My first doorway came with a rugged off-roader. The Jeep stood tall, and in one piece, minus the pieces of windshield everywhere. I’d go far in this certified pre-owned vehicle, but it’d be no match for the marsh.

Readied for the road race, I sprinted to the working car, its flashing headlights enough of a final confirmation for me. I closed my eyes as I yanked the headless horror out of the front seat. There was so much, and yet so little… I couldn’t even discern the gender of this person.

Ignore it, I told myself.

I’m over it — I’ve moved on.

Surely I’d pay the full price for the trauma of tonight somewhere down the line, but survival came first.

With my phone secured on the dash, my escape ride confirmed its readiness for launch. I booted Duper Delivery, pulling up the mapping software. Using the right overlays, I could beat any car in this maze-like mire to the cheese. Tonight, this app would double as a police chase aid. It would be one hell of a product demo.

It was then I noticed. The car stood in park, with the emergency brake set. The situation turned out to be even worse than I had imagined. We were definitely at fault.

I saw a suited man running towards me, probably from those shady SUVs that kept their distance. He waved, showing clear concern. Why shouldn’t he be? I currently sat in a pile of orange fat with my shirt drenched with dark blood. My full presentation was too Halloween for any costume.

I was possessed. I’d do anything to avoid this crime scene. To flee the truth meant delaying pain. And if I pulled it off, I’d delay death too. The three blood types that competed for control of my body would let me die before I’d find peace in prison or at a trial that would ruin the family I cared about most in this world.

I floored the gas pedal and pulled a hard right into a u-turn. The Stygian SUVs started moving towards me all of a sudden, but they’d be no match. It’s the blue uniforms, not the black suits, that concern me. I knew the intersections of the major police stations in East NOLA and the neighborhoods the patrols like to monitor. If I burned enough rubber, even out here in cajunville, I’d have a good chance at a long run.

Obviously, the endgame would involve a boat to Mexico. Or a nice island free from billionaires or law enforcement.

It worked out in that Netflix show, so why not?

I challenged the engine to show me what it had left. The wind blasted my face. I don’t think I had ever gone 60+ without a windshield. I tasted bugs.

Might have to eat bugs to live in the jungles of Mexico…

I was going way too fast to give it much more thought. In hindsight, escaping NOLA wasn’t my best thinking.

Five minutes later and one full parish over, I had my lights off as I rolled through some swampy neighborhood. Few lived this far out, but those that did were the types to keep illegal crocs as pets or claim their ancestors hunted the Honey Island Swamp monster before it was cool.

I kept abusing my delivery pathing software by manually pinning my car’s location far away from the nearest police presence. Eventually they would start a sweep, employ a grid and so on. It might take a while for the hit-and-run to be reported as such. This window gave me a chance to find a dock and steal, or maybe borrow, a boat.

Yeah…

The more I rolled it around in my head, the heavier reality became. I wasn’t keen on committing more crimes.

The crime of fleeing an accident like that might not even sit in court for long. Before long, the spur of the moment would wear off, and my other rational mind would come home.

Maybe I should call it.

Surely this painted me as enough of a villain.

I spied a cajun hick throwing bottles from his porch into one of those rent-a-dumps. Trash pick up didn’t come this far out, so they would get these roll-off dumpster trailers and park them in their front yards and let them fill up for months on end. It was nightmare fuel for the HOA Karen’s of the world.

People like this kept more beer in the garage than water in their—

My phone glowed. I checked my notifications out of instinct.

‘I’m in your area.’

??

My chest drew pins and needles. My hands shook.

It showed a message from Will. An impossible transmission.

But the adrenalized ride ended as soon as it began. I caught myself slipping. The app sent these automated messages when drivers overlapped territories. I released some hot air through my teeth, displeased with the ghost in the phone. My Halloween had already gone to pandemonium, I didn’t need any more anxiety. I was about ready to drop a 1 star review on my own app when I stopped to check the date.

This wasn’t from hours ago like the transmission got lost in bad coverage or something—this is from now. The now now.

It could only mean one thing.

