The Madness Underneath: Book 2 (THE SHADES OF LONDON) by Johnson Maureen

Author:Johnson, Maureen [Johnson, Maureen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101607831
Publisher: Putnam Juvenile
Published: 2013-02-26T05:00:00+00:00

The Royal Bethlehem Hospital didn’t look like a mental hospital, not that I have much experience on the subject. It was brick, very American looking, like an administrative building on a college campus or something from Main Street, Anywhere, USA. Big windows, red roof, tiny square turret on top. It was cheerful and efficient, even if it was draped entirely in cobwebs of fog. We parked right out front, in a space reserved for official vehicles.

“Here is how this will work,” Stephen said, turning the car off. “This man is accused of murder. Remember that. I will do the talking. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” I said.

“Even if people ask you questions, you do not answer. They can’t hear your accent.”

“Got it.”

“Close up the coat and keep the hat on. Look like you’re meant to be here. Technically, you are impersonating a police officer, so we have to do this right.”

Everything was fine until we actually went through the front door.

I call it “water park feeling.” I always think I want to go to water parks. The idea of going on a water slide always seems like a good one. I like pools; therefore, it follows that I should like a park made of pools. And every summer, without fail, I make this mistake and end up going to Splash World, where I remember that I hate water parks, because they are not about pools—they are about slides. They are about heights. They are often about slides that reach to great heights that are enclosed, and as any shipwreck survivor would be happy to tell you, water and enclosed spaces are bad combinations. Add to that the free-fall aspect, and you have a combination that the reptile part of the brain abhors. The brain says no. The brain says bad. The brain says you will fall and then you will drown, or possibly both at the same time.

I know it the minute I approach the turnstiles and buy a ticket, because that’s when you can smell the chlorine. As soon as it hits my nose, my reptile brain wakes up, checks the files, and sends up the warning. And this is why I always end up claiming I have cramps and holding the towels while gleeful children run around me, totally unafraid.

On this particular morning, it wasn’t chlorine I smelled. But as we walked through the front door, I caught the faint bite of antiseptic and the strange and false odor of recycled air that comes from a place with no open windows. Hospital smell.

We started at the front desk. From there, we were taken to a series of stations through a series of doors that had to be opened with swipe cards. Stephen had to show something called a warrant card, which turned out to be his police identification. He signed documents on clipboards.

I could tell, as we progressed through the building, that we were moving to more and more serious levels. In the beginning, there were paintings on the walls, paintings done by the patients.

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