Night had fallen as we made our way downstairs. Lew glanced around as we entered the wide-open entryway and lowered his voice. “Now’s your chance, if you’re gonna do it. The guards have gone for the night, patients all locked up in the wards.”

I swallowed, staring at that heavy oak door. It was always kept locked, and that meant it was protecting something. Guarding secrets. I couldn’t begin to guess what I’d find in there.

9

What will come of all this, heaven only knows!

~Ludwig van Beethoven

I slipped in as the hush of evening fell over Hurstwell, and the entryway stood empty. I closed the door behind me as softly as I could, even though it insisted on squeaking.

Fresh lemon on leather—that was the first thing that struck me about Dr. Thornhill’s private office. Also that it was oddly quiet—muffled. Tufted leather and wood dominated the furniture, and everything seemed impeccable and well-oiled. I shielded the little candle I’d brought, hoping it wasn’t too visible under the crack of the door, then held it up for a better look about.

File drawer. The first one rolled open when I pulled, and I riffled through S for Swansea and M for Mourdant, wondering how long I had.

“It’s not there,” said a voice.

I jumped. Hot candle wax splashed onto my finger, and I clutched the burning spot, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out.

The large leather chair spun, and Nurse Duffy watched me with a pert smile, her slender figure swallowed up in that chair. “Good evening.”

Picking remnants of wax from my fingertips, I straightened. “I’m looking for a patient file. I needed to verify some information.”

“But it wasn’t in that drawer, was it?”

I stood still as stone, watching her without offering up a word.

“Why not try the desk?”

“I don’t think you could possibly know which file I came to find.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” She pushed the rolling chair back from the desk and tapped the bottom drawer. “But I would bet it’s in these files. No one’s ever looking for the patients in there.” She tossed her head toward the large filing cabinet through which I had been riffling.

Narrowing my eyes, I approached the desk drawer and pulled. Locked. I searched through the keys on the ring, but Nurse Duffy slid open the top desk drawer, producing a smaller key, and fit it into the lock. The drawer slid open, and there were loads of files, all marked with names—and a red letter D beside each.

Deceased? Delusional?