Shit. I checked my rearview. A car pulled through the corner and stopped like the driver got his license from GTA V. It’s the worst parking job I ever saw and yet perfectly blocked the gaunt road in and out of this sinking Faubourg. I peered forward, knowing what would happen next. Another nondescript SUV had parked perpendicular to my only remaining escape route.

They trapped me in.

My eyes narrowed. Both were unmarked vehicles, but when guys in blue shirts and yellow patches got out, I resigned myself to the inevitable.

Turning myself in was no longer an elective. I turned off my own GTA’d car before they asked. The last thing I wanted was to make this chase lethally bad for my body.

Two officers approached cautiously. Surely they saw the state of this Jeep and puckered up.

I put my hands up, opposed to getting shot over something stupid. Not after all the dramatic resolutions and commitments I made 10 minutes ago.

“Do you have his phone?” I asked, hailing them softly from my rolled-down window.

A few fearful officers took the perimeter around my car, but one strange soul came to the window. As the only officer without a gun out, he skipped protocol to deal with me directly. Before I could wonder what he would threaten me with, he pulled a phone from his belt, showing me Duper Deliveries familiar mapping API. His coworkers continued barking orders at me, but this guy seemed too caught up in roleplaying a CSI character to take part in anything less.

He tapped Will’s recovered phone proudly. Behind the screen, I saw his pinned vehicle in my zone.

The police used the app on Will’s phone to track my car. They weren’t all underpaid idiots.

The sly pig grinned something awful. I got lawful evil vibes from him. I mean, this marked my first major run-in with the police, maybe they’re all like this.

I watched the icons dance for a second more, wondering if this would be the last time I saw my software at work before a long timeout in a medieval cell. And then it dropped. Not the phone, but another notification. A text message.

A series, in fact.

I held my breath, completely suspended in space and time.

At the passenger window, another officer barked orders about my hands. He had questions about the blood, and warnings to stop resisting. His cacophony stole my eyes away long enough to miss the meat of the massive message.

But I managed to snap back for the sauce.

‘We know about Will’s murder. Trust no one.’

‘Deliver the book. We will hand you the truth.’

‘If you can keep it.’

It’s all I could read before I got pulled out and spun around for the cuffing ritual.

Did I misread the messages?

No.

The words were burned into my eyes.

But did my imagination invent meaning that wasn’t there?

Would I find the answer to that if I did nothing?

Murder… it definitely said murder. If there’s even the smallest possibility…

I knew it sounded serendipitous. But if it’s serendipity against a half-hearted jail verdict, I’ll go with my heart.

I had one wrist clamped and cheek to the window as the rest of my unyielding curiosity caught up.

Who sent the message? How the hell could they know what happened?

I considered the strange sequence of events that led to our tragic accident. The buildup seemed far from accidental.

A solitary spike strip?

A self-driving car gone rogue?

And those shady black SUVs…

Was it less ‘wrong place wrong time,’ and instead all part of a plan?

I began to wrestle with my state-backed subjugator. I’m frail, but I’ll fight.

I needed to understand what the hell was going on, and being bound was no longer part of the plan.

Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one with bad ideas tonight.

It started with a clunk, and then a clatter.

The handsy officer drew his sidearm and spun around to face a bigger threat. I couldn’t see shit, but I had an idea. The idea came crashing down upon us all. Either the skies were hailing baseballs, or someone was chucking something. I watched a planet-shaped officer attempt to duck a glass bottle.

Ha, the redneck?

He was either too drunk to hit his rent-a-dump, or found a better dump for his garbage. He had plenty of ammo too, several cases at least. Bottles shattered around us like grenades into a WWI trench. The certified ‘yat’ was fighting a war he wouldn’t remember in the morning. The cojones on this cajun had me impressed. Are we going to jail together?

I warily noted the four sanctioned gunmen on the street.

Of course not. Unlike the drunk, I wasn’t about to get shot.

“How exciting,” I mumbled as I unpeeled the rest of my body from the side of the car.

Frankly, I didn’t want to imprint another horrifying death on my Halloween, so I kept my head down.

And there it was. I spotted Will’s cracked Samsung on the ground. Dead, like him.

…this isn’t over, I want that message.

I needed to read it again, to show it to the cops.

