“He didn’t come back for us.”

The words were Mary’s, but the date at the top of the page was from five years ago.

The day she had left Chicago.

I looked at the bed, where the doctors were slowly stepping back, their heads bowed.

And in the quiet of the room, the sound of the wind was the only thing left to hear.

The window frame creaked as a sudden gust blew the door shut behind us, locking us inside.

And the light in the hallway flickered once more, then died.

The screen of my phone on the floor lit up, a single message appearing on the dark glass.

It was from an unknown sender.

“The castle is empty,” it read.

“And the keys are gone.”

I reached down to pick up the phone, my hand trembling in the cold.

And behind me, the sound of a key turning in the lock of Room 314 clicked shut.

We were trapped.

The flatline alarm continued its steady, unbroken beep in the darkness.

I held Lauren close, the cold paper of the note clutched in my hand, and waited for the door to open.