Shattered Glass

Julie shivered and pulled her jacket closer around her. It was a warm summer night, but it wasn't warm in here. She wondered again why she had ever let Grant talk her into coming here. A ghost hunt in an abandoned asylum? Great.

Grant elbowed her, knocking her out of her reverie. "Cheer up," he said, his voice bright but with a familiar dark undertone. "Isn't this cool?"

Julie looked up and forced a smile onto her face. "Yeah, pretty cool," she agreed, and looked around again.

They had ventured in through a broken window, and now stood in a large day room on the ground floor. Moonlight streamed in through floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the peeling wallpaper and blotches of mould in stark silver. Empty chairs and overturned tables littered the room. The silence of the building was somehow made worse by the faint sounds of the distant city floating in through the windows behind them. Large shards of shattered glass on the floor at her feet threw disjointed reflections back at her. She caught sight of her own face — pale, drawn, her smile a grimace of pain.

Grant grinned. "That's better. Let's explore. Maybe we'll see a ghost!" He headed to the double doors. They opened up onto a long, dark corridor, heading left and right along the length of the building, with what seemed like hundreds of doors to each side. The only light came from the few doors that stood open, letting the moonlight from windows in the rooms filter through. Grant looked both ways, then turned right. "I want to find the operating rooms," he said gleefully. "You know, where they performed the electroshock and stuff. Where do you think they would be?"

"The basement?" Julie said reluctantly.

"Yeah, good thinking, babe! Let's find a way down."

She watched him walk ahead of her and stifled a sigh. It wasn't worth the stress of arguing with him, so she'd agreed to come along, and now she'd act like she was enjoying it. Maybe if she played along, he'd get tired of it sooner and they could go home.

Lost in her glum thoughts, she hadn't noticed that he'd pulled ahead of her, and disappeared. A pair of double doors at the end of the corridor swung slowly; he must have just gone through. She quickened her steps to catch up with him. She pushed through the doors and looked around.

It was slightly lighter here; a big pair of doors to her right led out into the asylum grounds, lead-crossed windows letting the moonlight in through the dirty, warped glass. She briefly thought about leaving, but remembered the huge chain and padlock they'd seen on the other side of the doors when they arrived. Ahead of her the building continued, another long corridor just like the one she'd come from. To her left was a wide staircase, the wrought-iron banister throwing odd shadows off of its almost delicate looking curves. The stairs led up and down. Julie listened, but couldn't hear Grant on the stairs. She groaned inwardly and started down the stairs. Why had she suggested the basement?

Her footsteps slowed again as she descended. It was dark down here ... really dark. She could only see a few feet in each direction. Fumbling her phone out of her pocket, she switched on the flashlight and swung it around. More corridors, more endless doors. A grubby sign on the wall opposite informed her that the corridor to the left held the 'treatment rooms', and to the right was 'solitary ward'. She looked at the sign gravely for a moment, then went left.

As her flashlight illuminated the corridor ahead of her, it dawned on her that she should have been able to see Grant's flashlight too. There was no way he could be wandering around without a light; it was pitch black. Peering into the rooms, she saw why: the windows were high up in the walls, small and narrow, and blocked with iron bars. Undergrowth had grown up around them outside, keeping out most of the light.

"Grant?" she called quietly, hating how small her voice sounded. Forcing herself onward, she turned her light into another room.

This room had a table, but it was padded, and thick leather restraints dangled, snake-like, from its edges. A broken machine with a face full of dials stood behind it, wires trailing on the dirty floor. Electroshock, she guessed. This was what Grant wanted to see. Cautiously, she poked her head inside. "Grant?"

No answer. No movement. He wasn't there.

She felt a hot surge of irritation flare as she stepped back into the corridor. Where the hell was he? She looked around, at a loss. "Grant!" she called, slightly louder.

A soft noise from behind her caught her attention, and she spun round, lifting her phone like a weapon. There — a glimpse of movement, back the way she had come, way back, beyond the stairs that led up. Sighing, she headed in that direction. Maybe he hadn't seen the sign. "Grant? The treatment rooms are this way."

God, it was cold down here. And dark. And quiet. Her footsteps seemed deafening. Why couldn't she hear him? What was he playing at? She tensed, preparing herself for him to jump out. But as she passed the stairs and went into the solitary wards, there was nothing. No noise. No movement. No Grant.

Each room she swung her flashlight into was the same — empty except for a metal bedframe bolted to the floor, and the disintegrating padding on the walls. Rotting mattresses, mouldy pillows. Those narrow, lightless windows. And the silence. That suffocating, tangible silence.