‘Trust no one.’

The text message returned as a memory. I didn’t understand why they gave me such unusual instructions, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way.

The most trustworthy actor in this equation would be my lawyer.

For him — for us, I needed more evidence. Evidence I wouldn’t be able to secure if I got arrested in the here and now. The sim held the messages, but I had a better idea. ‘Deliver the book,’ is all the tell I need.

In fact, I was pretty sure I knew who sent it.

I scanned my surroundings. Other armed rednecks were crawling out of their dilapidated homes and a few from the swamp itself. This might get ugly. The lone street lamp dimmed on the brewing showdown. My situation… tenebrous. The skies matched the darkness of the asphalt. Midnight, surely.

I sighed. We had to reach dawn.

We made a reservation. Daylight for two.

I glanced back and forth between Will’s broken phone and my new V6 tomb on wheels.

Destiny called, I had to pick up.

More glass shards blasted my sides as I rose. I didn’t react. I needed to be subtle, to be sneaky.

The officers were screaming hell or high water at the cajun bottle chucker. Under the cover of his dumpster trailer, he catapulted his projectiles with total abandon. In a medieval era, he would’ve been a force to reckon with. Tonight, he’d be my distraction.

I popped the door and slipped in. Despite one cuffed wrist, I remained a free man. A band of metal and some mortal nonsense wouldn’t change that.

As I started the car with my head down, I heard no commands thrown my way. The boys in blue left an avalanche of acoustic violence all targeting the drunken artilleryman. I peaked over the dashboard to see my way out.

And I made eye contact with the CSI-wannabe.

Damn.

I floored it as he swung his firearm to face me.

Here’s my game of chicken.

I ducked as low as possible. I would’ve kissed the seat if it wasn’t stained red. Gunfire rang out, but I felt nothing as I controlled my breath to soften the massive adrenaline hit to come.

I peaked again to ensure I made it past the rural gaps in their neighborhood blockade. Fortunately my off-road capability allowed me to snake them easily, though not before ruining a pile of leaves in a front yard and a forlorn pumpkin in the process. High on instant success, I looked to my rear. Only a few cop cars showed up for little old me. Unfortunately, one of them ripped rubber in pursuit of my daring escape.

Prepared to upgrade from a scuffle to a car chase, I kept my eyes dead ahead. I had no guns, but in this paved domain, we were equal.

My tires scooted through a sharp turn in this tight knit neighborhood, and I floored it again. I heard the squeal of trouble from way behind me. The fool spun out.

I clapped my steering wheel. Easy enough.

In the following minutes, my tail became long. It’d take him a lot of work to catch up. Without backup, I had him beat. I made my way back to the main road heading east. A few lefts, a right, and plenty of skipped stop signs became my first casualties. And hopefully the only.

Fortunately it was the dead of night, and everyone was at home watching movies about the dead. That would leave me and my pursers all to ourselves. With no unwanted variabl—

I flew over a normal road bump, bracing my brain for landing as I caught a wee bit too much air.

My back tires landed with an alarming screech and I almost spun out. My ass landed all wrong, right in the spot I made so much effort to avoid. The less you know, the better. In the end, the gooey seat became another distraction during my midnight ride.

But not the only one.

“…on your left in 300 feet..”

All along the way my app barked at me. Softly, sweetly — it pissed me off. I don’t know why I gave it so much faith; holding it like a get-out-jail-free card was always a generous belief. In fact, considering the sequence of events tonight, I’m surprised I managed to retain it this long. I guess you never leave your phone behind, not even when you’re fleeing the police.

Smartphones are their own category of curse — a haunted corporeal attachment in a world without magic.

For now, I’d stick to the plan and follow its directions. I set my pin drop somewhere far out, as far as I can remember. I filtered that request by including a condition: ‘avoid traffic stops, common patrol routes, and photo radar trucks.’

A decent strategy, assuming the cops didn’t have access to the app. Disabling Will’s privileges was easy on my end. A quick admin login and I terminated his role. They could no longer track me by any phone. A logical solution.

But my gut hated it. Effectively removing my best friend from the company we built together on the night he died in a tragic accident was not the easiest business decision I ever made.

