Chapter 15 Forgetting to Check for Traps #2
“Dr. Faine was definitely hiding something,” Asher said, circling the table. “This isn’t standard medical equipment. This is a containment device.”
In the next office, they discovered more evidence of the doctor’s unethical practices. A locked filing cabinet yielded to Asher’s lock-picking skills—those same hands that had been so gentle on Levi’s skin now working the tumblers with practiced ease.
Inside the cabinet, they found Dr. Faine’s personal research notes.
The small leather journal contained coded entries spanning decades, documenting experiments on unwilling patients.
References to “subject responsiveness,” “breakthrough moments,” and “behavioral manipulation” filled page after page.
“This is evidence,” Levi said, holding the journal. “Proof of what happened here.”
“You should keep it,” Asher said. “It might help piece together the hospital’s history for your video.”
Levi tucked the journal into his jacket, feeling its weight against his chest. The leather felt warm, almost alive, as if it carried the suffering of all the patients who had endured Dr. Faine’s experiments.
They continued exploring, discovering a staff break room that had been preserved better than most of the hospital. Dust-covered tables and chairs remained in neat rows, as if the staff had simply stepped away for lunch and never returned.
“Let’s rest for a minute,” Asher suggested, settling into one of the chairs. He produced a bottle of water from his pack, offering it to Levi. “You look shaky.”
He accepted the water gratefully, surprised by how much he needed it. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat, helping wash away the metallic taste of fear that had been coating his mouth.
“Thanks,” Levi said, settling into the chair across from Asher. Some safe distance felt necessary, even as part of him craved the protective warmth he felt in those arms.
“How did you get into this?” Asher asked, leaning back in his chair. “Ghost hunting, I mean. Paranormal investigation.”
The question felt like a test, another opportunity for Levi to reveal how little he understood this new scenario.
“Started as therapy, kind of,” Levi replied, surprised to find truth in the words. “After my brother died, my counselor suggested channeling my energy into something productive. Gaming didn’t feel like enough anymore.”
Asher’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
“It was.” Levi found himself relaxing slightly, the genuine sympathy in Asher’s voice disarming his defenses. “He loved horror games. Always said they helped him face his fears in a controlled environment. Ironic, considering...”
“Considering what?”
“Nothing. Just... he should have been here for this. He would have loved exploring an abandoned hospital.” He probably would have figured out the puzzle mechanics faster, too.
Asher studied him with those mismatched eyes, and for a moment, Levi feared he revealed too much. But instead of suspicion, he saw something like understanding.
“I lost someone too,” Asher said quietly. “My father. Lost the family recording studio when he died—bad debts, worse business decisions. Had to learn sound engineering the hard way after that.”
The admission felt genuine, personal in a way that made Levi’s chest tight. This version of Asher carried pain, vulnerability—human emotions that seemed impossible to fake.
“Is that why you do this work?” Levi asked. “The freelance audio?”
“Beats working for corporate assholes,” Asher replied with a slight smile. “Plus, your content is actually interesting. Most channels just want manufactured drama. You’re looking for something real.”
“What do you think we’ll find here?” Levi asked, gesturing toward the hospital around them.
Asher was quiet for a moment, considering. “Honestly? I don’t think we’re hunting ghosts. I think we’re documenting victims.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Maybe the ‘supernatural’ activity is just people trying to expose what happened to them.”
Levi studied Asher’s face, searching for any hint of deception. The theory felt too convenient, too aligned with the horror game logic he experienced. But the conviction in Asher’s voice seemed genuine.
“You really believe that?”
“People don’t just disappear without a trace,” Asher replied. “Dr. Faine experimented on patients for decades. Where are the whistleblowers? The families demanding answers? Someone should have exposed this years ago.”
“Maybe they’re still trying to,” Levi suggested.
Asher’s smile held no warmth. “This is going to make way better content than a simple ghost hunt. Real investigative journalism.”
The pragmatic observation should have felt callous, but instead it reassured Levi. This Asher cared about the quality of their work, about telling important stories. It felt like something a real person would say—not a killer wearing a human mask.
