Soon I banged a right into the New England that leaf-peepers dream about—elms, oaks, some pines mixed in. As the road passed a big pond on my left and grew twistier, houses petered out. I came around a corner and there it was, spoiling a pretty field: a big red-brick insane asylum. Mesh-reinforced doors, barred windows, uniformed security patrols, the works. As I pulled in, I saw parking places marked PICKUP/DROP-OFF ONLY. I said out loud, “Just like Applebee’s.” Laughed, knew the laugh sounded wrong. I killed the F-150, sat a minute to let my heart slow. I’d been here before on taxi duty, hauling people from the nuthouse to the private rehab up the street. I climbed out into a day that was good and hot already, then pulled a door and stepped inside. At first, Cider Hill State Hospital looked no different than any other health-care operation: It was full of women with big asses who obviously hated their jobs. Everything they did they did slowly, almost cartoon-slow. Like it was a joke they played on outsiders, and the second you turned your back they sped up.
What do You think about Purgatory Chasm: A Mystery?
