New Locks

The new locks arrived on Thursday afternoon.

A contractor named Gary installed them. He was a large man with a thick neck and a tool belt that jingled like a janitor's keys. He didn't look at me. He looked at the door jambs, the strike plates, the screws.

"Heavy duty," he said to Graham. "These are commercial grade. Schlage L-Series. You could keep a bear out with these."

"Or in," I said.

Gary paused, his drill whining down. He looked at Graham.

"My wife worries about break-ins," Graham said smoothly. "Ever since the... incident."

"Right," Gary said, turning back to the wood. "Well, she'll be safe as a bank vault in here."

I watched them work. Every door. Front. Back. Side. Even the interior door to the garage.

Keypads.

Black, sleek, and digital.

But these weren't like the old ones. These had no keyholes. No tumblers to pick. No way to use a bobby pin.

They were biometrics-enabled.

"Fingerprint or code," Gary explained, demonstrating on the front door. "You can set up to fifty users."

"Just one," Graham said. "Just me."

He pressed his thumb to the sensor. *Beep-click.* The deadbolt slid home with a sound like a prison cell closing.

"What about me?" I asked.

"You don't need a code, Merritt," Graham said. "You're not going anywhere."

Gary looked uncomfortable. He packed up his tools quickly.

"That'll be two grand," he said.

Graham handed him a credit card.

I watched Gary leave. I watched him get into his van and drive away.

I was sealed in.

Hermetically.

"There," Graham said, admiring the new hardware. "Now we don't have to worry about any more... sleepwalking."

He turned to me.

"Or escaping."

I looked at the keypad. It was a monolith. A black obelisk of control.

"You can't keep me here," I said. "It's kidnapping."

"It's caretaking," he corrected. "You're a danger to yourself. I have a duty to protect you."

He walked into the kitchen.

"I'm making dinner," he said. "Soup."

Soup. Soft food.

I went upstairs.

I tried the windows again. Sealed.

I tried the vent. Taped shut (by me, but now I couldn't get it off without tools).

I was in a glass cage.

And the air was getting thin.

I lay down on the bed. I closed my eyes.

I thought about Leo.

He was gone. The man in the hoodie had taken him.

Was he safe?

Who was the man?

A friend? An enemy?

Or just another player in Graham’s game?

I heard a noise.

A vibration.

It wasn't a phone. It was... deeper.

A hum.

Coming from the walls.

I sat up.

The house was vibrating.

Low frequency. Sub-bass.

I put my hand on the wall. It was buzzing.

Graham was testing the sound system.

Preparing for the party.

I got off the bed. I walked into the hallway.

The hum was louder here.

It wasn't music. It was... noise.

White noise? No. Pink noise.

He was masking the house.

Creating a sonic barrier.

So that if I screamed... no one would hear.

I went downstairs.

Graham was in the living room, adjusting the levels on his iPad.

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

"Hear what?"

"The humming."

"I don't hear anything," he said. "Maybe it's the tinnitus. Dr. Aris said that might happen."

"It's not tinnitus. The walls are shaking."

He smiled.

"It's just the house settling, Merritt. Relax."

He tapped the screen. The hum got louder.

It was a weapon.

Sonic warfare.

He was trying to disorient me. To make me doubt my senses. To make me crave the silence of the grave.

I covered my ears.

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"The noise!"

"There is no noise," he said calmly.

I ran to the kitchen. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

I threw it at the wall.

*SMASH.*

The sound was swallowed by the hum. It sounded dull. Muted.

Graham didn't even flinch.

"Clean that up," he said.

I looked at the shards.

I looked at the keypad on the back door.

I walked over to it.

I pressed my thumb against the sensor.

*Red light. Beep-beep.*

*Access Denied.*

I punched in numbers. Random codes.

*1-2-3-4.*

*0-0-0-0.*

*Red light.*

*Red light.*

*System Lockout in 30 Seconds.*

I hit the keypad with my fist.

"Open!"

Graham walked into the kitchen. He stepped over the broken glass.

"It won't open for you, Merritt. It only knows me."

He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Why do you fight it? Why can't you just... accept it?"

"Accept what? That you're a monster?"

"That you're sick," he said. "That you need help."

He guided me to a chair.

"Sit down. Eat your soup."

He put a bowl in front of me. Tomato soup. Red. Thick.

I looked at it.

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat. You're wasting away."

"I'd rather starve."

"Then I'll have to feed you," he said. "Like a bird."

He picked up the spoon.

He brought it to my lips.

I clamped my mouth shut.

"Merritt," he warned.

I stared at him.

He sighed. He put the spoon down.

"Fine. Starve. It fits the narrative."

He walked away.

I sat there. Looking at the soup.

I saw my reflection in the liquid.

Distorted. Rippling.

And then...

