Page 28 of Stay Scared

The three men wait while Ash watches me beneath the plain white lights, his carefully staged reveal ruined and the exit still open behind me.

I place one hand on the back of the bolted chair.

“I can stop you.”

Something shifts in Ash’s expression, small enough that I might have missed it before tonight.

“Continue the protocol.”

Chapter 7

“Continue the protocol.”

The words hang in the white room while Cade holds his skull mask by one strap, Owen’s blank face rests on the padded floor near his boot, and Ash stands beside the open door with his black mask in one hand, its illuminated seams dark.

They gave me an exit. I saw the service corridor beyond it and stepped back inside anyway.

Ash closes the door without locking it and looks toward Cade. “Run your section as approved. Do not make me come in after you.”

Cade’s expression hardens. “I know the damn rules.”

“You know the version you prefer.”

Cade looks ready to answer, then pulls the skull mask over his face instead. Painted teeth cover his mouth, leaving gray eyes visible through the damaged openings. Owen replaces his blank mask and moves toward the opposite wall as a hidden door releases behind Cade, spilling low amber light through the opening while fog gathers close to the floorboards.

Cade extends a gloved hand.

He used to do that when I hesitated at curbs or stood outside unfamiliar buildings too long. Back then, I mistook the gesture for patience.

I pass without taking it.

The corridor curves after several yards. Ash and Owen remain behind until the door closes between us, and Cade falls into step beside me.

“You always hated taking help from me.”

“You always called control help.”

“Could’ve picked Owen.”

“I wanted answers from the person who actually knew me.”

The skull turns slightly toward me, but I keep walking until the corridor ends at an ordinary beige apartment door beneath brass numbers screwed into painted wood.

3B, our old apartment number. The numerals lean in the same direction. Even the lower screw in the three carries a dot of white paint where our landlord rolled over it rather than removing the plate.

Cade presses his thumb against a reader hidden beneath the peephole, and the lock releases.

Warm air carries burnt toast and the incense I used to light on Friday nights. Beneath both is the cheap laundry detergent we bought because the corner store always stocked it.

I recognize the room before I have time to inventory the details. The gray couch sags in the middle. One corner of the rug curls upward where it used to catch my foot. Someone recreated the water ring on the coffee table and painted the crack above the ceiling fixture onto fresh plaster.

“You told them about the crack?”

“I told them everything I could remember.”

“How long did that take?”

“A while.”