I spent the rest of the time trying to reach the last customer of the night.

The mystery of those text messages became the dream that drove me.

‘Deliver the book.’

‘We will hand you the truth.’

I got no reply from my demands for more information. I never did. But I knew it involved a delivery, perhaps the last delivery of the night. Unfortunately, I no longer had the book. But I did have Will. He’d be with me; I’d find a way.

And hopefully some answers.

I made another 20 minutes further with no issue. Or was it 40? My cratering adrenaline had me nodding off. Falling asleep behind the wheel would be the worst mistake I make, especially during a midnight car chase.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Loud music rectified that problem. I did another round of my DRIVE playlist. I stayed alert, but my memory trailed behind me.

My surroundings came with their own foggy malaise. The marsh bred enough darkness to sicken any clarity left in my mind. The movement of the moon coupled with a local storm raised the inundated wetlands and saturated the road ahead. Normally ragged pavement disappeared from the reach of my headlights. I was blind by eye, but not by GPS.

Unfortunately my phone battery got low, so I nuked the volume on the direction alerts. I hardly heard them over the music anyway.

The full playlist went once. It went twice. And then I lost track after it wrote itself into my brain.

Minutes turned to hours. The Jeep’s digital clock read 3 AM. It read 3 AM all three times I checked. Not that I kept count, but the night ticked on forever.

image [https://i.ibb.co/bm7MYCk/i-Jr-Ovuuwxnikl1b-DSOz-Q-1-tnq6acar.jpg]

I slogged unyieldingly through a bogged labyrinth. Swampland, marshland, wasteland… I’m no longer in New Orleans.

This is N’awlins territory. Animals and animalistic folks ruled these parts. Every few minutes, a rare streetlight struck my eyes like the sun. Temporary blindness aside, I was getting lost. I had followed a few off-route turns to avoid the flooded main road, got frustrated as my stolen Jeep encountered even worse conditions, and then accidentally bricked my phone as I tried to keep it out of the rain (which blasted me thoroughly thanks to my shattered windshield). With a mouth full of rainwater, I cursed at it helplessly. I started the night with four, and now found myself at zero. Thanks to this downpour of tech gone defective, I could wind up lost at any wrong turn and be none the wiser. To be honest, there were no right turns. It all blended together. I suspected I was missing something important about my slipshod journey. A pull at the back of my mind told me so.

And then it hit. The car sputtered and my heart skipped with it. Losing speed in a race I had to win, I checked the systems on my dash like a pilot in a crashing plane. The critical dial pointed to E.

E for Empty.

Or more accurately, the End.

With a few more forward chugs, the rattled Jeep settled itself at a street corner that looked older than the Old Quarter. I tried turning the engine over again. Nothing came. It stayed dead from exhaustion. I wasn’t there yet. I did too many all-nighters to peter out from low fuel.

Granted, the drama of my Halloween taxed my adrenals, but I stabilized them over the winding journey here. A deadly accident, a shootout with police, a car chase through the swamps… this ranked as the most volatile night of my life, for mind and body. But it’s far from the only rough night.

The first time I died in my sleep, I had a 6th grade essay due in the morning. According to my Mom, I had died 12 times before my 12th birthday. By my 18th, I would’ve had more tombstones than our local graveyard. Despite my TC worsening this year, my confidence rose to all-time highs. I could navigate the next crisis scenario without a crippling heart attack. Or I’ll die trying.

I checked the street sign. Locust & Reston road…

Had the app masterminded me to my original delivery destination, or the approximate thereabouts? I must’ve waded in and out of its electronic directions. I wasn’t surprised. After all, the app’s map shone as the only light in this darkness.

It’s a neatly packaged explanation.

The only problem? It’s been bricked for awhile.

How did I get hoodwinked here by an electronic service with no electricity?

SDD is good, but not that good.

I tried turning it on again. It claimed to be waterproof, and tonight was the one time I needed it to be true. Without unlimited electronic maps, I’d be screwed. There’d be no boat to Mexico tonight. Ultimately, I didn’t care how I got here, but I did care how I got out.

