Parker pulled to a stop at the end of North Point Road. The area had played a significant role during the War of 1812, and over the years it came to be known as Fort Howard and served a number of uses, with a variety of buildings being built up and torn down. The only sign of the fort’s early history still evident were two concrete coast batteries erected in 1902 in commemoration of the fort’s wartime history. Though now both were crumbling shells of their former glory.
The Veterans Administration acquired the title in 1940 and built a five-story, three-hundred-and-seventy-seven-bed hospital, which remained in operation until 2002, when its doors were eventually and dishearteningly, to the community and the veterans it served, closed.
Fort Howard was across the Patapsco River from Sparrow’s Point, and the sound of a train rumbling over the railroad tracks echoed on the wind across the dark water.
As Parker and Avery walked the grounds, the dusk shifted to night, and the wind shifted to a calm, eerily silent breath. The only sound was the water lapping against the concrete base of the small red-and-white lighthouse thirty or so feet offshore.
The hospital sat dark, the grounds overgrown, a meadow where a basketball court had once been, the entire area a hub for illegal urban exploration and ghost hunters who believed the empty hospital halls were haunted by spirits.
It took a little time to find an entrance that wasn’t boarded up, but they did and without too much struggle were inside within half an hour of their arrival.
A rank odor assaulted Avery’s senses as they moved down the hall littered with trash and old medical equipment. “Dare I ask what that smell is?”
“I think we’re better off not knowing. Doesn’t smell like decomposition to me.”
They passed a number of red gurneys and a defibrillator cart, before the hall ended and they turned right, taking the only available passage past an abandoned nurse’s station, dusty filing trays and empty bulletin boards still littering the space.
Examining each room they passed, their flashlights bounced off dark walls, desk chairs, and patient beds.
They stepped in the last room, and Avery screamed at a pair of legs lying feet up in an oversized laundry cart in the corner of the room.
“It’s okay,” Parker said, stepping closer. “They’re prosthetic legs.”
“Oh.” Her pulse slowly stopped racing.
“Shall we continue?” he asked and she nodded, following him up a flight of stairs, past graffiti-covered walls and empty beer bottles, where they exited onto the second floor at the end of the hall. A different odor wafted down this corridor. One of death.
“This place gives me the creeps.” That was usually something she’d keep to herself, but she trusted Parker enough to be open about the heebie-jeebies tickling the nape of her neck.
“Hey,” Parker said, placing his hand on her arm and gesturing to the closed door with a deadbolt lock installed on it.
“That’s odd.”
“Looks recent,” Parker said, moving to bust it open with his Maglite.
“Hold on.” Avery stepped forward, pulling a small case from her bag. “Allow me.” She picked the lock and swung it open.
“Not even going to ask how you know how to do that,” Parker said.
Avery smiled. “Best you don’t.”
Parker lifted his flashlight, illuminating the room . . . and they both stilled. Before them was the staging from Skylar’s photograph. A white sheet draped over a sofa with burgundy velvet pillows, which Avery recognized as the ones Skylar kept on her bed.
That’s why Sebastian had been in Skylar’s place. He’d been taking props for his photograph. What else had he taken?
Parker spotted a small generator and turned it on. Lights flashed on, revealing boarded-up windows with blackout curtains hanging over the plywood for extra concealment.
Photographs of Skylar hung on the walls—clearly taken when she wasn’t aware she was being photographed—and they were surrounded by hand sketches of her in various poses, all of which were morbid or at the very least disturbing in nature. Whoever had drawn them had taken great care in getting all of Skylar’s features just right. He’d been studying her. Fantasizing about her. Planning the perfect portrait.
A sound, soft and rhythmic, caught Avery’s attention.
She spun around, facing the door. Parker quickly followed. Both still and listening.
Something or someone was shuffling down the hall, the noise growing louder, closer. And then a new sound joined the shuffling.
She looked at Parker. Was that . . . ?
Humming.
Parker pulled his gun and positioned Avery behind him.
The noise shifted, moving away from them, and from what Avery could tell toward the stairwell.
What if it was Sebastian? What if he’d detected their presence and was leaving? The one person who Avery believed held the key to Skylar’s disappearance.
She looked to Parker and he nodded. “Stay right behind me.”
They stepped into the hall, Avery glancing up and down. It was dark compared to the lit room they’d just exited. It was going to take a moment for her eyes to adjust, but they didn’t dare turn on the flashlight for fear of scaring Sebastian or whomever it was away.
They moved quietly down the corridor, the humming growing louder again. They were headed in the right direction, getting closer.
Avery’s heart thudded with a mix of trepidation and anticipation, her chest squeezing so tight she could barely catch a decent breath.
Parker’s arm swung out, landing on her stomach and pressing her up against the wall. The sound was so close it was almost on top of them. Parker held at the corner of the wall and at just the right moment swung around to the intersecting hallway, aiming his gun at a very startled man’s center mass.
“Wh . . . who’s there?” The man squinted. “Lizzy? Is that you?” an elderly voice quivered.
Parker indicated for her to turn on the flashlight.
The elderly man shielded his eyes from the light. Clearly he was used to the dimness of the building. His face was scruffy and unshaven, his clothes a size too big.
“Who are you?” Parker asked.
“Edward.”
“What are you doing here, Edward?”
“I live here. Have since ’69.”
“They closed this place down more than a decade ago.”
“No. No!” Edward shook his head, running a shaky hand through his thinning gray hair standing nearly on end. “Lizzy told me to wait for her, that she’d be right back after her surgery.”
Oh. “Is Lizzy your wife?”
“Yes.” His countenance brightened. “Have you seen her? She’s beautiful as a sweet summer day.”
Avery’s heart broke for the poor man. “No. I’m sorry, I haven’t.”
“Oh.” Anguish blanketed the brief glimpse of joy that had surfaced on his dirt-smudged face. “That’s okay. I’m sure she’ll be along soon enough.”
Avery’s gaze settled on the McDonald’s bag clutched in his hand, the fresh scent of warm fries wafting through the otherwise stale air.
“Where’d you get that?” she asked.
He clutched the white paper bag to his chest. “It’s mine.”
“Of course. I’m not trying to take it. I was just wondering . . . where I could get some of my own.”
“Oh. Sebastian brings it. I keep an eye on the place and he brings me stuff.”
Her muscles tightened. So Sebastian had recently been in the building, maybe still was.
“Do you know where Sebastian is now?” She tried to keep the adrenaline coursing through her system from her voice, tried to keep her tone even when she felt anything but centered.
“In his storage room,” Edward said, opening the bag and pulling out a fry, then popping it in his mouth.
“Where he takes the pictures?” They’d just been in there. If he’d come and seen the light on, surely he would have left. They would have already lost him.
“No. That’s his studio.” Edward rolled his eyes, rocking back on his heels. “His storage room is in the basement.”
“Could you show us?” Parker asked.
“I don’t see why not. Sebastian likes pretty girls.”
“I bet he does,” Parker whispered under his breath as they headed for the basement.