Chapter 18 - The Subterranean Ward
The tunnel opened into a subterranean complex that looked nothing like a wine cellar or an escape route.
It was a medical facility. Stainless steel counters, hermetically sealed glass observation chambers, and banks of outdated computer monitors lined the subterranean vault beneath the Hudson bluffs. The air was sterile, chilled to exactly sixty-five degrees, smelling of antiseptic and ozone.
Claire walked past empty hospital beds fitted with leather restraint cuffs. On the wall hung patient clipboards dated back over two decades.
"This is Room 417," Vanessa whispered in horror, her fingers trailing over a rusted surgical tray. "The asylum in Briarcliff was just a shell. A decoy. They built the real ward right underneath our feet."
Claire stopped before the central observation room. Behind the reinforced acrylic glass was a single desk covered in handwritten journals, audio cassette tapes, and thousands of surveillance photographs.
All of the photographs were of Claire.
From her first day at the orphanage in Boston, to her high school graduation in a secondhand dress, to her first shift carrying trays at the Grand Meridian. Every movement of her entire life had been documented, timed, and cataloged.
On the desk sat a reel-to-reel tape recorder. The magnetic tape was cued up, waiting.
With trembling fingers, Claire pressed the play button.
The static hiss crackled through the speakers, followed by the deep, unmistakable voice of Charles Whitmore:
May you like
*"Log entry: November 14th, 2004. The separation procedure has been completed. The subject Claire displays normal cognitive development, free of the neurological degeneration inherited from Margaret's maternal line. Subject Eleanor, however, has developed the full psychopathy of the Vance bloodline. She cannot be integrated into society. She must remain below."*
***