Unless I picked up a new battery or borrowed someone else’s device, I’d be drudging through gator territory to find a dock. A brief scan of my surroundings ended that possibility. The quiet collection of large homes were all asleep for the night. In this light’s out scenario, I’d have to take legally questionable measures to find my way out of nowhere.

Distracted by my latest problem, I forgot about the first. A pair of headlights pulled behind me, catching me off guard. I’d been winning for so long I temporarily forgot about the messy police chase I found myself in.

My heart complained fervently; an intimate reminder that I couldn’t do a foot chase. The idea of me outrunning anyone was akin to Napoleon playing basketball.

I lacked the athleticism to beat the average blue collar cop, but I had the intellect to dunk on them if need be.

And by dunk, I mean hide. But hide where?

Of course, where else would you play hide and seek…

The headlights flicked off, pulling my attention back. I didn’t catch enough light to see if it revealed my undercover cop or the city variant. But either way, the count had begun.

I slipped out of the seat, thankful for the lack of effective streetlights. A line of creole cottages and historic homes ran down the gloomy street, barely beating the vegetation. Each residence came in different shapes and sizes, some Stephen King-approved. I didn’t have time to assess classes and conditions — to case the best-case scenario.

I drifted towards the grandest home on the estranged strip of residentials, acting natural only so I could blend in with all the nature. Murky viridian overgrowth came to save the day, making the inky night even more claustrophobic.

My aged target had the least lights on, and it lacked one of those bright beacons the ruralist of the rednecks used. I’m far out of town, but not that far.

This was an island of dry land in a spiderweb of marshes. All would disappear with the next Katrina, never to be heard of again. Maybe I’d get lucky, and climate change would cover my tracks too.

For now, I needed to plan my break-in. Twenty four hours overnight in a haunted house?

image [https://i.ibb.co/x3ZSNdR/Gnm4-KIB06rwxbo-DWPMc-H-1-lqz2whouse.jpg]

It’s a perfect thumbnai—

I tripped. Bad. I got one palm in front of me before smelling grass.

Damn…

A stone?

My foot had clipped a mammoth marker planted in the front lawn of this sprawling estate.

‘May Johnson Estate, est. 1855. Designated Historic Home. St. Ta–’

I tried and failed to smear the green guck out of the rest of the etchings.

A house so old it had a fieldstone with a date to prove it.

I lost time, but I gained knowledge. Knowing the target was this senile would ease the break in procedure. In fact, I had options. The colonial centerpiece plot had two satellite or subordinate buildings in the back. Guest homes or garages, I guessed. I chose the garage.

If a car is available, I might find some keys and borrow a ride. I’d seen enough movies to know changing cars was a surefire way to lose the police.

Fortunately, the fella that parked behind me had proceeded to pull into his own driveway. I was all clear to continue casing since I apparently won my chase and with time to spare. Granted, my battered Jeep stood out like a broken thumb — someone would report it by morning. By then I’d be hidden or long gone.

I hopped a short fence to enter the civilized portion of the plot, and in an act of divine luck, waltz through the side door into the garage.

These tight knit rural communities never lock the–

Their server rooms?

There were no cars, just electronics. Heaps and heaps of wires, computers, and server racks. And the walls… some kind of Egyptian mural? All four corners came in blue and detailed mythological half-man-half-monsters, illusory floating eyes, and heaps of gold jewelry. Some shady hick was running a real weird computer repair shop out of his home address. I left it for brighter pastures, for another satellite building.

This time I crossed into the dying gardens one might call a backyard, praying the only life out and about were bugs or cats.

Hell, I’d even accept a swamp sasquatch.

Anything but dogs, I thought as I tiptoed around the scariest squeaky toy of my life.

I managed to slunk to the second satellite building like Jim Carrey in the Grinch.

Option two had sliding glass doors, also unlocked. I peered through the floor to ceiling windows. A game room… with no games. Under low light contours, I identified a corner couch, a basic bar, and a huge refrigerator. Too huge. Something about this pedestrian entertainment room gave me chills. Which, in my life, was a rare experience.

