I continued up. Once I was standing in the room, I instinctively moved away from the chair, but I kept my gaze on it. That’s when I noticed the writing on the ceiling.

We are imprisoned by the truth we dare not see.

We are imprisoned by the questions we dare not ask.

At another movement, my gaze moved down. A dark-haired woman in a straitjacket sat in the chair, strapped down, her eyes covered in bloody bandages. She rocked forward violently, gripping the wooden arms. Her mouth opened, but she made only a garbled croak, like a raven’s caw. Flecks of blood flew from her mouth, and when she opened it, all I could see was a bloody, cavernous hole with no tongue. She kept making that noise, that terrible noise, and I was stumbling back—

Ricky caught me. He’d scrambled up and grabbed me from behind, and as soon as he touched me, the woman vanished.

Ricky held me for a moment. The warmth of his chest and his arms tight around me felt so damned good, the beating of his heart, solid and steady.

“Sorry,” I said. “The chair was rocking. Gave me a start.”

“Opening that hatch probably set it going. Change of air pressure.”

“Which doesn’t make that any less creepy.” I pointed at the words on the ceiling.

He squinted up. I shone my light. The words were plain as could be, but he kept his gaze searching.

“I, uh, I thought I saw something up there.” I rubbed my eyes. “Clearly this place is getting to me.”

“I don’t blame you. Spooky as hell.” He gestured at the chair. “That gives me the creeps, for sure.”

We headed out. The room led into a long hall lined with doors, all closed. I called for Macy. I’d been doing that since we’d started searching, and there’d been no answer. There wasn’t now, either, but Ricky stood in the middle of the hall, listening and looking. His gaze traveled one way and then the other. Then, without a word, he started for the door at the end.

He eased the door open, switchblade in hand, me at his shoulder. After a quick look inside, he walked through.

It was a room with a half-dozen cribs. I stood in the doorway thinking, There are babies in mental hospitals? Then I realized the cribs weren’t for children.

Like regular cribs, they were made of wood, with an elevated bed and spindles. Except these ones were adult sized, with lids that could be fastened using thick leather straps. Cribs to restrain patients. To hold them there, lying on their backs, unable to move—

A bump sounded, and I jumped, remembering the woman in the rocker. But Ricky heard this one and moved toward the noise, his switchblade in one hand, cell phone flashlight in the other. Another bump. Then the sound of muffled cries. I hurried forward to see a dark-haired woman in the last box.

I stopped short. I’d seen two hallucinations of dark-haired women already, but Ricky quickly unfastened the straps and pulled off the lid, and it was indeed a woman inside. She was a couple of years younger than me, blindfolded and gagged.

“Hold still,” Ricky said. “I’m going to cut off—”

She went wild, thrashing and screaming behind her gag.

“Not the right thing to say?” he whispered to me.

I spoke louder, to be heard over her panicked struggles. “Macy? It’s me. It’s . . . Eden. You’re okay. This guy is with me. He’s going to take off your gag and blindfold. Just lie still.”

She stopped moving and lay there, tense, sounding as if she was panting behind the gag. Ricky cut off her blindfold first, and when it fell away, he leaned over her.

“You okay?” he asked.

She stared up at him. Gaping, in fact. Yes, Ricky’s face wasn’t a bad first sight after a near-death experience. He didn’t seem to notice, just cut off her gag. Then he went to work unfastening her hands and feet.

“I’m Rick,” he said when he finished. “She prefers Olivia.”

Macy took a moment to drag her gaze away from Ricky. When she saw me, she blinked.

“Olivia . . . ? Eden . . . ?” Her eyes rounded. “You’re . . .”

She scrambled out of the crib, tipping it over in her haste. I dove after her and she gasped, like I was wielding a hatchet. Ricky grabbed me back as if she was wielding one.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ricky said to her.

“That’s—She’s—I saw her in the paper. She’s—”

“Her name is Olivia,” Ricky snarled in a tone I’d never heard him use. “And she just saved your fucking life, so you will show some respect.”

“I-I need to leave.”

“No, you need to answer some questions. If you don’t, I’ll lock you back in that damned box until you’re feeling chatty.”

One could argue this was not the kindest way to deal with a traumatized kidnap victim. But apparently Ricky wasn’t in the mood to be charming.

My cell phone blipped with an unread message.

“Looks like I missed Gabriel’s call,” I said as I took it out. “He pulled in five minutes ago. We’ll go down and meet him.”

“No,” Macy said, shrinking into the corner as she stared at Ricky, her gaze far less admiring now. “I’m not going anywhere with you two. I know who she is.”

“You know who my parents are,” I said. “You know nothing about me.”

“Except that she saved your fucking life.” Ricky glanced my way. “Tell Gabriel how to find us, and he can convince her to talk. I’d really rather not have to stuff her back in that box.”

I called. Gabriel was trying to figure out which building to enter. I got him in the right one and on the path as I explained the situation. The basics, at least. I wasn’t giving more with Macy right there.

I also made sure to tell him I hadn’t sent that urgent message, either, which I suppose didn’t need to be done right away, but I hated him thinking I’d dragged him out of bed for what hadn’t turned out to be a dangerous situation. Apparently, though, our definitions of dangerous differed. In his books, being led through a condemned building by a crazy man still qualified.

One part of the story I left out? The part where I hadn’t come here alone. As Gabriel got closer, Ricky motioned for me to mute the phone.

“Want me to take off?” he whispered. “Explain it later?”

I shook my head. “I’ll go warn him.”