“Imposter Bryce”, as I’ve penned him, stuck around for a couple of hours before shuffling off to god-knows-where. Once he was gone, I took refuge in the bedroom that looked the least worn, and tried my best to get some shuteye.

Needless to say, I slept like the opposite of a baby.

Ambulance sirens sung throughout the night. Occasional sounds of shuffling in the backyard bushes rang in my ear. Struggling to fall asleep, I got up to look out the bedroom window. Outside, the street was empty, save for a man a block away hugging a lamppost and looking right up at me.

Fucking hell.

The night and my attempts to rest became a blurry half-awake, half asleep haze.

Eventually, the sound of knocking at the front door interrupted my drowsy nap.

I left the bedroom, approached the sound, and looked through the door’s peephole, expecting some horrifying sight or nightmarish creature.

It was Bryce.

He was flashing the same hand signal we’d agreed upon earlier. After a minute of gearing up, I accessed the bravery needed to open the door.

He entered, and to my great relief, didn’t shapeshift into a warlock and rip my face off. Cool of him.

He didn’t say much - not even a “hello”. His face wore misery, and his weird culty-snuggie outfit had splatters of blood on it. He depressingly sauntered to his room, mumbling incoherently under his breath.

Huh.

Weirdly, having him home now was enough to temporarily override the PTSD I was feeling from the last 24 hours of mindfuck. I went back to the room, and within minutes, I was lights out.

When I woke up, it felt like I’d emerged from the best sleep I’d ever had, to the point that it took me a good 20 seconds to remember exactly where I was, and for the misery to creep in.

I looked at the clock and saw that the time was only 7:15 AM. I was flabbergasted. No way that was only an hour of sleep.

I entered the dining room. Bryce was already breakfast-ready. Plates were set out on the table.

“Does time work differently here?” I asked, taking a seat.

Bryce sized up my outfit. I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday. “I should’ve remembered to lend you some PJ’s. My bad.”

I grabbed a forkful of scrambled eggs. I was hoping he’d start curbing his habit of avoiding my questions. I took a bite. Not bad.

“Time…” he ruminated. “Not sure. There’s enough weird stuff happening here that I don’t really dwell on it.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“So… I was instructed to bring you with me to today’s job.”

I almost spat egg all over the table. “Bring me? Me explicitly?”

“Yep.” He turned his phone around and leaned across the table to show me.

Well I’ll be. There it was, wrapped in a gray bubble, the most recent text in a thread. “This morning you will visit the Parker Group building and audit their operations. Bring Rosalind Beckett with you.”

I sighed. “I assume I have to come, because not following rules here is a bad idea?”

He shot me ungracefully with his finger-guns. “You’re catching on, friendo.”

I decided not to protest. After yesterday’s shenanigans, it was probably best I followed Bryce’s lead.

We promptly finished up breakfast. Bryce basically made a beeline to his car in the driveway after. Dude took his job seriously.

I joined him outside, half-afraid that a banshee would jump out of the bushes or something… but things were relatively tame actually. The only thing out of the ordinary was a gathering taking place in the Victorian mansion across the street from us. Through their window, I noticed a gallery of well-dressed socialites all sitting in a circle and reading a book together. A book club at this hour?

I rode shotgun in Bryce’s Audi - when the fuck did he get an Audi? - as he drove us to the skyscrapers in the town’s center.

“So… what’s the escape plan?” I asked. I’ve always been particularly shit at small talk.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m assuming everyone in the town is trying to get the fuck out of dodge. What’s the strategy?”

“Friendly reminder that your head gets pulverized if you try to escape, Rose. Or did you already forget about yesterday?”

“Yeah yeah, but, isn’t anyone theorycrafting? Figuring out some way to break from this hellscape?”

“Hah. I think we’re all still in the learning how not to die phase of things,” he replied.

Disappointing. Is it only going to take me a few days to become just as resigned to things as Bryce is?

I distracted myself from the melancholy by carefully eyeing the buildings we drove past - library, convenience store, sex shop, convenience store, auto parts, steakhouse, steakhouse, convenience store - this place is fucking weird.

