Chapter 4: Exit stage left
[What is your whole reason for starting this… What should be my first move according to you… What would be the easiest way to kill you?] These questions swirled around James’s mind in rapid succession, like a whirlpool pulling him deeper but then, like a brick slamming into his consciousness, a thought hit him hard.
[What the hell am I doing?]
James’s eyes widened as clarity cut through the fog. How had he let himself get swept up in this insanity? Everybody knows curiosity killed the cat.
[This guy’s a stalker, a manipulative lunatic, and I’m falling right into some form of trap. I need to leave the room now before he pulls me further into whatever he's trying to accomplish.]
James straightened in his seat readying himself to leave when Wilson interjected.
"Ah, before you go take this"
James froze, staring at a black card as Wilson slid it across the table. It was smooth, polished, and simple—just a number, no name, no logo. Despite every warning bell blaring in his mind, he found himself pocketing the card. His fingers trembled slightly as he did it as if they weren’t entirely under his control.
“You’ll know when to use it,” Wilson said with a wink.
James stood abruptly, his heart hammering in his chest. He needed to get out of that room. As he stepped toward the door, Wilson’s voice followed him. “Be careful out there, James. The Game doesn’t stop just because you walk out of this room.”
James pushed through the door and slumped against the wall outside the interrogation room, his breath shallow. What am I doing? He had just resolved himself not to get tangled up and whatever Professor Wilson was cooking, yet despite his rational mind screaming at him to run, he’d accepted the damn card.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. James looked up just in time to see Detective O’Connor storming toward him. O’Connor didn’t even pause as he threw open the door to the interrogation room, his voice booming.
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“What the—?!” O’Connor’s shout cut off abruptly, and a moment later, James heard him mutter something under his breath. The detective came rushing back out, his face pale, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Where the hell is Wilson?” O’Connor demanded, grabbing James by the shoulder.
James blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of the question. “What do you mean? He—he’s , I just left him.”
“No, you don’t understand. He’s gone!”
O'Connor yanked James to his feet, gripping his shoulder with urgency. " On your feet!" he barked, dragging James back into the interrogation room. The heavy metal door slammed open, and James expected to see some sign of Wilson but the room was completely empty, almost eerily so. They scoured every corner, their footsteps echoing off the walls, but it was as if Wilson had never been there.
After a few tense moments of searching, James noticed something strange. “Is it just me, or does this place look cleaner than before?” he asked, glancing at O’Connor.
The detective gave him a hard look but then scanned the room again. It was spotless, as if a troop of mysophobic of maids had spent the entire week polishing the floor until it was clean enough to eat off of. O'Connor’s frustration mounted as he ran his hands through his hair. “Damn it, James. What the hell did you do?”
“What did I do? I didn’t do anything! I had just left the room when you showed up.”
Not convinced, O'Connor grabbed James by the arm and practically dragged him down the hallway to the security room. "We’re checking the tapes."
Inside the security room, they replayed the footage of the interrogation room, but immediately noticed a major problem. The tape cut out just as James and O'Connor had first entered the room together. The timestamp flickered, and the footage jumped ahead to the exact moment James exited, it was clear that Wilson had disappeared before James had even left the room.
There was no gap in time—just a clean skip over everything in between. O'Connor swore under his breath and fast-forwarded through the camera feeds that oversaw the hallways. The footage showed James slumping down next to the door, but not a single frame showed Professor Wilson leaving. Nor did any other camera catch him. Wilson had vanished as if he had never existed in the first place, with only one object proving the contrary. James could feel it as if it was burning a hole in his pocket.
What the hell has he gotten himself into?
It was one thing to entertain a madman in an interrogation room, but it was an entirely different thing when that madman could disappear from said interrogation room without a trace. James's pulse quickened as the weight of the situation sank deeper into his bones. Wilson wasn't just some delusional criminal spouting nonsense.