Chapter 15
The underground chamber roared like a collapsing mine shaft as Mark and David sprinted desperately behind Buster, their boots slamming against the trembling stone floor. Above them, massive cracks spiderwebbed across the ribs of the stone ceiling, raining down a torrential shower of ancient dust and debris.
"Faster!" David yelled over the deafening roar, his lungs burning as he pushed his legs to their absolute limit.
Buster had already reached the base of the wooden ladder leading up through the jagged fracture in the stone roof. The golden retriever scrambled up the rungs with astonishing agility, disappearing into the blinding white light pouring down from above.
Mark grabbed the first rung of the ladder just as a massive slab of stone crashed down behind him, obliterating the floral sofa and the television set into a mountain of dust.
"Go, Dave! Climb!" Mark shouted, shoving his brother ahead of him.
David scrambled up the ladder, his hands bleeding as he hauled himself through the jagged opening in the ceiling. Mark followed right behind him, feeling the scorching heat of the collapsing subterranean abyss licking at the heels of his boots.
With a final, explosive heave, Mark lunged through the opening, tumbling hard onto a polished wooden floor.
He rolled over, gasping for breath, and looked around.
They were back in the hallway of the suburban house. The front door was wide open, bright morning sunlight streaming through the entryway, painting the hallway in a warm, golden glow. The kitchen refrigerator hummed quietly in the background. The air smelled of fresh coffee and morning dew, entirely devoid of ozone, dust, or old perfume.
Buster was sitting by the front door, wagging his tail happily, barking a cheerful, normal greeting.
David lay flat on his back on the hardwood floor, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, panting like he had just run a marathon. He slowly turned his head to look at the central partition between the guest bathroom and the hallway.
There was no door there.
There was only a solid, unbroken, freshly painted white wall, completely smooth, with not a single seam, handle, or blemish to suggest anything had ever been behind it.
"It's gone," David whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the blank wall. "Mark... it's completely gone."
Mark stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his grey t-shirt. He walked over to the exact spot where the white door had stood just moments ago, reaching out to press his palm flat against the cool drywall. The plaster was solid, firm, and entirely normal.
He let out a long, shuddering breath, a faint smile touching the corners of his lips as he looked down at Buster waiting by the open front door.
"We're home, Dave," Mark said quietly, turning toward the sunlight streaming through the entryway.
May you like
He took two steps toward the open front door, ready to leave the house behind forever, when he glanced down at his right wrist.
The violet, bruised fingerprints in the shape of a hand were still there, stark and clear against his skin. And as he watched, the bruises slowly began to fade away, replaced by the faint, distinct sound of a deadbolt sliding quietly into place from the inside of the wall behind him.
