The Writing Retreat(73)

I steeled myself. Pushing the furs aside, I stepped into the wardrobe.





Chapter 27




I half expected there to be nothing beyond the small doorway: just empty space that I would tumble down like Alice into the rabbit hole. But through the doorway stretched a wood-lined passage. It smelled like cedar, sharp and spicy.

The passageway went straight on for twenty feet or so, stopped by a far wall. There was also some kind of metal contraption at the end. I approached it, feeling dazed.

The metal thing was a spiral staircase that curled downwards out of view. I took a picture with my flash. Then I hesitated. I loved horror movies, but I had always blamed the protagonists—mostly women—for flagrantly disregarding signs of danger. Was I really going to do the same? Even as I wondered, I was already lowering myself down the creaky steps.

I tried to track it: I must be descending through the high-ceilinged library, through that book-lined pillar. The wooden walls were tight around the rickety staircase and I tried to push away the swelling claustrophobia. My thighs started to cry out from the steep descent.

Finally I stepped onto a cement floor. It was freezing down there. Should’ve grabbed one of those fur coats. I held in an inappropriate giggle. This passage was lined in concrete. It ended fifteen feet ahead with a black metal door.

I walked over a small drain and started to shiver, unsure if it was from the cold or fear. The wooden passageway had felt friendlier, a mischievous secret, at least part of the human world. The concrete felt different: cold and cave-like, a place with drains in the floor to wash away blood.

Keep it together. I approached the door, noting another keypad on the wall next to it.

So that would be it, then. Relief poured over my shoulders. I didn’t have the code. This was as far as I could go. I wouldn’t have to see what horrors lay beyond.

But then I noticed: the door wasn’t actually closed. It was slightly ajar, just an inch or two out of the frame. Light glowed from the other side. I gripped the knob and it swung towards me. It was too easy, wasn’t it?

It didn’t matter. I’d gone too far to stop now. A resigned inevitability arose inside me and I stepped through the door.

The light was so bright after the dark passageway that at first I had to cover my eyes, blinking to adjust. I was in a small room. Towards the right, rows of flat-screen monitors hung over a desk. It looked like the security office of a store or hotel. I crept closer. Small movements caught my eyes in the black-and-white tableaus: Chitra, moving from the fridge to the stove in the kitchen. The others shifting in the dining room, turning towards Taylor, who waved her arms theatrically. I leaned forward and stumbled, accidentally touching the screen. Sound filled the room.

“I’m serious!” Taylor’s voice rang too loud in my ears. “Have you seen what a guy on meth does to himself? The last time I—”

I tapped the screen again and the sound went off. I scanned the other monitors, looking for Yana. I found her in what appeared to be her own quarters, lying motionless on her bed and staring at the ceiling.

Terror filled my throat as I found our rooms—and our bathrooms!—all nice and neat in a row. Roza had been watching us—even shower and take shits—this entire time. The cameras looked down from above; they must’ve been installed in the chandeliers and bathroom light fixtures.

Keira, Taylor, and I hadn’t even thought to search my bathroom. We’d assumed Roza wouldn’t have been that extreme.

I grabbed my phone and took pictures, trying to steady my shaking hands. I’d prepared myself for a game. For surveillance, even. But this went far beyond. There was no way Roza could spin this outside Blackbriar’s walls.

I forced myself to scan the monitors once more, searching for a secret room containing Zoe. But I didn’t see anyone else. Heart sinking, I turned.

And froze.

There was another desk across from the first. It displayed just one lonely monitor, smaller than the others. I crept closer, willing the image not to be what I was seeing.

The camera, filming from the upper corner, showed a small mattress and toilet in what looked like a large prison cell.

Something moved. It was Zoe, sitting up on the mattress. She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring at nothing.

Zoe! Zoe was alive! The sudden relief was so powerful I felt dizzy. But even as the tears sprang to my eyes, the other, darker realization made me gulp down my joyful sob.

There was a secret room, and it was a dungeon.

“Okay.” I straightened, scanning the room. I needed to get to her. At the far end of the surveillance room was another door. I ran to it, barely pausing before I pushed it open.

And there it was: a surprisingly spacious cell enclosed by iron bars. Zoe hadn’t looked up when I opened the door.

“Are you okay?” I cried, pausing a millisecond to make sure the door would stay open, then raced to her. She lunged upwards, grabbing the bars. I grasped her hands, which were freezing. I could smell her: BO edged with a metallic fear.

“Alex.” Her dark eyes bulged, her voice frantic. “Oh my god, help me. You have to get help.” Her face was pale, smudged with dirt, and her blond hair was greasy. She wore the red Valentine’s Day dress from the night she’d disappeared.

“What happened?” I gasped. “Did Roza do this?” I took a step back and scanned the bars, spotting yet another keypad.