The Visit

I crouched in the dark pantry, the cold handle of the nail gun pressed against my thigh. The air was a thick, gray soup of ash and methane that burned the back of my throat. Every time I drew a breath, it felt like I was inhaling ground glass. Through the gap in the floorboards I’d shredded earlier, the orange flicker of the burning foyer licked at the ceiling, casting long, spasming shadows across the room.

I reached out, my fingers finding the edge of the basement door. I didn't need to push. The wood was warm, vibrating with the energy of the fire, but it gave way an inch. The deadbolt had melted or the frame had buckled from the thermal stress.

"Leo," a voice rumbled.

It was Aris. I’d seen him die in the woods. I’d felt the hammer crack his temple. But he was here, standing in my kitchen, his voice resonant and terrifyingly sane.

"She’s a preservationist, Leo," Aris continued. I could hear the *clink* of a glass stopper against a crystal decanter. He was pouring a drink while the house turned into a furnace. "She values the integrity of the material. She won't destroy the house unless she has no other choice. And we’ve made sure she has choices. Strategic ones."

I pressed my eye to the crack. Aris was standing by the island, the light from the flames turning his tweed jacket into a coat of shifting embers. Leo was sitting on a barstool, his head bowed, his hands cradling a snifter of brandy. He looked like a man waiting for a delayed flight, not a man watching his life turn to carbon.

"I just wanted her to be safe," Leo whispered. The lie was so smooth it made my stomach do a slow, nauseating roll. "I thought if she was committed... if she was under your care... she wouldn't have to face what she did to the boy."

Aris let out a short, dry bark of a laugh. He walked over to Leo and placed a hand on his shoulder. I saw Leo flinch, a micro-reaction that told the whole story. The "Pact" wasn't a partnership of equals. It was a hostage situation.

"Safety is a luxury for people who aren't load-bearing, Leo," Aris said. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on the smoke curling around the crown molding. "Elena is structural. She’s been holding up the guilt of her mother’s death for twenty-six years. If you take that away, the whole psychological facade collapses. We don't want a collapse. We want a renovation."

"The boy was my son, Aris," Leo said, his voice cracking. "You said it would just be a scare. You said she wouldn't fire."

"I said she responded to stimulus. I didn't say she was predictable." Aris moved to the counter and picked up a thick manila folder. "Ethan was a necessary sacrifice for the data. His heart rate, the angle of the entry wound, the speed of her reflex... it was all magnificent. It proves the grooming worked."

He tapped the folder against his palm.

"Sign the commitment papers, Leo. If she’s in the Institute, the police can't touch her. The grand jury will see a tragic, broken woman. You get the insurance on the house. You get the trust fund. And I get to finish my study on Subject 15."

Leo looked at the paper on the island. A pen was resting next to it, the gold nib glinting in the firelight.

"She’ll never forgive me," Leo said.

"She won't have to. By the time I'm done with her, she won't even remember your name. She’ll be twelve years old again, standing by a door that she’s too afraid to open."

I felt the rage surge through me, a hot, crystalline clarity that bypassed the sedative in my blood. I wasn't Subject 15. I wasn't a human alarm system. I was the person who knew how to strip a building down to its bones.

I shifted my weight, the floorboards beneath me groaning.

Aris froze. He turned his head toward the pantry, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of the lighter fluid I’d sprayed.

"Leo," Aris said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Did you hear that?"

Leo didn't look up. "It's just the house, Aris. It's dying."

"No." Aris walked toward the pantry, his boots clicking with a slow, predatory rhythm. "That wasn't the structure. That was the inhabitant."

I gripped the nail gun, my thumb hovering over the safety. I had four spikes left.

Aris reached the pantry door. He didn't rip it open. He leaned his forehead against the wood, his breath a wet, rhythmic sound through the vents.

"Elena, dear," he crooned. "I know you're in there. I can smell your fear. It’s a very specific scent. Metallic. Sharp. Like ozone before a strike."

He placed his hand on the door handle.

"You look so pretty when you're scared," he whispered. "The way your pupils dilate. The way your pulse flutters in the hollow of your throat. It’s almost a shame to sedate you."

I didn't wait for him to turn the handle. I dived.

I didn't go for the door. I threw my weight against the back wall of the pantry, the one that shared a stud with the servant's chute. The wood was already weakened by the heat. I burst through the drywall in a cloud of white dust and gray ash.

