. Four months ago, when they first met, Dan might have been tempted to crack a joke to fill the silence. But hearing voices wasn’t a joke to them anymore, not after the summer they’d shared, and Abby wasn’t the kind of girl who got scared easily.
“Has this happened before?” Dan asked.
“Maybe once or twice,” Abby said, looking down at her lap. “Maybe more than that. Ever since we left … I don’t know. I just hear her sometimes. Whispering.”