“So…” I said. “You ever been to this building before?”

“Nope.”

“Uh-huh… And what about auditing? That a thing you do regularly?”

“First time.”

“But you know what to do, right?”

“Yep. I was given clear directions. Go inside, tell ‘em why we’re visiting, let ‘em explain what they do, let ‘em take us where they need to take us. If anyone has any concerns, we say that we’re friends of Meredith Lane.”

“Right. And who is Meredith Lane?”

“No clue,” he said. “Oh right, another rule: Avoid small talk with the employees.”

We closed in on the high-rises. Bryce slowed to find parking.

We stepped out of the car, the looming building ahead. We walked under the protective canopy as stone pillars framed our path. I noticed groups of people lurking behind the columns, peeking their heads out. Most glaring. Some smiling.

“Bryce, I’m kind of sca–”

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t do anything.”

“...Okay.”

We reached the entrance. The motion-sensor sliding doors parted gracefully, inviting us in.

We crossed into the lobby. A very sharp-dressed greeter approached us. “Why, hello there sir! And look, you brought company!”

“Here for an audit,” Bryce said briskly.

“Yes, of course. The folks up on nine were expecting you.”

“Great. We’ll be on our way.”

Bryce, all business, walked to the elevator and pressed the button to call. He stared at a framed picture hung on the wall between the lifts. It was a portrait of a stunning luxury car.

“God, that is a sweet ride,” he said.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Ding! The elevator arrived. We slipped into the steel box, and Bryce pressed the button for the ninth floor.

As it went up –

“I mean, this isn’t too bad. You always wanted to work in a fancy tech office, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess I did. Just took getting trapped in this freaky town for that dream to pan out, huh?”

I laughed. A little glimmer of our buddy cop dynamic was back, albeit, under non-ideal circumstances.

He pulled out his phone, seemingly to check the text thread he had with his boss. “Alright, so, recap on the rules: If anyone asks, friends of Meredith Lane.”

“Meredith Lane,” I echoed.

“We’ll explore, ask the folks what they do, go wherever they ask us to. We’ll take notes. We won’t make small talk with them. Pretty simple.”

“Got it,” I nodded.

The lift trembled momentarily as it settled onto the ninth floor. Then, the doors opened.

We emerged onto a floor that had… pretty tacky-looking decor, I have to say. It looked dated. Unbecoming of the prestigious-looking building it was housed in.

We sauntered down the hallway, flanked by boardrooms on both sides. It sounded like busy meetings were underway.

Bryce entered one of the rooms, seemingly at random. I trailed behind.

Inside, a group of gentlemen, all dressed in pristine white shirts, black ties, and sharp dress pants, sat around an aged mahogany table. Looks like they all got the dress memo for today. They momentarily paused their discussion, looking up at us with puzzled stares.

“Here for the audit,” Bryce announced curtly. “Carry on.”

Bryce produced a small notebook and pen out of his coat pocket and began jotting down notes. The professionals hesitated briefly before resuming their conversation.

"So as I was saying," one of the men said, "We’ve finished the design for the next convenience store."

Murmured nods and "Hmms" echoed around the table.

"We need a clear, open road leading to the convenience store," another contributed. "No congestion whatsoever. I'll oversee that."

Again, a chorus of agreement from the room.

“And what about blood?” another man interjected.

Heads turned in his direction.

“If there’s a significant amount of blood outside the convenience store,” he seemingly clarified, “We’ll need assistance to manage it.” The pattern continued - murmurs of affirmation shared between the employees.

I had to ask myself - what in the ever-loving-fuck were they talking about?

Yet, my confusion went unshared. Bryce continued to scribble in his notebook, unfazed.

I wondered if Bryce noticed the man seated at the end of the table, blood pouring from his eyes onto his fancy shirt. The man, with a disturbing smile, who kept whispering incessantly, “Blood outside the convenience store, blood inside the convenience store.” Thankfully - or maybe, regrettably - Bryce seemed oblivious to him. Finishing his notetaking, he left the room, and I followed.