The reflection blinked.

I jumped back.

I looked at the soup.

It was still.

But I had seen it.

The reflection had blinked.

And then it smiled.

Not my smile.

The Replacement's smile.

She was dead. I had seen her body.

But her ghost was in the soup.

I pushed the bowl away. It slid across the table and crashed onto the floor.

Red splatter. Like blood.

I ran.

I ran upstairs. I ran into the bathroom.

I turned on the faucet. I splashed water on my face.

I looked in the mirror.

My reflection was there. Normal. Terrified.

But behind me...

In the reflection...

The shower curtain was open.

And someone was standing in the tub.

It wasn't Leo.

It was a man.

The man in the hoodie.

He was holding a finger to his lips.

*Shhh.*

I spun around.

The tub was empty.

I looked back at the mirror.

He was gone.

I was hallucinating.

Graham was right. The poison. The stress. It was breaking my brain.

I sank to the floor. I curled into a ball.

"I'm not crazy," I whispered. "I'm not crazy."

But I didn't believe it.

Not anymore.

I closed my eyes.

And then I heard it.

A tap.

On the glass.

Not the mirror. The window.

The small window. The one I had broken.

It was boarded up now. Graham had screwed a piece of plywood over the hole.

But the tapping was coming from the other side.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

Rhythmic.

Morse code?

I didn't know Morse code.

I crawled to the window. I put my ear against the plywood.

"Hello?" I whispered.

"Merritt?"

A voice. Low. Urgent.

It wasn't a hallucination.

It was real.

"Who is it?"

"It's Gavin."

Gavin.

The brother. The twin.

The man Graham said was locked away.

"You're not real," I said. "Graham doesn't have a brother."

"He wishes he didn't," the voice said. "Listen to me. You have to get out."

"I can't. The locks."

"I know. I saw Gary install them."

"Can you open them?"

"No. They're biometric. Only Graham can open them."

"Then I'm trapped."

"Not necessarily," Gavin said. "Biometrics can be... bypassed."

"How?"

"You need his thumb."

I shuddered.

"I'm not cutting off his thumb."

"You don't have to cut it off," Gavin said. "You just need a print."

"A print?"

"A lift. Do you have tape? And graphite? Like a pencil?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Find something he touched. A glass. A glossy surface. Lift the print. Transfer it to the tape."

"And then?"

"And then put the tape on your thumb. It might fool the sensor."

It sounded like a movie. Like *Mission: Impossible*.

But I was living in a movie. A horror movie.

"Okay," I said. "I'll try."

"Hurry," Gavin said. "He's planning something for tonight."

"Tonight?"

"A rehearsal. He wants to make sure the 'suicide' looks convincing."

My stomach turned.

"Okay," I said.

"One more thing," Gavin said.

"What?"

"Leo is safe. He's with me."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "Survive the night."

The tapping stopped.

I was alone again.

But I had a mission.

I needed a fingerprint.

I stood up. I unlocked the bathroom door.

I listened.

The hum was still there. Low. Vibrating.

Graham was downstairs.

I needed to go down there. I needed to find something he had touched.

The soup bowl?

No. I had smashed it.

The wine glass?

He had taken it with him to the study.

What else?

The invitation.

He had held it. The glossy cardstock.

It was on the dining table.

I crept downstairs.

The lights were dim. The shadows stretched long and thin.

I walked to the dining room.

The invitation was there. Lying on the table.

*A Celebration of Life.*

I picked it up by the edges. Careful not to smudge it.

I tilted it into the light.

There.

A thumbprint. Right on the word *Spirit*.

Perfect.

I needed tape. And a pencil.

There was a junk drawer in the kitchen.

I walked to the kitchen.

The soup mess was still on the floor.

I stepped over it.

I opened the drawer.

Tape. Scotch tape.

Pencil. A yellow No. 2.

I grabbed them.

I went back to the dining room.

I scribbled with the pencil on a piece of paper until I had a pile of graphite dust.

I blew the dust onto the invitation.

It stuck to the oils of the print.

A perfect whorl.

I pressed the tape onto the print.

I peeled it off.

The print came with it.

A black ghost of a thumb.

I stuck the tape to my own thumb.

It felt sticky. Weird.

Would it work?

There was only one way to find out.

I walked to the back door.

The keypad glowed red in the dark.

I pressed my taped thumb against the sensor.

*Beep.*

*Processing...*

I held my breath.

*Beep-beep.*

*Red Light.*

*Access Denied.*

It didn't work.

The sensor was too smart. It needed heat. Or depth.

Or maybe the print was smudged.

I tried again.

*Access Denied.*

I peeled the tape off. I looked at it. It was a mess of graphite.

Failed.

I heard a noise.

Behind me.

"What are you doing, Merritt?"

Graham.