My hands were on the handle when I noticed a security camera flush to the wall and trained on the inner entrance. I slowly pressed my cheek to the glass pane, trying to get the right angle. I didn’t see the recording red dot, but I didn’t need any further persuasion to know I was done with the satellite flats. I had heard these antique homes often renovated horse stables. When it came to the minds of wealthy people, God only knew what the limits would be.

I jumped the fence again, and wrapped around the other side, casing the primary home to find an approvable break-in. Amongst the antebellum architecture, rows of rotted wood and rotten plants hung about. But windows stood out as the most common feature. And shabby ones at that.

They were so worn out from holding the outside world at bay they called for a proper burial. These old, thin glass panes were no match for the weather, or my worst desires.

And they’re thin enough to crack with a sharp rock.

I tapped the sandblasted pane a few times, hoping to get lucky with a silent approach. The putty holding on to the glass gave way and the pot metal crank on the interior jiggled, but not enough to fit my Skeleton Jack frame inside. No matter. If it doesn’t work, I just find someone else’s garage to park myself in. I crouched by a bushy hibiscus and readied my second attempt.

I took my shirt off. Honestly, it was too close to an ER Halloween costume to warrant wearing any further. Between burns and blood, I balled together my sneaky solution. With my fist and a pointy rock tucked within, I prayed my clothed stone might muffle the breakdown. And it did. After I poked together a circle of cracks on the window, I surgically removed an irregular pizza slice. My bootleg entrance grew as I pulled shards out like puzzle pieces. There was a yellowed film on the glass that conveniently held it all together. Wary of cutting myself, I spent a full minute threading my legs through the jagged breach like I was a kid playing Operation again. With my silent entry secured, I lowered myself into a room so stilled it could’ve been soundproofed.

A library. As my eyes adjusted, I appraised its size and status. Not Egyptian. Not even pedestrian. It was strangely lifeless, with boring shelves mostly empty of stories. The few books I saw all presented the same.

I grabbed one, almost to drop it from the shocking synchronicity.

Intelligence for Idiots?

I grabbed another.

…intelligence for idiots.

Surely—I grabbed three more from random spots.

Intelligence… all for idiots.

This was far from our first meeting. I gave the same book a peek at a checkout a few hours ago. It was a fictional spy thriller written as a memoir. Or, as a educational textbook? Honestly, I didn’t know and still didn’t care.

But the coincidence did elicit curiosity.

To elaborate, my copy of Intelligence of Idiots — the one intended for delivery — had recently burned itself to dust in my car.

Perhaps the author lived here?

Or was it his biggest fan?

A bit creeped out by the connection, I tabled the bizarre spines.

Perfect for my fucked up Halloween.

With no time for more mystery, my ingression continued from the library into a lightless living room.

If you could call it that.

Where the couch should’ve been was a huge — a huge… what is that?

Any lingering pulls from my memorable night faded into the distance. Fully engrossed in the present, I tried and failed to make sense of a sauna-sized machine clicking out a discordant tune. It snapped with mechanical precision, easily breaking through the muffled music playing nearby. Somehow, my senses registered none of it until I came face to face with the anomaly itself.

Afraid the living were still up and about, I scrambled under a shrouded dining table. The minimalist black cloth did nothing to hide my feet, but unless they crawled on the floor like amphibious creatures, I’d be alright.

Wait, my feet?

My head to the floor, I blinked in horror at the trail my muddy shoes left behind me. The carpet captured it all. Every step or misstep was recorded for all eyes to see.

I risked an arm out, thinking I could rub the nearest marks out of existence. I stretched, rubbed out the first, and then the second — reaching even further for the third.

Damn.

“…is this the little girl I carried?”

I froze, and then remembered to yank my arm back under the curtains of the table.

“What wisdom can I give them…”

I squeezed my hands and held my heart until realization hit me.

It’s just a song.

An instrumental had broken into lyrics, and waves of music were softly emanating from elsewhere. Another room or another dimension, I hoped I’d never find out.

If music was playing, it meant someone was up, and I wanted to wait out the signs of life in this home. Until they all rest in peace.

When bedtime came, and the sounds were finally silenced, I’d return to mobility — to look for car keys or some aid in my grand escape.

Between the clicking activity of the unknown machine and the mesmerizing melody, I relaxed for the first time since twilight.

