Chapter 2 - Room 17Sarah had spent twenty-three years believing her mother was dead.
The official story had been simple.
A car accident.
Rain.
A mountain road.
No witnesses.
No body recovered.
Her father had never accepted the explanation, but he had accepted the paperwork.
Everyone had.
Everyone except Sarah.
For years she had carried a single photograph of her mother in the back of an old wallet.
Her mother was smiling in it.
Beautiful.
Young.
Alive.
And now Sarah had heard her voice.
There was no mistake.
“Mom?”
Richard still held her wrist.
His grip tightened.
“You heard nothing.”
Sarah looked at him.
“I heard her.”
“No.”
“She said my name.”
“She was never here.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Richard released her.
For a moment neither moved.
Then applause erupted from the ballroom.
Someone had finished a speech.
The sound was horrifyingly ordinary.
Richard adjusted his cuff.
“You're upset.”
“My mother is alive.”
“You've been drinking.”
“I don't drink.”
“Then you're imagining things.”
Sarah glanced down at her phone.
The call history remained visible.
Three minutes.
Forty-eight seconds.
She knew what she had heard.
And she knew something else.
Richard had been afraid.
Not confused.
Afraid.
“Where is Room 17?” she asked.
Richard smiled.
“There is no Room 17.”
“There is.”
“Who told you?”
Sarah said nothing.
That was enough.
Richard’s eyes sharpened.
“Who?”
Sarah stepped back.
“Someone who wanted me to find it.”
A bell chimed from somewhere in the mansion.
Once.
Twice.
Then the lights flickered.
Sarah looked toward the ceiling.
Richard looked toward the hallway.
For the first time, his confidence disappeared.
A hidden speaker crackled above them.
Then a woman's voice filled the foyer.
“Sarah.”
Sarah’s heart stopped.
It was her mother.
“Go upstairs.”
Richard rushed toward the wall panel.
The speaker continued.
“Behind the library.”
Richard struck the panel with his fist.
The voice vanished.
Sarah ran.
She pushed through a side corridor and raced toward the library.
Richard shouted behind her.
“Sarah!”
She did not stop.
The library doors slammed open.
Bookshelves towered over her.
She searched the room frantically.
Behind the fireplace.
Nothing.
Behind the curtains.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a painting.
A portrait of the Harrington family.
Richard stood beside his wife.
Sarah as a child stood between them.
But someone had scratched a strange symbol into the frame.
Three vertical lines.
Sarah touched it.
The wall clicked.
A section of bookshelves moved inward.
A hidden passage opened.
Cold air rushed across her face.
Inside the darkness hung a single number.
Sarah stared.
Room 17.
Behind her, footsteps approached.
She stepped into the passage.
The bookshelf began to close.
Richard appeared at the entrance.
“Sarah!”
She pulled the door shut.
Darkness swallowed her.
Then she heard another sound.
A lock turning.
But the lock was on her side.
Someone had locked the passage from inside.
Sarah turned slowly.
At the end of the corridor stood a woman in a white nightdress.
Her hair was gray.
Her face was pale.
She lifted one trembling hand.
Sarah whispered:
“Mom?”
The woman nodded.
Then she pointed behind Sarah.
Sarah turned.
A red light blinked in the darkness.
A CCTV camera.
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And beneath it, someone had written:
HE KNOWS YOU'RE HERE.