I tumbled into the kitchen, the heat of the fire hitting me like a physical punch.

Aris spun around, his face a mask of shock that quickly melted into a terrifying, gleeful grin.

"Breakthrough," he whispered.

Leo stood up, the brandy snifter shattering on the floor. "Elena! Run!"

Aris didn't hesitate. He lunged at Leo, his hand finding a heavy glass bottle on the counter. He smashed it over Leo's head in one fluid, brutal motion. Leo crumpled, his body hitting the floor with a heavy, wet *thud*.

Aris turned to me. He was holding the jagged neck of the bottle, the glass dripping with my husband's blood.

"Now it's just us, Elena," he said. He took a step toward me, his pale eyes glowing with the reflection of the burning hallway. "I prefer it this way. Leo was a hack. He didn't understand the nuance of the experiment. He just wanted the money."

I raised the nail gun. "Get out of my house."

Aris laughed, a sound that was swallowed by the roar of the flames in the foyer. The ceiling was beginning to sag, the heavy crystal chandelier vibrating like a tuning fork.

"Your house is gone, Elena. Look around you. The bones are turning to ash."

He took another step, the glass shard raised.

"But your mind... that’s a different story. That’s a structure I can still save."

He lunged.

I pulled the trigger.

The nail gun *thwacked*. The three-inch steel spike caught Aris in the shoulder, the force of it spinning him around. He screamed, dropping the glass shard.

I didn't wait for a second shot. I ran.

I scrambled past Leo’s body, heading for the stairs. The foyer was a wall of fire, but the grand staircase was still standing, a skeleton of oak and iron.

"You can't run, rabbit!" Aris roared behind me. I heard him pulling the spike from his shoulder, a wet, tearing sound.

I reached the second-floor landing, my lungs screaming for air. The smoke was so thick I couldn't see my own hands. I felt my way along the wall, heading for the master bedroom.

I burst into the room. The air was clearer here, but the floor was hot through the soles of my feet.

I dived for the safe. I needed the drive. I needed the truth.

But as I reached for the keypad, I saw it.

In the two-way mirror.

A figure was standing in the hidden gallery on the other side of the glass.

It wasn't Aris. Aris was still on the stairs.

The figure was a woman. She was wearing a tattered lace dress, her hair a long, tangled nest of blonde. She was holding a doll.

My doll.

The woman raised the doll and pressed its face against the glass.

The cracked, porcelain smile was inches from mine.

And then, the woman spoke. Her voice didn't come from the room. It came from the vents. It was a dry, hollow rattle that sounded like a recording of a recording.

"Elena," the woman whispered. "He's right behind you."

I spun around, my back hitting the mirror.

Aris was standing in the doorway. He was covered in blood, his tweed jacket shredded, but he was holding a short-barreled shotgun.

"Room 302, Elena," Aris said, his voice flat and final. "The one without any doors."

He raised the weapon.

And then, I felt the mirror behind me move.

The entire wall section was receding, sliding back on its industrial tracks.

A hand reached out from the darkness of the gallery. A large, masculine hand wearing a white latex glove.

The hand grabbed my throat and yanked me backward into the void.

The sliding wall slammed shut with a heavy, magnetic click.

The last thing I saw was Aris standing in the smoke, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips.

He raised a single finger to his lips.

*Shhh.*

Then the darkness took me.

I woke up in the dark.

The air was frigid, smelling of ozone and old paper. I tried to move, but my wrists were zip-tied to the arms of a chair. A heavy, ergonomic mesh chair.

A screen flickered to life in front of me.

It showed the master bedroom. The fire had breached the door. The rafters were falling.

And in the center of the room, standing in the middle of the flames, was the woman in the lace dress.

She looked at the camera. She looked at *me*.

She raised a hand and wiped the condensation from the lens.

"Help me, Elena," she mouthed.

Then the ceiling collapsed, burying her in a tomb of fire and wood.

A light snapped on behind me.

I turned my head as far as the ties would allow.

Aris was sitting at the desk, his side bandaged, his face perfectly composed. He was holding a needle—the same one he’d used on Leo.

"You missed a measurement, Elena," Aris whispered.

He leaned forward, the light from the monitors reflecting in his watery blue eyes.

"You forgot to measure the distance between the mother and the ghost."

He raised the needle.

"Tell me, Subject 15," he crooned. "Which one are you?"