Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
The words burst from my lips. “Get out of there.”
The cadence of Ahmed’s breathing abruptly changed. “Wait. What the fuck is that?”
There was a thud like he’d dropped his phone, followed by the distant sounds of a struggle.
A grunt of pain.
A pitiful whimper of fear.
I listened in horror as Ahmed’s cry for help escalated into a bloodcurdling scream—
Which cut off and fell utterly silent. The phone screen blinked, announcing the call had ended.
Chelsea’s hand reached over and curled around mine, like she needed a connection or comfort after hearing something so awful, but Josh’s eyes narrowed in our direction.
“I know what this is,” he said in a cool tone. “It’s closing night, so you and the cast wanted to have some fun and give the director a taste of his own medicine.”
Disbelief streaked across her face. “You think this is—what? A prank? I swear to you, it’s not.”
When Josh’s phone rang again, the sound made us all jump. But it wasn’t Ahmed calling. It was the operations manager.
“I can’t get the elevator to come back down from the fifth floor,” he said. “And the camera inside it stopped responding. Do you want to head up and check it out? I’m still working on the issue with the pool lift.”
Josh tilted his head, and his expression shouted that this proved his suspicions correct. He was sure this was a setup. “Yeah,” he said to the man on the other end. “I’ll handle it.”
He stood from his seat and snatched up his phone before jamming it in the pocket of his jeans and flinging a finger at Chelsea.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs and get this over with.” When I pushed out of my chair too, he went rigid. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“She doesn’t need to go.” Once again, I couldn’t believe how easy it was for me to volunteer, even when I wasn’t sure this was real. “I’ll go with you.”
“Are you one of my employees?” he patronized. “No? She goes, you stay.”
“Anything that happens now is off the record,” I said. “If this is another level of Void, it won’t be included in my review.”
“Another level of . . .” The thought struck a short laugh from him. “That’s a great idea, but I assure you, it’s not.”
In Void, I’d played the hero, and maybe I had some desire lingering in my system to keep playing one. “Well, I’m not letting her go up there without me.”
Josh threw his hands up, giving in. “You know what? You want to come so bad, fine. But you’ll leave your phone here. There’ll be no documenting of any kind.”
I considered his terms.
Then I pulled out my phone and set it on the table with a thud, like a period at the end of a statement. “Let’s go.”
Either the fifth floor was creepier than I remembered, or the bright house lights made it seem that way. We planned to take the winding staircase all the way up, but by the time we reached the elevator, the operations manager had gotten it working again.
It was surreal to be back inside the car, and this time I noticed the details I’d missed when I’d been going through Void. How the patina and grime on the panel was a little too perfect to be real. That it was likely the elevator had been built a month ago rather than a century. Josh flipped open the panel with the brass handle, revealing the digital screen beneath, and pressed the button for the fifth floor.
We moved cautiously along the long hallway as a group, no one saying a word.
The lights flickered. Not as bad as when I’d been here before, but it made goose bumps lift on my arms and anxiety twist in my center. It became acute when my gaze landed on the cell phone abandoned in front of the mirror.
Josh led the pack, scooped the phone up, and glanced around with exasperation. He expected people to leap out at any minute, and he wanted them to get on with it.
But that didn’t happen.
The hallway was still and quiet, other than the staccato hum of the erratically flashing lights.
The backing to the mirror was faded and spotted, distorting the reflection like a noise filter had been laid over it. The frame around it was lavish and intricate, with gold scrolls spinning outward and overlapping with each other. The decorative leaves and birds on it must have been handcrafted.
It was a work of art—one that earned the small placard beside it just like you’d find at a gallery.
W. Stuart
Mirror and Gold Frame, c. 1660–1662
My breath caught painfully in my lungs.
W. Stuart—as in William Stuart? The man who’d been wrongfully executed in the courtyard of this very castle?
The lights in the hallway abruptly shut off, plunging the space into darkness, and made everyone suck in a breath. Chelsea had been close enough to me that I reached out in the pitch-black and found her, letting her know I was nearby.