The Plan to Run

The text message buzzed in my hand again.

*From: Unknown*
*Message: She's in the cistern. Under the house.*

My breath hitched. The cistern wasn't just a rainwater tank. It was an old, concrete reservoir from when the house was a farm. It was buried deep under the backyard, accessible only through a heavy iron hatch hidden by the landscaping.

I looked at Toby. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around!" I shouted. "We have to go back."

Elena grabbed my arm. "Merritt, we can't. He'll kill us."

"He killed Sarah," I said, my voice shaking. "She's in the cistern. If we leave her... if we don't get proof... he wins."

Toby slammed on the brakes. The van skidded on the gravel.

"If we go back," he said, his face pale, "we need a plan. We can't just walk in."

"I have a plan," I said.

I looked at the phone. At the photos. At the files Elena had brought.

"We're going to crash the party."

We drove back to Sylvan Hills. It was 1:30 AM. The neighborhood was silent.

We parked the van in the woods, a mile from the house. We walked the rest of the way, sticking to the shadows.

When we reached the perimeter, I stopped.

The house was dark. But the garden lights were on.

And there, standing by the cistern hatch...

Graham.

He was digging.

He had a shovel. He was clearing the dirt and moss from the hatch.

He knew.

Someone had told him.

Or he had figured it out.

"He's moving the body," I whispered.

"We have to stop him," Toby said.

"No," I said. "Let him open it. Let him bring her out. Then we take the picture."

We waited. Crouched in the ferns.

Graham grunted. He pried the hatch open. The rusty hinges screamed.

He shined a flashlight down into the hole.

"Come on, Sarah," he muttered. "Time to go."

He reached down. He pulled.

Something heavy came up. Wrapped in a tarp. Weighted with chains.

He dragged it onto the grass.

It was small. Too small for an adult.

My stomach churned.

He unwrapped the tarp.

It wasn't a body.

It was a mannequin.

A store mannequin. Wearing a red dress.

I stared.

"What..."

Graham stood up. He kicked the mannequin.

"Damn it!" he shouted.

He looked around. At the trees. At the shadows.

"I know you're out there!" he yelled. "I know you're watching!"

He pulled out his phone. He dialed.

"She's playing games," he said into the phone. "She moved the body."

He listened.

"I don't know where! But if the cops find it..."

He paused.

"Fine. I'll check the septic tank. But if she's not there... we have to accelerate the timeline. Tonight."

He hung up.

He started walking toward the septic field, on the other side of the property.

"Now," I said.

We ran.

Not to the cistern. To the house.

The back door was still unlocked. Graham was too distracted to check.

We slipped inside.

"Where is she?" Elena asked. "Where did you hide her?"

"I didn't hide her," I said. "I didn't know she was there until ten minutes ago."

"Then who moved the body?" Toby asked.

I looked at the kitchen counter.

There was a note.

Written in lipstick. *Rouge d'Armani Matte 400.*

*CHECK THE FREEZER.*

I ran to the garage. To the chest freezer.

It was locked.

I looked for the key. It wasn't on the hook.

I grabbed the bolt cutters from the workbench (where I had left them earlier).

*SNAP.*

The lock broke.

I opened the lid.

Inside...

Frozen steaks. Bags of peas.

And at the bottom...

A red sneaker.

Just one.

And a note.

*SHE'S NOT HERE EITHER.*

I slammed the lid.

"He's playing with us," I said. "He's making us run around in circles."

"Or someone else is," Elena said.

She pointed to the wall.

Written in dust on the garage window:

*LOOK UP.*

I looked up.

At the attic vent.

"The attic," I whispered.

"But you said Leo was in the attic," Toby said.

"He was. But maybe... maybe Sarah was there too."

We ran upstairs. I pulled down the ladder.

I climbed up.

The tent was gone.

The attic was empty.

Except for...

A mannequin.

Sitting in a chair. Wearing a red dress.

And holding a sign.

*GAME OVER.*

I heard a noise.

Downstairs.

The front door opening.

"Police!"

Red and blue lights flashed through the windows.

"We have a 911 call," a voice shouted. "Intruders on the premises."

Graham had called them.

He had set us up.

"He lured us back," I said. "To catch us breaking in."

"We have to go," Toby said. "Out the window."

We ran to the bedroom window. The one I had broken.

But it was boarded up again. With metal this time.

We were trapped.

"Upstairs!" the police shouted. "They're upstairs!"

Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy boots.

I looked at Elena. I looked at Toby.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be," Elena said. She reached into her bag.

She pulled out a lighter.

"If we're going down," she said, "we're going down in flames."

She flicked the lighter.

"No!" I said. "That's what he wants! Arson! Madness!"

I grabbed the lighter.

"We surrender," I said.

The door burst open.

Detective Vance. And two uniformed officers.

"Well, well," Vance said. "The gang's all here."

He looked at Elena. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Surprise," she said.

"And you," he said to me. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"I have insomnia," I said.

"Cuff them," Vance said.

The officers moved in.

They cuffed Toby. They cuffed Elena.

Vance walked over to me.

"Graham is very worried about you, Merritt. He says you've been... spiraling."

"He killed a woman," I said. "Sarah. Her body is..."

"There is no body," Vance said. "We checked the cistern. We checked the freezer. We checked the attic. Nothing."

He leaned in close. He smelled of stale coffee and corruption.

"You're hallucinating, Merritt. Just like he said."

He grabbed my arm.

"Let's go. Dr. Aris is waiting at the station."

They dragged us downstairs.

Graham was standing in the foyer. He looked impeccable. Not a hair out of place.

He looked at me with deep, performative concern.

"Oh, Merritt," he said. "I tried to help you. I really did."

"Where is she, Graham?" I asked. "Where did you put her?"

He shook his head. "There is no 'her,' sweetheart. Just your imagination."

They led us out to the cars.

I looked back at the house.

And I saw it.

In the window of the "nursery." The surveillance room.

A face.

Watching us.

It wasn't the Replacement. She was gone.

It wasn't Leo. He was safe.

It was a woman. With long, dark hair.

She raised a hand.

And waved.

Sarah.

She wasn't dead.

She was alive.

And she was in the house.

Graham didn't know. Vance didn't know.

But I knew.

She was the one moving the mannequins. She was the one leaving the notes.

She wasn't a victim.

She was the ghost in the machine.

And she had just locked the front door.

From the inside.

As the police car pulled away, I saw the lights in the house flicker.

Then go out.

And then...

A fire started.

In the nursery.

Orange flames licked the window.

Sarah was burning it down.

She was burning the evidence. The tapes. The files.

And she was burning the house.

Graham saw it too. He screamed.

"My house! My files!"

He tried to run back. The police held him.

"Let it burn," I whispered.

We drove away. Into the night.

Behind us, the Vivarium glowed like a jack-o'-lantern.

The glass box was melting.

And somewhere inside... Sarah was smiling.

Because she knew what I knew.

Fire cleanses everything.