CHAPTER 11 WELCOME HOME, NUMBER TWELVE
The elevator stood open.
No one inside.
No movement.
Only that soft voice lingering in the air.
"Welcome home, Number Twelve."
Marcus stared into the empty cabin, every muscle in his body locked.
Richard slowly raised his flashlight.
The beam swept across the floor.
Nothing.
No hidden speaker.
No projector.
No footprints.
Just polished steel walls.
Dr. Bennett whispered,
"That's not possible..."
Marcus stepped toward the elevator.
Richard grabbed his arm.
"Wait."
He pulled a portable RF scanner from his bag.
The display remained flat.
No wireless signals.
No Bluetooth.
No radio.
No hidden transmitters.
Richard looked genuinely unsettled.
"That voice didn't come from electronics."
Marcus looked at him.
"What are you saying?"
"I don't know."
Marcus stepped inside.
The moment both feet crossed the threshold...
The elevator doors slid shut behind him.
"Marcus!"
Richard lunged forward.
Too late.
The doors sealed.
The control panel lit up.
Only one button glowed.
G
Marcus pressed the emergency stop.
Nothing.
He pressed every floor.
Nothing.
The elevator began descending.
Except...
His stomach didn't feel the familiar sensation of going down.
It felt...
Sideways.
Almost like the cabin was moving through a tunnel instead of a shaft.
The lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then stabilized.
Five seconds later...
The elevator stopped.
Ding.
The doors opened.
Marcus stepped into a hallway unlike anything he'd seen in the hospital.
The walls were painted pale blue.
Tiny handprints decorated the lower panels.
Old cartoon murals covered the walls.
The paint had faded with age.
At the far end hung a wooden sign.
PEDIATRIC RESEARCH UNIT
Below it...
Smaller letters.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Marcus froze.
"This place..."
Fragments of memory flashed again.
Children lining up for breakfast.
A smiling nurse handing him the wooden horse.
A woman singing lullabies.
He had been here before.
Back upstairs...
Richard slammed his fist against the elevator doors.
"It isn't responding!"
Technicians rushed over.
The control system showed something impossible.
Elevator Position:
UNKNOWN.
Dr. Bennett stared in disbelief.
"It disappeared."
"What?"
"The elevator isn't in the building anymore."
Richard frowned.
"That's impossible."
The technician swallowed nervously.
"The sensors can't locate it."
"It's like..."
He hesitated.
"It's like the cabin left the shaft."
Meanwhile...
Marcus walked cautiously through the abandoned hallway.
Dust covered every surface.
Medical equipment sat exactly where it had been left.
As though everyone had vanished in the middle of a workday.
He entered the first room.
Tiny hospital beds.
Children's drawings taped to the walls.
One picture caught his attention.
A crayon drawing of twelve stick figures holding hands.
Each had a number instead of a name.
One figure was circled.
12
Marcus picked it up.
Written beneath the drawing were uneven childish words.
WE PROMISED NEVER TO LEAVE EACH OTHER.
A lump formed in his throat.
A faint sound echoed somewhere deeper inside the corridor.
Laughter.
Children laughing.
Marcus followed it.
Room after room.
Empty.
Yet the laughter continued.
Until he reached a pair of heavy steel doors.
One door hung slightly open.
He pushed it.
The hinges groaned.
Inside...
An enormous observation room.
One side was lined with thick glass.
Behind the glass...
A playroom.
Tiny chairs.
Wooden blocks.
Old toys.
And...
Twelve framed photographs.
Marcus walked closer.
Each frame contained a child.
Below every photo was only a number.
...
Marcus's hands began trembling.
Frame Twelve contained no photograph.
Only cracked glass.
Someone had removed the picture.
Years ago.
On the wall beside the frames hung another photograph.
A group picture.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Researchers.
Marcus's breathing stopped.
He recognized two faces instantly.
Dr. Adrian Bennett.
Much younger.
Standing in the back.
And beside him...
Edward Thorne.
The man Marcus had always believed was simply his adoptive father.
He wasn't visiting.
He wore a white lab coat.
He worked here.
Marcus stared in disbelief.
"No..."
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Marcus spun around.
An elderly man stood in the doorway.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
Wearing an old hospital uniform.
His identification badge had long since faded.
He smiled sadly.
"I wondered how long it would take."
Marcus instinctively backed away.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Samuel."
"I've been waiting for you."
Marcus's voice hardened.
"Waiting?"
"For twenty-three years."
Samuel looked at the empty Frame Twelve.
"I promised your father."
Marcus frowned.
"My father is dead."
Samuel slowly shook his head.
"No."
"Your real father."
Silence.
Marcus's pulse thundered.
"What did you say?"
Samuel walked to an old filing cabinet.
Unlocked the top drawer.
Removed a yellowed envelope.
Across the front...
One handwritten name.
MARCUS
Samuel held it out.
"He told me..."
"...if you ever came back..."
"...to give you this."
Marcus hesitated.
Then took the envelope.
Inside...
A letter.
And one faded photograph.
Marcus looked at the photograph first.
A young man stood smiling, holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
On the back of the picture...
Five handwritten words.
My son deserves a name.
Marcus's vision blurred.
He unfolded the letter.
The first line read:
If you are reading this, Genesis has already found you...
Before Marcus could continue...
A deafening explosion shook the entire underground facility.
Concrete dust rained from the ceiling.
Emergency alarms, silent for decades, suddenly screamed back to life.
Red warning lights flashed.
Samuel's face drained of color.
"They're here."
Marcus looked up.
"Who?"
Samuel answered with only two words.
"Protocol Four."
Behind them...
Massive steel blast doors began sliding shut.
And somewhere beyond those doors...
Boots thundered down the corridor.
May you like
Someone had found the hidden floor.
END OF CHAPTER 11
