A Night at the Asylum Read Online Free Page A

slashed my throat, carved his
initials into me, whatever – and here I was being treated
like the criminal. It could only happen in this hole of a town.
    But had Emmett really just broke psychotic
with me in his crazy crosshairs? The odds were considerable. There
were three Sutter boys, and thanks to their father’s community
status, the eldest two’s penchant for petty thievery and panty
abduction was continually met with the mildest of consequences. Ead
was the oldest, around my brother’s age. He was the poster boy for
why girls pack pepper spray and, delightfully, in his fifth year on
the police force himself. Eli, the middle child, had been shipped
off to military school long ago for his infractions. Emmett was the
youngest, known for keeping his head down and his mouth shut, until
now. It was always the quiet ones, wasn’t it? At least that’s what
they would have said if he had gutted me in the street.
    Emmett’s face now floated in my mind, causing
that tight cinch of dread in my stomach. Maybe it was what happened
after we were picked up that kept nudging at me. A lone policeman
was the unfortunate soul that had rolled up on us, and he’d pulled
his weapon. Being an almost-victim of random violence is shocking,
but nothing like having a cop from a notoriously backward police
force point a gun in your face. I explained myself. To my disbelief
he put Emmett and I in the back of the cruiser together,
unrestrained. The officer was young, a new guy who had just moved
to town, and he didn’t know us. He didn’t radio for an ambulance
and he kept asking a barely conscious Emmett what he was “on”. He
called in to dispatch to let them know Emmett had been “found” and
I knew my assumption at the Gas N’ Go about the trail of cops had
been right. I was in the back of a squad car with my would-be
murderer, but it was hard to be afraid when Emmett opened his eyes
then and looked straight at me. Instead I felt a deep, misplaced
concern for what would happen to him. He was trashed; I’d never
seen him like this. “Insulin,” he whispered, shadows crossing his
face as we headed into the middle of town and the safety of
brighter streetlights. “He gave me…insulin.”
    I had no idea what he meant by that. Still, I
tried helpfully to advise our new policeman friend to get Emmett to
the hospital – just to be safe. The officer did not appreciate my
suggestion; clearly, his orders came from higher up. When we got to
the station he left us alone in the car. Emmett was motionless, and
I seriously considered that he might be dead. Then slowly he moved
his head in my direction and, his green eyes narrowed in confusion,
looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Sara?” he rasped,
and I felt a chill go through me. Emmett had probably never said
two words to me before this, and yet he spoke my name so intimately
and with such familiarity that I felt an uncomfortable tug in the
middle of my chest. “Is that you?” he asked.
    “Yes?” I was so shaken, it became a question.
“Are – are you…” It seemed ridiculous, but there was only one thing
to ask. “Are you okay?”
    His head dropped against the back of the seat
again, as if his neck wasn’t sturdy enough to hold it up. His eyes
fluttered closed. Then he whispered, “I did it. I’m so sorry, Sara.
It was me.”
    That awkward moment when a guy tries to
kill you but apologizes …I just stared at him. Any thoughts I
might have had were cut off by the car door opening. Roy Conroy, a
friend of my father, took me inside. The other cop – the new guy –
hauled Emmett off to God-knows-where. I was led to this broom
closet and told to stay put. And as the minutes passed and there
was more time to mull over what had happened, the whole situation
just seemed so very, very bizarre. I couldn’t sit still in my
chair.
    Claustrophobia gripped me, inciting a need to
rebel. The stuffiness of the tiny room was suffocating. I went to
the door, opening it a few