The tune continued its melancholic reminder as I closed and opened my eyes in recognition.

I knew the song by name. Strangely so, I even remembered the name and artist.

‘Sunrise, Sunset.’

A Perry Como cover.

My head hung on every word. I knew them by heart.

I listened until my vision went hazy. Sleep deprived or calorie empty, I didn’t know.

“When did he get to be so tall…”

I shook my head. The music was irrelevant, but the lyrics wormed their way into my awareness like a precious lullaby. It clogged the clarity of the moment, fading my sight like a dimming candle. Or maybe it was the lone reprieve in an otherwise stressful night.

The track looped once more, and as it did, the tapping of the mystery machine ended. Like clockwork, it shutdown with all the creaks and clicks of gears grinding to a halt.

Seriously, what the hell is that?

I couldn’t scan it from top to bottom, not from my hide-and-seek position under the table, but my need to know was overriding my survival instincts. With my face between carpet and cloth, I gave the living room anomaly another impractical once over.

Despite my second opinion, I still didn’t have the words to categorize it. I didn’t grasp enough.

But I felt… I thought…

Maybe it’s an MRI machine? A special medical convenience?

Unable to hold myself back any further, I slipped out of my hideaway, radar’d the room for threats, and snuck close to the machined monstrosity. My hand pressed against its unnatural hide. The material encasing this engineered enigma came in a deep black, smoothed against all imperfection, but its glassy veneer was only the surface level. The inside held an impossible infinity.

It held my reflection, but in a million pieces. In muted elegance, my captured face spiraled, swarmed, and branched into bizarre geometric articulations that repeated indefinitely. Occasionally a node of faces might jiggle, reminding me of ornaments on a shaky Christmas tree or the dreamy artifacts of an old screen saver animation.

I could stare into it forever.

At my feet, the base boxed another puzzle. Tubes of science fiction twisted in and out with no apparent rhyme or reason. Where those tunnels all went — I doubt even Alice could find the end of that Wonderland.

I wished my phone worked. A picture of this device would go viral. You didn’t need a PhD to recognize its presentation as shocking.

It’s like finding a Boeing 777 in an Egyptian tomb.

Inside the black box, lights and shapes danced again.

I hurriedly retreated into a branching hallway. Not because of the unexpected sight, but because of the unexpected light. People were afoot.

I heard voices to confirm it. Two males, mumbling like they were business partners doing overtime. I glanced back at my trusty table. From here I could run, from there I was cloistered up. New positioning was in order.

In succession, I heard a slam, and more footsteps. My left eye suspected the master bedroom as it trained on light spilling out from a tiny gap at the sill of two doors. That’s it, I thought as I swung my head back to the wall, staying flush and out of sight.

My breathing quieted as I opened my ears. Someone turned the music down as a conversation continued.

“Can you sign for my delivery?”

“Yeah.”

I puckered up. Delivery?

I didn’t want to stick around for a pizza party, or to see my competition. I decided to head back to the library and then to a better home to hide in. At this point, I even considered a night with the gators.

However, a roomy issue forced me into a detour.

Since I was unwilling to cross the living room again so long as the master bedroom showed life, I took the furthest option and proceeded through an undiscovered portion of the home.

Crouching by a wall, I passed the kitchen, briefly eyeing the minimalist cooking wares and dead-end laundry room. A hallway returned to lead me through other quiet corners of what I estimated was a 9,000 sqft mansion.

And that’s the low end of my appraisal.

Direly in need of a Marauder’s Map, my morale dipped overtime.

I’m in desperate need of a downsize. The historic home’s maze of plantation-inspired rooms and ever present creaky floorboards kept me frustrated as I tip-toed through turns for far too long.

Of the three hallways that drained into the living room, I figured mine would wrap around the house and get me back to my window escape.

I figured incorrectly.

I considered turning back, but I’d have to cross no-man’s-land and risk being seen immediately if anyone left the master bedroom.

After stubbing my foot on a claw-legged console table, I paused my wandering to appreciate my narrow circumstances. I’d make things worse if I knocked a candle off this table or a framed picture off the wall.