We proceeded down the hallway. “Seriously, how the fuck does this place not wig you out?!”

“That’s simple,” he replied. “I’m desensitized. I am now fully dead inside.”

“Great.”

We approached the kitchen at the end of the corridor. As we did, the clack of a foosball game filled our ears. We stepped inside to see two players, momentarily distracted, stopping to turn their gaze towards us. Nearby, a man pouring half-and-half into his coffee froze as he clocked our entrance.

"You're… you’re–” he started.

“Here for an audit,” Bryce cut in.

Their eyes remained fixed on us, silent and questioning.

“We’re friends of Meredith Lane,” Bryce clarified.

Slowly, the strangers chuckled, their laughter gradually escalating into a roar.

“Yeah right, friends with Meredith Lane?” said one.

“Yeah, you hate her!” chimed another.

“You despise her!” the man with the coffee-creamer tagged.

“What are they on about?” I whispered out the side of my mouth to Bryce.

“Don’t overthink it, nothing here makes any sense,” he murmured. He stepped forward. “Alright, that’s enough joking around. Why don’t you all tell me a bit about what you do.”

After a brief silence, the coffee man was the first to speak. “I’m a firefighter, sir.”

A firefighter working in a skyscraper. Right.

The woman at the foosball table spoke next. “I’m an ambulance driver.” She noticed the look of fright on my face and clarified. “Don’t worry dear, I only drive.”

A wry smile crept up on the face of the man on the other side of the foosball table. “I’m a police officer. Occasionally a 911 operator too.”

I gulped and tried my best to play it cool. I looked away, pretending I was admiring the decor in the room.

Bryce, doing his part, eagerly scribbled into his notebook. He lifted his head when he was done. “Great! Anything you’d like to show us?”

The foosball-playing officer crept closer. “Friends with Meredith Lane, hey?”

“Yep!” replied Bryce.

“Would you like to see her?”

“Sure.”

The officer led the way, opening a door to reveal another expansive hallway. We trailed closely behind.

The trek was longer than I expected. With each step, the white walls of the building started blistering and peeling. Deeper down the path, the overhead lights were now swaying and broken, casting red shadows onto the wall.

Through the damp and moldy, we approached the end of this now-dark corridor, reaching a heavy iron door that creaked slightly open. Blood-curdling shrieks could be heard from inside.

Our guide to this destination nodded, then turned to leave. "Have fun," he called out, retracing his steps and disappearing down the hall.

Bryce stepped through the door first. I trepidatiously tiptoed behind.

The screaming stopped the second we entered.

The smell of coal and old machinery assaulted my senses, as I eyed what I knew to be the likely source of the screams.

It was a woman. She was tied to a chair with metal chains. Her body looked contorted, twisted, bloodied, broken in ways that a person couldn’t be. Bones visibly protruded from open wounds all around her. Jagged metal jutted from her chest, neck, and legs. Something about her form didn’t make any sense.

A man in a thick cloak was crouched beside the woman. “Meredith, it looks like you have some visitors!”

My face betrayed my attempt to pretend any of this was normal. Side-eyeing Bryce, he didn’t look so great either.

The man in front of us remained focused on the chained being. “What do we say when we have visitors, Meredith?”

A strained, croaky, empty voice left the woman. “We say… hello,” she gargled, barely.

Bryce pulled out his notebook. “Here for an audit. Can you explain what you do?”

Really Bryce? Still just fucking business about all this?

The crouched man tilted his head to address us. “Of course. As you can see, I manage Meredith Lane. Let me demonstrate.” He placed a hand on what was left of Meredith’s shoulder. “Meredith, is your leg broken?”

“No… no, my leg is… fine,” she said, spitting blood between labored breaths.

Uhm, her leg was most certainly broken. Thrice-broken, in fact. The least leg-looking leg I’d ever seen.

“Is your chest impaled?” he asked.

“No… my chest is not impaled,” she groaned. A giant piece of metal poked out from her ribs, but sure, let’s gaslight the poor woman.

“Is your mouth full of blood? Are you choking?”

