Insane
H.G. Lynch
Something evil is going on in the Montgomery Psychiatric Hospital; every time there is an unexplainable blackout, a patient dies.
Callie isn't insane - she sees the ghost of her dead best friend only because he really is there. It's just that nobody believes her.
Casey is scarred after a horrific attack during which he killed someone. Temporary insanity was his plea, and the asylum is his prison.
With fear and death lurking everywhere, and no way to escape, Callie is certain it's only a matter of time before she or Casey, the odd boy she has an inexplicable link with, becomes the next victim of the creature in the shadows.
Trapped in the asylum with a killer on the loose, there's plenty of reason to be afraid of the dark.
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Teaser:
She nodded and scribbled one more note on her clipboard before clicking her pen and tucking it into the breast pocket of her blouse. “Of course. Tomorrow, then. And Callie? I suggest you don’t try to escape again in the meantime. There are guards set outside your room, and I have convinced the nurses that you don’t need to be sedated. But, if you try this again, you will be moved to a more secure room and be put under daily sedation. Just so you are fairly warned.”
With that cheery message, she turned and knocked on the door to signal the guards to let her out. It swung open and she slid out. Once she was gone, I turned to glare at Chester. “I hate you.”
He smiled lazily. “You love me,” he countered. I shot him the finger and then reached for the edge of the blanket. He frowned, sitting up. “You’re really going to sleep?”
“Yes. I’m tired.”
He twitched as I pulled back the blanket. He got off the bed in an eerily fluid movement that nobody with a corporeal body could achieve, and watched me crawl into it. I tugged the blanket up to my neck and sighed. Chester folded himself on the floor across the room, picking at a loose thread in the knee of his jeans. I closed my eyes.
“Callie?” he murmured.
I didn’t bother opening my eyes. “Yeah?”
He was quiet for a long moment, so long that I cracked an eyelid to make sure he was still there. Sometimes he just…disappeared. He didn’t always mean to – he said that sometimes it was like he just fainted, and it could be minutes or days before he woke up and reappeared. But he was still there, sitting on the floor, looking despondent and thoughtful. Looking at his knees, he said, “I’m sorry you didn’t escape this time.”
A bone-deep weariness flooded me and I sighed again, curling into a ball on my side. “Yeah,” I muttered, “So am I.”
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