Free Beautiful Nightmares (The Asylum Trilogy) by Lauren Hammond Page A

through the kitchen doors.
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    I wait.
     
    Three days pass and on the night of the third day, I lie in bed and wait for the lights in the asylum to go out. Lights out at Oakhill used to terrify me, but not so much anymore. I remember a time when screams were lullabies, flickering lights were a warning, and the basement was the ultimate torture chamber.
     
    Now…
     
    Not so much.
     
    The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor throbs in my ears and I hope and wait and pray that orderlies on the night shift disappear from my corridor and move on the next because exhaustion over-takes me and I fall asleep.
     
    There are four wings at Oakhill. The patients here are separated into four categories and depending how insane they actually are that’s how you get assigned to each wing. Four is the worst. It’s where all of the solitary confinement patients are put. I’ve been there quite a few times and let’s just say I’m happy that I’m now in corridor one, the mildest wing in crazy-ville. I don’t know any of the patients in my wing personally, but I do know the severity of their conditions ranges from hair-eating to conversations with themselves. It’s also a major convenience that I’m in corridor one because all of the doctor’s offices are the end of it.
     
    When the sounds of the footsteps dies down, I wait another ten minutes before getting out of bed. With quick and nimble steps, I swipe the fork from the top on my dresser and tip-toe toward the door. Once I’m there, I stand on my toes and stare through the square window. The hall is deserted. Shadows of various shapes and sizes climb the walls. I take a deep breath, grip the door knob, and insert the fork into the lock.
     
    I spent a good two days, using all the strength I could muster, to bend all of the prongs back but one. I jimmy the lock for a minute, maybe two, then almost gasp out in delight when I hear the lock click. Then I twist the knob with my ear against the door, wincing as the hinges creak when I pull it open the slightest bit.
     
    A sliver of light seeps through the crack in my door and after my eyes adjust to the light, I peer out into the hall. Then I slip through the small opening and close the door behind me.
     
    I start walking.
     
    Slowly.
     
    With small steps and a wary feeling taking up residency in the pit of my stomach.
     
    I keep glancing over my shoulder just to make sure I’m in the clear. The staff members at Oak Hill have a way of sneaking up you when you least expect them to. And it’s not until I’m a few feet from Dr. Swell’s office door that I can hear the soft whistling carrying down the hall. Then I hear the echoing footsteps. In a moment of panic, I slide into an open doorway to my left and tuck myself into a ball.
     
    Then I pray…
     
    I mean really, really pray.
     
    Ever since Dr. Morrow left the institution the punishments have been less cruel, but still. I don’t want to spend the next three weeks in solitary for sneaking out of my room after lights out. So I wait…
     
    I stop breathing.
     
    I make the least amount of noise as possible and tuck my head between my legs.
     
    The footsteps are getting closer and closer until finally they’re right next to me. There’s a pregnant pause. I’m at the point where I feel like I can’t hold my breath any longer or I’m going to pass out. I peek up from between my legs just as the orderly on the night shift breezes past me. Then I let out the longest breath of my life, relieved that my lungs are still functioning properly after holding my breath for so long.
     
    Seconds pass.
     
    Then minutes.
     
    I listen closely and when I hear no sound at all, I make my move. I’m on my feet in seconds, hurrying toward the door. I palm my fork, ready to pick the lock on the door. But then…I wrap my fingers around the knob and turn.
     
    The door creaks open and I stare down at the fork in my hand.
     
    I smile to myself and slip through