He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Holding a glass of wine.

He looked at me. He looked at the tape on my finger. He looked at the graphite on the invitation.

He smiled.

"Clever," he said. "MacGyver would be proud."

He walked toward me.

"But you forgot one thing."

"What?"

"Those sensors use capacitance. They need electrical conductivity. Tape doesn't conduct."

He took a sip of wine.

"You need a finger, Merritt. A real finger."

He set the wine down.

"And lucky for you... I have one."

He held up his hand.

"Want to try again?"

I stared at him.

He was mocking me.

"Go to hell," I said.

"Not yet," he said. "We have a rehearsal to do."

He grabbed my arm.

"Come on. To the studio."

"No."

"Yes."

He dragged me.

I fought. I scratched.

But he was stronger. And he was enjoying it.

He dragged me to the basement door. He opened it.

He shoved me down the stairs.

I fell. I tumbled.

I hit the bottom.

The studio door was open.

The lights were on.

And inside...

A setup.

A chair. A rope. A beam.

A noose.

"It's a classic," Graham said, walking down the stairs. "Simple. Effective. 'She couldn't live with the pain.'"

He walked into the studio.

"Get in the chair, Merritt."

I looked at the noose.

I looked at Graham.

I looked at the corner. The crawl space.

The wire.

The live wire.

It was still there. Dangling.

Graham hadn't fixed it. He had just reset the breaker.

He didn't know I knew about it.

"Get in the chair," he repeated.

I walked into the room.

I walked past the chair.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a drink," I said. "My throat is dry."

"There's no water down here."

"There's a sink," I said. "In the utility closet."

I walked toward the utility closet. Which was next to the crawl space.

"Merritt, get back here!"

I reached the closet. I opened the door.

I grabbed the wire.

"Graham!" I shouted.

He turned.

"What?"

I held up the wire.

"Catch."

I threw it.

It snaked through the air.

He raised his hands to block it.

The wire hit his watch.

The Omega Seamaster. Metal. Conductive.

*ZZZT.*

A spark. A jolt.

Graham screamed. He grabbed his wrist.

He fell to his knees.

The breaker popped. The lights went out.

Darkness.

I ran.

I ran past him. I ran up the stairs.

I ran to the kitchen.

I grabbed his wine glass. The one he had set down.

I smashed it on the counter.

I took a shard. A long, sharp shard of crystal.

I ran to the back door.

The keypad was dark. No power.

But the battery backup would kick in. In ten seconds.

I waited.

*Beep.*

The keypad lit up.

I needed a finger.

I looked at the stairs.

Graham was coming up. Stumbling. Groaning.

"You bitch," he rasped.

I didn't have his finger.

But I had something else.

I had the knowledge.

Gavin had said, "Biometrics can be bypassed."

He hadn't meant the tape.

He meant the system.

I remembered the server room. The "nursery."

The cables.

If the internet was down... the system defaulted to local control.

And local control... had a master override.

A physical key.

I ran to the "nursery."

I used the bobby pin. I got in.

I went to the server rack.

There was a key. Hanging on a hook inside the cabinet.

A red key. *Fire Override.*

I grabbed it.

I ran back to the kitchen.

Graham was at the top of the basement stairs. He looked burned. Angry.

"Merritt!"

I ran to the back door.

There was a keyhole. Under the keypad. Hidden by a plastic tab.

I popped the tab.

I inserted the red key.

I turned it.

*Clunk.*

The deadbolt retracted.

I opened the door.

Fresh air. Freedom.

I ran out into the night.

"Get back here!" Graham screamed.

He chased me.

I ran toward the woods. Toward the trellis.

Toward the tripwire.

I jumped over the wire.

Graham didn't see it. He was too focused on me.

He hit the wire.

*HISSS.*

Red paint exploded.

It covered his face. His eyes.

He screamed. He clawed at his eyes. "I can't see!"

I kept running.

I ran into the trees.

I found the path.

I ran until my lungs burned.

I ran until I saw a light.

A flashlight.

Someone was coming.

"Merritt?"

It was Gavin.

He lowered the light. He saw me.

"You made it," he said.

"He's blind," I gasped. "The paint."

Gavin smiled. "Good."

He handed me a jacket.

"Put this on. We have to go."

"Where?"

"To get your life back," he said.

He led me through the woods. To a car parked on the logging road.

Leo was in the back seat. Sleeping.

I got in. I hugged him.

Gavin got in the driver's seat.

"What about Graham?" I asked.

"Let him rot," Gavin said. "He has a party to prepare for."

He started the car.

We drove away.

Leaving the Vivarium behind.

Leaving the ghost behind.

I looked at my hand. It was bleeding. I had cut it on the glass shard.

I wrapped it in the jacket.

I wasn't fragile.

I was sharp.

And I was just getting started.