They finished their water break and continued deeper into the Administrative Wing. The offices grew larger and more opulent as they approached what must have been Dr. Faine’s private domain. Mahogany paneling replaced institutional paint, and expensive furniture sat beneath decades of dust.
Patient restraint rooms lined one corridor, each equipped with observation windows that allowed staff to monitor occupants. Scratch marks covered the walls—fingernail gouges that spoke to desperate attempts at escape. Levi photographed everything, documenting the evidence of human suffering.
“The sound quality will be extraordinary in these rooms,” Asher noted, testing the acoustics with a quiet whistle. “All that padding creates natural sound dampening.”
As they worked together to decode more files, Levi found his wariness gradually fading.
Asher offered practical solutions to problems, shared equipment without being asked, maintained respectful a distance unless Levi needed assistance.
When strange noises echoed through the hospital—settling wood, wind through broken windows—Asher took Levi’s concerns seriously rather than dismissing them.
They developed a comfortable rhythm of investigation, with Asher naturally deferring to Levi’s leadership. The dynamic felt organic, professional—two colleagues working toward a common goal.
This Asher seemed caring, protective, and genuinely concerned about their investigation and Levi’s well-being. But Levi’s memory of previous loops remained vivid—the knife against his throat, the twisted intimacy, the promise to “find him again.”
Following the building schematics they discovered in the administrative offices, they navigated toward what should have been Dr. Faine’s personal laboratory. The corridors grew narrower, more maze-like, as if designed to confuse visitors and prevent easy access to sensitive areas.
A wrong turn led them into the hospital’s massive industrial kitchen.
Stainless steel surfaces gleamed dully in their flashlight beams, and enormous ovens dominated one wall.
The space felt different from the rest of the hospital—newer, more modern, as if it had been updated sometime in the decades since closure.
The moment they both crossed the threshold, the heavy metal door slammed shut behind them.
Levi spun around, heart hammering as he grabbed the door handle. It turned, but the door itself refused to budge—as if some massive weight pressed against it from outside.
“Locked,” he announced, trying to keep panic from his voice.
Asher immediately moved to help, both of them pushing against the door with their combined weight. Nothing. The barrier remained immovable, sealing them inside the industrial kitchen.
“There has to be another exit,” Asher said, maintaining calm focus. He swept his flashlight around the room, searching for alternatives.
They found a dumbwaiter set into one wall—far too small for human passage. Service windows that had been sealed with steel plates. The kitchen had been designed as a self-contained unit, with only one main entrance.
As they discussed their options, a faint hissing sound made Levi’s shoulders tense. His head tilted, trying to locate the source. The noise seemed to come from everywhere at once—a soft, continuous whisper that made his skin crawl.
“Do you hear that?” he asked.
Asher paused, listening. His face went pale as recognition dawned. “Gas.”
The hiss filled the kitchen like escaping breath, growing louder with each passing second. Levi and Asher exchanged a look of mutual dread before both lunged toward the massive industrial stove that dominated the far wall.
“Main shutoff,” Asher said, his voice tight. “Has to be behind here.”
Levi’s hands flew to the ancient brass control knobs along the stove’s front panel. The first knob spun uselessly in his grip. No resistance. The hissing grew more pronounced—a venomous whisper mocking their desperation.
“They’re not working,” Levi gasped, trying the second knob. This one snapped off completely in his hand, the cheap metal giving way with a brittle crack.
He stared at the broken piece of brass, his mind struggling to process the mechanical failure. The third knob crumbled under his grip like ancient pottery, leaving him with another handful of useless debris.
“Industrial kitchens always have emergency shutoffs,” Asher said, positioning himself behind the massive stove. “Help me move this.”
Levi dropped the broken knobs and threw his shoulder against the stove’s massive frame. The appliance had to weigh several hundred pounds—solid iron and steel that had fed an entire hospital population. Together, they strained against its bulk, muscles burning with effort.