Free Project 17 by Laurie Faria Stolarz

guys deaf?" Mimi asks, butting her head in. "We've been calling you!"
    "You can't do that," I bark, not giving them time to answer. "You can't just take off like that."
    "Why?" Tony asks, his voice all high and whiney. "What's the big deal? We were only at the end of the hall."
    "The big deal is that this placed is messed up," I say.
    "What happened back there?" Mimi asks me again.
    I tell them about the doll I found, adding that the rush of the door probably made the thing waver back and forth, that there must have been some sensor thing hidden under
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    the doll's dress--something to detect motion, causing the tape recorder to trigger at just the right time.
    "Did you actually see a recorder?" Tony asks.
    I shake my head.
    "Let's go check it out," Mimi says.
    I shake my head, telling myself that there had to be a recorder. That's the only logical explanation. "I want to keep moving forward."
    "Hey, is this where the party's at?" Chet asks, behind me now. Liza stands beside him, her face all white like she's just seen a ghost.
    "Obviously some of us decided to have our own private party," I say, gesturing to Greta and Tony, still standing only inches apart.
    "Cut them a little slack," Chet says. "I can see the appeal--barred windows, piss-stained mattress." He gestures toward the rubber mattress on the floor.
    "Visual stimuli," Mimi adds, nodding at the giant penis spray painted on the wall. She goes over to the bed and checks out all four sides, hell-bent on finding more crap.
    "Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?" Greta asks her.
    "Probably," she says, trying to pull one of the mattress seams, without any luck. She lets out a sigh and looks toward the door. "Hey, this is one of the seclusion rooms." She points to the tiny square window at the top of the door where people can peep in. "They stripped people down and threw them in here as punishment."
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    "Sounds kind of hot," Chet says. "Anybody for a reenactment?"
    "Let's go," I say, still thinking about that messed-up doll. "We need to stay together."
    Or else something heinous is gonna happen. I just know it.
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    MIMI
    THIS PLACE IS DARKER than I ever imagined. Not dark as in black--though it's plenty black, too--but dark as in morbid. Sad. Eerie beyond belief.
    It's not just about the mess, either. It's about everything. It's about the pieces of those who stayed here--the pieces left behind.
    Like the rotted deck of cards.
    And the dress with the burned sleeves.
    The torn bedsheets.
    And the shredded lace curtains hanging over the barred-up windows.
    The corroded walls with peeling paint.
    And the signs on every door we pass through:
    BEWARE, PATIENTS WILL ESCAPE!
    EXERCISE EXTREME PRECAUTION UPON ENTERING!
    WARNING: MAKE SURE THE DOOR IS SHUT
    AND LOCKED BEHIND YOU!
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    With each one, I get this weird little knot in my gut. Like, even though the place is vacant, I feel as though something's behind these doors--some pent-up, angry energy just busting to get out.
    Derik leads us up and down several flights of stairs, exploring the various wings until some of them begin to blur together. This place is like one giant mouse maze.
    We end up in some back area, where all the really disturbed patients lived. I know because there's nothing more than a bare mattress on the floor--and all the windows have bars.
    No curtains.
    No pillows.
    No bathrooms.
    You can still smell the stench of human waste.
    I pick up a bunch of patient file folders along the way, as well as some other relics I come across: a journal, a clown mask, an old magazine, a bar of soap with teeth marks embedded into the side.
    And a watercolor picture--one I just had to have.
    We follow Derik into a room, where a bunch of kids obviously had some fun. The walls are all painted over with bloodred splotches. And someone's written the words: "Christine Belle died here. Her body is buried out in the garden."
    "Christine Belle," I whisper, looking down at the watercolor clutched in my hand. I flip it over to view the