Marcus Returns

The notification on my phone screen glowed like a radioactive isotope. *User Login: Validated. Subject 104-D: Online.*

I didn't have time to process it. I didn't have time to think about who "104-D" was or why my dead phone was suddenly acting like a sophisticated surveillance device.

The door was locked. The windows were barred.

Elowen was gone. Marcus was gone.

And the hissing sound was getting louder.

"Gas," I whispered, pulling my shirt up over my nose and mouth.

I looked at the crib. The mannequin sat there, its plastic face frozen in a rictus of eternal motherhood, clutching the tablet that played the looped cry of a baby that didn't exist.

I grabbed the tablet. Maybe I could use it to break the window.

But the screen flickered. The crying baby vanished.

In its place was a live feed.

It showed the basement.

The stairs were gone, just a charred, gaping hole where the wood used to be. The concrete floor was covered in black soot and water.

But in the corner, huddled next to the rusted water heater, was a figure.

It wasn't Marcus. It wasn't Gary.

It was a girl.

She was young. Dark hair, matted with blood and ash. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt that looked two sizes too big.

She looked exactly like the girl in the locket photo.

She looked exactly like me.

She looked up at the camera. Her eyes were wide, terrified.

"Help me," she mouthed.

The feed cut out.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Maya. She was alive. She was down there. Elowen hadn't killed her. Gary hadn't killed her.

They had kept her.

Like a spare part. Like a backup copy.

I looked at the floor. The loose floorboard. The one I had found in the attic.

But this wasn't the attic. This was the nursery.

I dropped to my knees, clawing at the carpet. Elowen had laid new carpet, plush and white, to hide the stains. I ripped it up, my fingernails tearing against the tack strips.

Underneath was the original hardwood.

And there, near the corner, was a board that didn't quite fit. The wood was slightly lighter, the grain misaligned.

I jammed the corner of the tablet into the gap and pried. The wood groaned. I pushed harder, ignoring the cracking sound of the screen.

The board popped up.

Below it wasn't insulation or joists.

It was a vent.

A metal duct, wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

And there was no grate.

I looked down into the darkness. I could feel a draft. Cold, damp air.

And the faint smell of ozone.

"The escape hatch," I whispered.

It wasn't a metaphor. It was real. The house had been modified. Someone had built a way out. Or a way in.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped the tablet and slid into the hole.

The metal was cold against my skin. I slid down, the duct curving and twisting. It was pitch black. I couldn't see anything. I could only feel the smooth metal and the increasing pressure in my ears.

I slid for what felt like an eternity.

Then, I hit something soft.

I tumbled out of the duct and onto a pile of old mattresses.

I gasped, the air here stale but free of gas. I fumbled for my phone, using the screen light to see.

I was in a sub-basement.

A room below the basement. A room that wasn't on the blueprints.

The walls were raw earth, shored up with old timber. The floor was dirt.

And in the center of the room, sitting on a metal folding chair, was Maya Bishop.

She looked exactly like she had in the video. The same grey sweatshirt. The same terrified eyes.

But she wasn't alone.

Standing over her, holding a flashlight, was a man.

He was wearing a fresh linen shirt. He had an Apple Watch on his wrist.

He turned toward me, the beam of the flashlight blinding me.

"You're late, Thea," he said.

It was Marcus.

But it wasn't the Marcus I knew. This Marcus stood straighter. His eyes were cold, calculating. He looked like... an architect.

"You," I breathed. "It was you."

"Of course it was me," he said, stepping toward me. "Gary is an idiot. Elowen is a grieving mess. Someone had to manage the project."

"What project?" I asked, backing away until my back hit the dirt wall.

"The restoration," he said. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a tenant who fits the profile? Someone with the right... wound?"

He shined the light on Maya. She flinched.

"Maya was close," he said. "But she broke too easily. She didn't have your... resilience."

He turned the light back to me.

"But you, Thea. You're perfect. The Fawn Response. The obsessive attention to detail. You cleaned up the crime scene before you even knew it was a crime scene."

He smiled. It was the same smile he used when he told me he loved me.

"And now," he said, "we can begin Phase 2."

"Phase 2?"

"Replication," he said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver object.

It wasn't a weapon.

It was a locket.

The same locket I had sold on eBay.

He opened it.

Inside was a photo.

It wasn't Maya. It wasn't a baby.

It was me.

Sleeping in my bed.

But the timestamp on the photo wasn't from yesterday.

It was from three years ago.

Before I met Marcus. Before I moved into the house.

"I've been watching you for a long time, Thea," he whispered.

"I chose you."

He snapped the locket shut.

"Now," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up. We have an open house to prepare for."

He took a step toward me.

I looked at Maya. She was staring at me, her eyes pleading.

I looked at the vent I had fallen from. Too high to reach.

I was trapped.

But then, my phone buzzed in my hand.

A notification.

*New User Login: Admin.*

I looked at the screen.

It wasn't from the smart-lock app.

It was from the carbon monoxide detector.

*CO Levels: Critical.*
*System Override: Enabled.*

I looked at the far wall. There was a panel. A control panel for the house's HVAC system.

And the light on the panel was green.

Someone had turned the gas on. Not just in the nursery. Everywhere.

Including here.

"You smell that?" I asked Marcus.

He frowned. He sniffed the air.

"Gas," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "And you're holding a flashlight with a faulty switch."

I had noticed it earlier. The flicker. The spark.

Marcus looked at the flashlight.

"Don't," he warned.

"Phase 2 is canceled," I said.

I threw my phone at him.

He instinctively raised his hands to catch it. The flashlight beam swung wild.

And I lunged.

Not for him. For the panel.

I hit the emergency purge button.

The fans roared to life. The air in the room was sucked upward, a violent, howling wind.

And with it, the gas.

But the spark from the flashlight... it wasn't enough to ignite the room.

It was enough to ignite the pilot light on the old water heater next to him.

*WHOOSH.*

A jet of blue flame shot out, catching the edge of Marcus's linen shirt.

He screamed, dropping the flashlight.

I grabbed Maya's hand. "Run!"

We ran for the stairs—the hidden stairs behind the water heater that I hadn't seen before.

We scrambled up, the heat at our backs.

We burst into the kitchen. The air was clear. The fans were working.

The house wasn't burning down. It was breathing.

We ran out the back door, into the cool night air.

We didn't stop until we reached the street.

The police were there. Jordana was there.

I collapsed on the grass, pulling Maya down with me.

"We made it," I sobbed.

Jordana ran over to us. "Thea! Oh my god. Who is this?"

"This is Maya," I said. "The real Maya."

I looked back at the house.

The windows were dark. The silence was absolute.

But then, I saw a movement in the upstairs window. The nursery.

A figure.

It wasn't Marcus. It wasn't Elowen.

It was Gary.

He was standing there, watching us.

And he was holding a 'SOLD' sign.

He placed it in the window.

And then he smiled.

Because he knew what I had just realized.

I looked down at Maya.

She wasn't breathing.

She hadn't been breathing since I pulled her from the duct.

I touched her hand. It was cold. Cold and stiff.

She wasn't a survivor.

She was a prop.

A perfectly preserved, taxidermied prop.

And I had just carried her out for the whole neighborhood to see.

My phone buzzed.

A text from Marcus.

*Thanks for the staging, babe. The buyers love a good tragedy.*

*Deposit received.*