She'd had enough. "GRANT!" She yelled. Her voice was flung back at her by the concrete walls. Stopping, she listened. No response. The irritation turned to icy panic. Where was he? Tears stung the backs of her eyes, and she turned to leave. Enough was enough. If he was still in here, she'd wait for him outside. Tell him she was too scared, give him something else to tease her about. God, why did she put up with this?

She hurried past one room ... then another ... and another ... and — she should have reached the stairs by now. Did she get turned around? She looked behind her, but could only see endless corridor in the phone's light. The panic swelled, threatened to overwhelm her, and she fought it down. The corridor won't go on forever. Just pick a direction and keep going.

She hesitated, then turned and retraced her steps, walking as fast as she could. Past another room ... and another ... and another … This was ridiculous, how big was this place? She was suddenly very conscious that the large, hulking building they'd approached in the car was now all directly above her, weighing down the ceiling above her head. Those blank windows like eyes, staring out lifelessly. Doors like hungry mouths. It was too easy to imagine passing a room and seeing someone sitting inside

This time when the panic surged, she let it, and started to run. She ran until her legs grew tired and she overbalanced and nearly fell forward, catching herself on one wall. A soft noise to her right startled her, and she turned her light on it.

Another empty room. Trembling, she stepped forward to look inside. Nothing. But she had definitely heard something. The place was so silent, every sound stood out. But there was nothing different in this room.

Wait — a glint of light on the floor below the window caught her eye, and she crept forward to take a better look. Shards of glass. Looking up, she saw that the window was broken. If she strained, she could make out the sounds of wind, rustling leaves. It was oddly comforting, and she felt herself relax a little. Maybe she should take a minute, sit down, get her bearings. She sat down on the bed, ignoring the mould on the mattress. Just for a minute.

She looked at the door to the room, standing open, and for a fleeting second she saw it slamming closed, revealing something standing behind it. But somehow, she didn't think it would happen. In fact, she felt almost calm. Just sitting still for a minute seemed to have helped.

God, but she was so tired all of a sudden! Her eyelids drooped. Dimly, she saw her phone drop from her hand. She bent to pick it up, and somehow ended up lying on the bed, breathing in the smell of damp and mould. She saw a figure approaching her. "Grant?" she murmured, but she didn't think it was him.

The shadowy figure bent over her, and a cool hand wiped her brow. "Sssh," a feminine voice whispered. "Rest now. You're safe here."

She tried to protest, to ask who she was, but her lips felt numb. She was so tired ....

It's fine. Everything's fine. I'm here to take care of people. Everything is shiny and new, and the patients are starting to arrive.

The east wing is a little noisy, for the workers are still finishing the construction. I don't like them; they are crude and loud. One is talking about the terrible things he has done — gambling, stealing, whoring. He's telling his workmates about a man he stabbed in an alley over a lost bet. He's coming over to me; he saw me scowling at him. I tell him I heard what he said, that he is wicked and sinful. He warns me not to tell anyone what he said, says he'll hurt me if I do. I'm not afraid of him, and I tell him so. He grabs my arm and shakes me, and I shout at him to let go. The other workmen look over, and he releases me, then leans close. 'If you say a word,' he says, 'I'll kill you.'

I won't stand for such treatment. I march directly to the Abbott's office, tell him everything. He is furious. The man will be gone by the end of the day, he promises me. I thank him and go about my rounds. I avoid the east wing for the rest of the day.

Night has fallen, and the patients are sleeping now. I wander the corridors, checking on them. None of them need me, so I head back. But as I head down the stairs, I see a figure through the window, standing in the garden. Did a patient get out? I go outside to see who it is. The figure moves along the side of the building to the east. I follow, not wanting to call out in case I wake the patients. Then I see who it is.

I tell him he shouldn't be here, tell him to leave. He grabs my arm again, but this time he doesn't let go. 'Some secrets should be left to the devil, sister,' he snarls. A sharp pain in my chest, and my breath runs out of me. I look down. There's a knife sticking out of my breast.

Next thing I know, I'm lying in the newly planted flowerbeds. I feel cold. Numb. My eyes drift to the building above us, stop on the wooden cross above the main doors. I feel light, like I could float away. He pulls the knife out of my chest and I feel it go, the wound sucking in the cool night air. A soft white mist creeps in at the edges of my vision as I look at the cross.

