Mirrors Read Free

that he was, in fact, suffering dissociative delusions of grandeur, but in the end, that reasoning couldn’t compete with the evidence that supported his sanity.
    Still, the way his world had unraveled so quickly yesterday was unnerving. And if it was unnerving for him, it must be mind-numbing for Christy.
    Who could say how far they would push her? Fisher needed them both insane to cover his tracks. He would go as far as he needed.
    Some people were inclined to identify with their trauma, even to the point of falling off the cliff into madness. Christy might be such a person. He’d always known she had her issues, but maybe they cut deeper than he guessed.
    Lawson, it seemed, was either in on Fisher’s plot or truly convinced that Christy was Alice. And that he was Scott. Possible? Technically. Realistic? So far from it that Austin had dismissed even the possibility of it in his mind.
    They needed to get out of the psych ward, period.
    Lawson said there was no way out, but there had to be. Finding it was simply a matter of outthinking the man. Austin had mentally rehearsed a dozen escape scenarios a hundred times, but like a mythical Hydra, each problem he seemed to solve sprouted two new heads, two more problems.
    The facility was designed to keep its occupants in, and every eventuality had likely been taken into account. Getting out through any conventional means was almost certainly impossible. And he could think of no unconventional means except one.
    Alice. Assuming she was alive.
    Everything led back to Alice. More specifically, to the words he’d overheard.
    I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I know.
    Finding Alice might mean finding a way out. She might know what was really happening, information that might break this place wide open. Doing that might mean getting her out too.
    So find Alice, but how? Where would Fisher have put her?
    Upper floor? Maybe.
    Basement? Maybe.
    Killed her? Maybe.
    Readmitted her with a new identity? Maybe.
    Without more information, Austin was at a loss. What he did know at the moment, was that Christy was on the second floor and in dire straits, suffering treatment that was likely not sanctioned.
    His desire to reach her overrode his desire to find Alice. Reaching Christy first was the most important thing, if only to know that she was safe.
    He taxed his mind to the point of exhaustion, working incessantly to think of a way to her. Every course of action seemed to form a twisted knot of trouble.
    But even the most tangled of knots could be unraveled, couldn’t they? While the rest of the world slumbered in peace, he had methodically dissected the challenge—but he could think of no feasible way to reach Christy.
    His mind wasn’t processing thoughts properly. There was a way, there had to be, he just wasn’t thinking about it right.
    “Lost in thought, Scott?”
    Austin jerked his attention toward the door. Nancy Wilkins, the therapist Christy had mentioned, stood in the doorframe holding a small stack of folders under her arm.
    It was strange to hear her call him Scott. Scott Connelly. An imaginary patient Fisher had fabricated to lock Austin in this twisted world.
    “Excuse me?”
    “You didn’t hear me opening the door.” She stepped in and pulled the door shut.
    “Sorry. Just… thinking.”
    “I can see that. Did you sleep well?”
    “I never sleep well. Insomnia. Chronic, actually.”
    A look of genuine concern softened her face as she glanced at the still-made bed, then back at him. “Sometimes goes with the territory.”
    He was tempted to correct her but thought better of it. “So they say,” he said.
    “Well, as you grow accustomed to your new surroundings, Saint Matthew’s will begin to feel like home. You’ll see.”
    She considered him for a long beat. Austin noticed the methodical movement of her analytical gaze. In a single smooth sweep of the eyes, she had taken in him and the entire room. Question was, what did those eyes see?
    “What time is