Pictures might be underselling it. Hung along the unending corridors were enormous collector cabinets stuffed with richly overdressed rows of pinup butterflies. Monarchs, Mourning Cloaks, and Painted Ladies. The rest I couldn’t name.

A wild sight to see.

Detecting footsteps, I peeled into the closest dark room available. Either the house was haunted, or two-legged trouble was on the prowl. My heart was hiding in my chest as I scooted around the floor, considering the bed and if I could get under it. I spent a half-second appraising the room. Loaded with wacky Wizard of Oz memorabilia, it was one of those strange themed rooms that rich but looney people thought would color their empty mansions.

I needed to pull an Oz and find a curta—

“Freeze.”

I didn’t.

I did. But not enough to shut my brain off.

My body was still, but my mind went to a million places. Other themed rooms. I considered my options. Violence? Pacifism? Vulnerability? Truth? I selected a scenario and trusted the right speech bubble would come.

I swung around to see who walked in after my non-reaction grew long.

A man with his hands up stood in the doorway. “Don’t panic. It’s bad for your health.”

My scenario failed to boot up. I couldn’t run. I was too confused.

“You’re the… you’re the ph-phoney officer?” I didn’t know what else to call him. He was the phone guy.

His expression read surprise, but ended as quick as it began.

“You like my Halloween costume?” He flicked his badge with a middle finger. “I thought it fairly convincing.”

What is going on?

Did he—

I felt a presence move in from behind me. The bathroo—?

“Mhh—” is all I got out before someone wrested my cuffed wrist into submission and then forced an elbow into a tight hug around my neck.

No love came from this embrace. My chest struggled, the hug a bit too tight.

The phony officer pulled out a frightfully bright baton, it’s tip enough to send anyone back to Kansas.

That’s no Halloween prop.

As he moved closer, it became obvious the baton would stun.

Or worse.

“H-hey. Hold on,” I said as I squirmed uselessly. “I’m not a thief. I’m… I lost my job tonight, got drunk. Thought this bedroom looked different.” I laughed away what little oxygen I had left. “It’s em–”

He responded by raising the stun gun higher, like it was the hammer of Thor itself.

I pleaded with the eternal as I watched branches of electricity flash.

Please God. Please…

I’ve had enough shocks for one night.

He held it forward like a surgeon with a scalpel as I leaned as far back as my captor allowed.

“We will hand you the truth.” He echoed the text I read hours ago.

The text!

It totally slipped my mind.

How?

My gut turned over. How the hell did I blank on that the entire time I’ve been here?

It's the whole reason I came... isn't it?

“Jack the carjacker…” The fake cop pendulated the stun gun between my eyes like a horrifying hypnotherapist. “You can deliver another man’s car, but not a book.” I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or serious.

“But it’s okay,” he concluded. “At least our Jack made it here in one piece.”

He then stabbed my thigh with every volt available. My leg kicked out autonomically, the muscles no longer responding to my body’s electrical signals.

He pulled back, and panic finally found me as my blood turned thick. My condition got worse, and I heard a pounding in my ears.

“HR at 190, we should put him to sleep,” the voice behind me reported.

“Hearts will never be practical until they are made unbreakable,” the imitation officer replied.

So this is a trap?

But why?

The train wreck of tonight kept piling up. I couldn’t let it get worse. I wasn’t afraid of pain, but I was afraid of giving up.

I fought with my bind, a desperate sign, especially with my body. My unseen subduer didn’t let up, I’m sure he only needed 50% of his power level anyway. Meanwhile, the electric rod came close to my forehead, too close. Lightning couldn’t strike thrice in one night, right?

The officer pulled it back to draw a different weapon. I flinched, preparing for the worst. He swiftly drew a dark rectangle from his side, its cover illuminated by the occasional voltaic release. My eyes narrowed as he placed a familiar book on my head.

”You’re the delivery,” he said proudly.

And then he gave me the tip.

My vision flashed white as I was momentarily stunned. Dorothy’s room became bright with energy, with a modern magic. The wizards were here, but not the ones you think.

“Don’t worry,” he said, the shadows dancing behind him. “You won’t remember a thing.”

But that’s just it.

I remembered everything.