His face fills my vision, leering. 'No more telling secrets for you,' he mutters. Then the mists obscure my vision, blocking him out. I can't feel anything any more.

It's alright. It's over now.

Julie opened her eyes and looked around, confused. Her phone lay on the floor. Rubbing her eyes, she picked it up and checked the battery. 15%. That wouldn't last long. She'd better get outside — or at least upstairs.

She stepped out of the room and looked up and down the corridor. The staircase was just a hundred yards or so away. How had she missed that? She uttered a quiet laugh at herself. Feeling much better now, she headed to the stairs.

Rapid footsteps behind her made her spin round, lifting her phone, and the flashlight illuminated Grant, flinching back and raising his hand to shield his eyes. "Ah — get that out of my face!" he cried angrily. She lowered the phone. "Where the fuck have you been?" he continued shouting, grabbing her arm.

He grabs my arm and shakes me

He dragged her up the stairs by her arm. "You're not even trying to enjoy this," he declared, and Julie recognised with a sinking heart the start of one of his sulks. "Come on. We're going home. I don't know why I even bothered."

He stormed down the corridor, back toward the room where they'd gotten in. Julie allowed herself to be pulled along behind him, her gaze straying to the rooms on either side. In one room she thought she saw a figure — a woman in black, looking at her sadly.

I won't stand for such treatment

Back in the day room, Grant shoved Julie in front of him. Losing her balance, she stumbled, knocking against a table and hitting her knee painfully. She cried out and fell onto her side, and her phone flew from her fingers and skittered into a corner.

Grant sighed. "For God's sake, get up!" He snapped. "Get your fucking phone. If it's broken don't think I'm going to buy you a new one." Julie climbed slowly to her feet, wincing at the pain in her knee, and he added, "Get a move on or I'll leave without you!"

"Sorry," Julie muttered and hurried to collect her phone. It was lying on the floor among shards of shattered glass. She crouched down, reaching for it, and in one of the shards she saw a pale face, looking up at her.

I'm not afraid of him

The woman in black. Julie stared down at her and realised it was a nun's habit she was wearing. The nun looked at her with gentle eyes and smiled.

Julie picked up her phone and stood up. Turning, she saw Grant glaring at her. She saw the black rage in his eyes.

It's alright. It'll be over soon.

She saw the nun, standing in the doorway, her hands clasped before her. She looked at Julie, then gave her a solemn nod.

She looked down at her hand, and with dull surprise saw that she hadn't picked up her phone; in her hand was a large pointed shard of glass. She felt the sharp edges cutting into her palm, not yet drawing blood, but it would only take a little squeeze ...

Julie looked back to the nun. A cold kind of calm overcame her, and then ... anger. Humiliation. Rage. Why did she put up with this?

Stepping forward, she reached Grant as he bent to duck through the broken windowpane. Without hesitating, she lifted her arm and drove the long shard of glass into the side of his neck. Grant looked up at her in shock, his hand flying to the wound in his neck, as she pulled back her arm. He stumbled back and tumbled out of the window, disappearing into the overgrown flowerbed below.

It's over now.

She turned to find herself alone. No woman in the doorway. No Grant in the window. Her hand hurt, and she had to think hard about opening her fingers before it responded and let the glass shard drop. It shattered on the floor with a musical tinkling sound. She inspected the wound in her hand. It was deep, but she thought it would be okay.

Peering out of the broken window, she could barely make out Grant's body among the overgrown plants. She could see his car on the other side of the gates they had climbed to get in. It hadn't been hard. She could get back over them without much difficulty. She could get the keys out of Grant's pocket and go home.

"They'll find him," she muttered to herself. "They'll get my fingerprints off the broken glass."

It's alright.

A gentle weight in her hand startled her. Looking down, she gave a cry of surprise. Her phone was in her hand. And ... there was no wound. She looked down at the floor, and there were no shards of glass at her feet. No blood on the floor. She looked outside, and she saw no sign of Grant. All she saw was the moonlight glinting off the metal of his car keys, lying at the edge of the path a few feet away. She climbed carefully out and picked them up. They felt solid and real in her hands.

Her skin crawled as the sensation of being watched crept over her. Looking up, she saw a dark figure in the day room, moving out into the corridor beyond. She shivered and started hurrying toward the gates. This place was creepy. She should never have let Grant bring her here. And where the hell was he, anyway? She didn't really care any more. She thought that maybe, just maybe, she was finally done putting up with his shit.

In fact, she didn't think she'd care if she never saw him again.