Page 6 of Into Pitch

But she’s smiling when she lets go of my hand, backing away toward the other door she’s been directed to. She throws me a kiss through her mask and I smile back. Then she’s gone, swallowed by red light and bodies and sound.

The staff member turns their attention to me and gestures again.

Right, move my ass.

I nod and slip through the door being held open for me. Wincing when it closes behind me with a solid, mechanical thud.

The hallway beyond is narrow and stark, the walls unfinished concrete. Colored strobe lights flash at irregular intervals, fast enough that my eyes struggle to adjust. The floor vibrates faintly under my boots, not from music, but from something deeper in the building.

My eyes try to adjust and fail, watching as people move ahead of me in short bursts. Their bodies appearing and disappearing with each flash of light. Someone laughs and another curses as they stumble.

I force my breathing to steady.

Strobe lights are meant to disorient, and I focus on my steps, rolling through my boots heel to toe to keep my balance. The silver bracelet at my wrist flashes bright, then vanishes, then flashes again.

Christ, if you’re epileptic you can forget about it.

After a few seconds, instinct snags me and I turn back to the door I came through. My hand lashes out and I curse as I grab the handle and find it doesn’t budge. I try again, harder this time.

It’s locked.

No give or rattle.

“Okay, so we’re serious about rules.” I murmur.

Ahead of me, the line continues to move forward, people disappearing around a bend in the hallway. The strobe flashes again, bleaching everything white, then plunges it back into darkness.

A scream cuts through the air, sharp and immediate. My muscles jump before my brain catches up, and adrenaline spikes hot and fast. My heart slams once, hard, and I suck in a breath—

Then the scream turns into laughter, breathless and exhilarated.

“Oh my God!” Someone cackles, echoing off the concrete. “Holy shit!”

A few people laugh along with them, clapping like they’ve just gotten off a ride.

I let my shoulders relax slowly and tell myself that it’s not that kind of scream.

Still, my nerves stay alert now, humming under my skin as I move forward. Counting my steps between the flashes and letting my eyes adjust to the rhythm as best they can.

The hallway curves, then curves again, winding in on itself until I lose any sense of direction. The music from the entry hall is completely gone now, replaced by a low mechanical hum that vibrates through the walls beneath the palm I use to navigate them.

I make a turn and nearly jump out of my skin when I find what must have had the person ahead of me from before screaming. A grotesque replica of a man stretched across the wall, his eyes open and greyed, blood streaking down from where he has been staked.

Christ, it’s realistic as fuck.

I shudder, deciding not to hang around with the creepy doll and move on around another bend.

I blink when the strobe reveals another staff member ahead standing between three doorways. One at its back and the other two flanking either side. Their mask dips just enough to look to my wrist then it nods once as if to confirm something and gestures me toward the door to the left.

I swallow and cross the threshold, the door shutting behind me with a sound that’s softer than the ones before it.

My eyes adjust to the new light and I take a breath as I look to the room around me. It’s square, with ceilings high enough to swallow sound, and every wall—every single one—is mirror. Floor to ceiling old glass that isn’t perfectly true. Some panes bow slightly, others ripple just enough to distort edges. The seams between them are thin but visible, like scars.

I’m alone in here.

The floor is smooth concrete beneath my feet, reflecting light back up at the mirrors so the room feels brighter than it should. A mind-numbing difference than the strobing hall I had all but stumbled out of. And at the center of it all rests a single settee.

Low-backed and upholstered in dark fabric. It’s neutral and intentional, but looks like it belongs in a waiting room. Somewhere meant for pause, not comfort.