My name is Sami Ilia, and I am an absolute moron.
When Cato started literally sprinting for the door, I should have followed him immediately. Any other walker probably would have. But I wasn’t just any walker; I had trained as a wayfinder too – mostly because the Florist had said I had an eye for details— details that jumped out at me now that I was past the shock of discovering a dead soul, something that should be impossible.
Cato had called it the 2nd death. What the hell was that?
I swallow hard and step closer to the bed to examine the body. I’m scared out of my mind, but I bury the fear and focus. I squat and examine the runes carved into the bed; they glow with a dull orange light, almost as if they contained a fire that was now dying out.
The text looks like Sanskrit, but I can’t be sure. Ancient text isn’t my forte, but I’m sure Milo might have an idea.
“Kid!” Cato calls insistently.
I replied almost automatically, “Give me a minute.”
My eyes took in the entire room, soaking in information like a sponge. The marks on the victim’s neck and the scattered bedside tabletop indicated that there had been a struggle here, not that it did the poor fella any good. My knife cut through the rawhide restraints like butter, freeing one hand. I was surprised to find that the rawhide wasn’t rawhide at all, but some sort of animal skin. I smelled it and instantly regretted it; my eyes watered, and I coughed several times. It stank of sulfur.
I could hear Cato talking to Jonas and Chani, but I blocked them out. There was something here niggling at me, something I was missing. So I stayed, even though every single part of me wanted to run. I crouched and peeked under the bed. Thank goodness, there were no monsters there. I released the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. That’s when I saw it.
I rose and circled the bed to the other side, crouching again to get a closer look. It was a smear of ectoplasm. Which shouldn’t have been out of place considering the whole room was covered in the stuff. But the smear meant someone had stood in that very spot; most likely, it was the killer. My eyes tracked other minute details: the slight scratch on the wall, the almost invisible indentation in the carpet. I saw it all, and I followed where it led. I didn’t know where the killer had come from, but I could say with 100 percent certainty that the killer went into the closet at some point.
I chuckled under my breath— half because I thought it was pretty funny but mostly because I was terrified. The killer had probably come in through another means, but then, why leave through the closet?
A more terrifying thought seized me. What if the killer wasn’t gone? What if it was waiting in the closet for its next unfortunate victim? It was unlikely, but just in case, I palmed my gun, suddenly feeling very exposed as I approached the closet. I debated alerting Cato and the team, but quickly shrugged off the thought. I was a walker, damn it. I didn’t need any help checking a closet, regardless of whatever might be in it. Right?
I took a deep breath and opened the closet, jumping back immediately with my gun raised, ready to blast anything that moved or even breathed. Fortunately, nothing jumped out at me, and I lowered my gun, confused because the closet was empty. Not only that, the closet was not a closet at all. It was a… doorway?
I mean, it looked like a regular closet— boxy, with empty hangers dangling from a metal bar— but where the closet was supposed to meet the wall, there was a neatly cut, gaping doorway.
“What the…” I breathed, unable to believe my eyes. This mission just kept getting weirder. “Cato, come see this!” I yelled.
There was no response from Cato or the others. Weird, but not concerning. What intrigued me was that the same runes on the bed frame were etched into the edges of the door, complete with the same fading orange light. The light from the room illuminated just a little bit into the doorway, showing concrete walls and a floor, and then nothing—just a wall of darkness. Was this a fixture in this memoryscape? If it was, then it definitely was not part of the blueprint, and I had near-perfect recall. So who carved this doorway? How? And why? What the heck were these glowing runes?
I had so many questions and wasn’t even close to getting answers.
“Cato?” I called out again. I needed his eyes on this. Something told me this was really important.
“Kid!” Cato yelled back. “What the hell is the hold-up?”
I gave the doorway one last glance, committing its entire details to memory. Then I turned to leave when I heard it. Faint at first, almost ethereal. A child was crying out somewhere in the darkness beyond the open doorway. I froze and turned back towards the door, unsure of what I was hearing.
There it was again: a child sobbing somewhere beyond the door. I must be hallucinating.
Someone grabs me from behind, and I jump reflexively, but it’s only Cato— sweaty and clearly annoyed. He roughly pulls me away from the closet.
“What in the hot hell are you doing, boy?” he growls. “Are you trying to get left behind?”
For the first time, he seems to notice the open closet. His eyes widen even further as he realizes what he’s looking at. “What the fuck is that?” he asks.
I shrug off his grip. “I don’t know; that’s why I was calling you,” I say, watching his already pale features grow even paler. “Whoever did that to the asset got in through this door. They probably left too. I’m thinking…”
Cato suddenly interrupts me. “No! We’re getting out of here.” He marches off, and I follow, but then I hear it again. It’s louder now, like the child is closer. I turn to face the doorway, suddenly certain I’m not hallucinating. A quick glance at Cato reveals I’m not the only one hearing this. All the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“You hear it too?” I ask, feeling foolish. “Sounds like a kid.”
“There are no kids in the light,” Cato snaps, but he steps closer to the closet, his head cocked intently.
I listen, and soon I hear the noise again—stronger now. A child is calling from somewhere in the inky blackness of the doorway. I can make out some of the sound.
“Jesus, what the fuck is this mission?” Cato curses, running a hand over his bald head. “When we get back, I’m going to shoot somebody.”
Cato must have seen something on my face because he frowns and shakes his head fiercely. “No, no, no.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I replied, surprised.
Cato snorts. “You don’t have to, kid. It’s all over your face,” he says. “You want to check it out”
He’s right. I mean, it could be a trap or something, but what if it wasn’t? It was my job to find out, right?
Cato curses and storms away. “Goddamned Wayfinders,” he grumbles. “Stay right where you are, kid.”
Cato disappears, and I’m left standing in a room with a dead asset, staring at a door that shouldn’t exist, which supposedly leads to a child who shouldn’t be here.
So I did the exact opposite of what Cato said and what my common sense was screaming at me not to do.
I walked into the waiting doorway.
