Chapter 7 - The Guest Room Terminal
"Stay here," Mark whispered, his voice hard as he stood up from the desk and reached for the heavy brass flashlight.
"Mark, no, don't go up there alone," Elena pleaded, grabbing his arm with a grip that left white marks on his skin. "Whoever is in that room... it's not a stranger. It's using our network. It's connected to our house."
"That's exactly why I have to go," Mark replied firmly, gently removing her hand. "Lock this door behind me. If you hear anything—anything at all—don't open it for anyone unless you hear my voice."
Elena nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she backed into the study and pulled the heavy wooden door shut. The click of the brass latch sounded like a gunshot in the silent hallway.
Mark turned toward the staircase, his boots making no sound on the thick carpet as he ascended to the second floor. The upstairs hallway was bathed in total darkness, save for a thin sliver of pale yellow light spilling out from beneath the door of the guest bedroom at the far end.
He approached the door slowly, his muscles coiled tight, every sense heightened. He could hear a faint, rhythmic tapping sound coming from inside—like fingernails tapping against a plastic keyboard.
Mark pressed his ear against the wood.
"...found her," a voice whispered from inside the room. It wasn't an adult voice, and it wasn't Mia's. It was a high, thin whisper that sounded as if it were speaking directly inside Mark's own skull.
Mark gripped the flashlight like a club, grabbed the brass doorknob, and twisted it sharply. He shoved the door open with a bang, sweeping the light into the room.
The guest bedroom was freezing cold, frost spider-webbing across the inside of the windowpanes. The old desktop computer sat on the wooden desk, its monitor glowing with lines of flashing code.
And sitting upright in the office chair, facing the glowing screen with her back to Mark, was Mia.
Mark froze, the breath leaving his lungs in a sudden rush. "Mia? What are you doing in here?"
The small figure in the chair slowly spun around, the office chair creaking in the silence.
It wasn't Mia.
The girl stared at him with hollow, sunken eyes, wearing a tattered white dress stained with dark earth. In her lap, she held Mia’s stuffed rabbit, its head torn completely off.
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"She's playing hide and seek," the girl said, tilting her head at an impossible angle. "And you're getting very close to losing."
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