She struggled to speak again. Blood pooled as the words left her mouth. “N-no.”

“And here’s the best one,” he said, enthusiastically turning to us before asking his final question.

“Meredith, are you alive?”

It took her longer to respond to this one. She lifted her neck ever so slightly to look at us. Clearly, she was in hell. But there was something else in her gaze too. Sorrow. Wistfulness. Regret.

“I’m alive,” she said, quite lucidly.

The cloaked man stood up from his crouch, exceedingly cheerful now. “Isn’t that something?!” he proclaimed.

Bryce just scratched into the notebook. He didn’t say a word.

I, on the other hand, was mortified. I’d just about reached my threshold. I was seconds from puking. I softly stepped back, exiting the room through the iron door for a much-needed reprieve. Bryce didn’t seem to notice - thank God.

Back out in the hallway, I noticed a rather nervous-looking man pacing back and forth. After a moment, he came up to me.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

I stuck to the rules. “I’m here for an audit.”

He looked disappointed. “Of course you are. Let me guess, no photos, no small talk, friends with Meredith Lane?”

Huh?

Nah, I wasn’t falling for it. “That’s right. I am friends with Meredith Lane. That is why I’m here,” I enunciated clearly, speaking slowly and thoroughly as one usually does when they’re lying.

He scratched his head, then turned to leave. He looked back at me once more before doing so. “You know, just once I wish I could talk to someone who found all this shit as horrifying as I do.”

I pursed my lips.

“Fuck it,” he said. “I’ll figure some way out of this nightmare. Fucking talking to emotionless robots all day…” he muttered, walking off.

Goddamnit.

“Wait!” I called out.

He stopped, then turned.

“Let’s talk,” I said as quietly as I could.

He stepped back towards me. He came with an air of nervous desperation. “Holy shit, an actual conversation,” he said. “Look, not sure how much time we have, but I have a working theory about this place that I think might piece everything together.”

“Spill.”

He leaned into my ear and whispered. He didn’t want anyone else to hear this.

“Sweetheart, you know you’re not supposed to break the rules.”

He gripped my neck with one of his hands and covered my mouth with the other.

“We have to follow the rules.”

I struggled to get away but he was much more powerful than he looked.

“Without them, we… we…”

I could feel my breath disappearing.

This is how I die, isn’t it?

He squeezed down on my larynx with all of his might.

What a stupid fucking way to die.

But then, the pressure released. I gasped for breath as the attacker staggered backwards.

…I guess not?

My assailant was recoiling in horror at the sight of… Bryce?

Emerging from the boiler room, Bryce quickly moved to support me, preventing me from collapsing to the floor.

The man back-pedaled to his feet and fled down the corridor. Bryce took a step as if to chase him, then hesitated and turned back to me.

“Fucking hell, are you okay?” Bryce asked with concern.

“No… not really,” I said, coughing. “I’m sorry. I’m a fucking dunce.”

Bryce squeezed my hand reassuringly. “You’re okay. You’ll settle in with time.”

As I gathered my bearings, I heard Bryce’s phone buzz again. He checked the text. “Guess our job’s done for today,” he said. “We can go home now.”

I didn’t let go of his hand as we walked down the corridor. “How’d you scare that dude away?”

“Ehh, once you’ve been here long enough, you find a way to maneuver the danger.”

We took the elevator down. Once we were in the lobby, we made a beeline for the exit. Just as we stepped through the sliding doors to the outside, I heard the greeter call from behind.

“Please visit us again when you get the chance, Mr. Mayor!”

Bryce visibly winced at the greeter’s call.

“Mr. Mayor?” I asked him. “You’re the Mayor of this place?”

He shrugged it off as we walked to the car.

“It’s just the job they gave me. We can chat more about it later.”

–

The drive home was quiet.

Between Bryce’s surprise role as Mayor and his strange midnight job from last night, a swirl of confusion settled in my stomach.

Still, riding shotgun with him, I felt safer than I would’ve without him.

But one thing was clear now, more than before: we couldn’t stay here.

I needed to find a way out for us.