Page 70 of White Noise

My bare feet slap against the hardwood, the sound echoing in the sudden, oppressive silence of the condo. I sprint toward the front door, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal. I can feel him behind me—not as a physical presence, but as a pressure.

The air grows heavy, thick with the smell of ozone and burnt electricity.

I reach for the handle, my fingers inches from the metal, and then—click.

The lock snaps shut with a violent force that vibrates through the doorframe. I yank at it, twisting the knob until my knuckles turn white, but it’s dead. It’s not just locked; it’s fused.

“You think there’s an exit, Saga?” His voice doesn't come from the hallway. It erupts from the smart-speaker on the wall beside me, the audio distorted, layered with a guttural, electronic hiss. “There is no ‘out’ when I’m the one holding the keys.”

“Go fuck yourself, Silas!” I scream, spinning around and sprinting toward the bedroom. “You’re a fucking glitch! A parasite!”

I dive into the hallway, but as I pass under the recessed lighting, the bulbs pop one by one.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Darkness swallows the corridor in a rhythmic sequence, chasing me forward.

I’m running into a void, the only light coming from the flickering screens of the tablets and monitors mounted in the walls.

Every single one of them flickers to life as I pass, showing the same image: my own terrified face, captured from angles I can’t see, mirrored a thousand times.

“That’s it, little echo,” Silas’s voice rolls through the vent above me, low and amused. “Run and hide like a scared little mouse.”

“I’m not fucking scared of you,” I yell, sliding across the floor and ducking into the laundry room. I slam the door behind me and brace my back against it, chest heaving while I grab the first heavy bottle I can reach.

His laugh comes soft through the vent.

“Keep telling yourself that, little echo. I can hear your heart hammering against your ribs from here. It sounds like a trapped bird trying to break its own wings just to get away from me.”

“Fuck off you fucking freak!”

“That’s more like it.” His tone turns smug, almost pleased, the sound of a predator watching its prey exhaust itself. “Pulse through the roof, hands shaking, still mouthing off like you’re not

making this so much fucking better for me. Your terror is a fucking symphony, Saga, and I’m savoring every note.”

I tighten my grip around the detergent bottle.

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe.” His voice drops, darker now. “But you’re the one running through your house half wild while I listen to every breath you take, and fuck, little echo, you have no idea what that does to me.”

I stare at the door, every muscle tight.

His voice slides through the room again, slow and predatory.

“Keep fighting. Keep making that heart pound while you don’t know exactly what happens when I finally get my hands on you.”

A cold shiver works down my spine, and Silas laughs under his breath.

“Go on. Make me chase you harder.”

The washing machine suddenly screams to life, the spin cycle hitting a frequency that makes my teeth ache. The digital display on the dryer begins to scroll a single phrase over and over: MINE MINE MINE MINE.

I scramble back, tripping over a basket of clothes, and as I look up, the static in the room coalesces. The air ripples like heat on a highway, and suddenly he’s there. He doesn't walk in; he simply manifests out of the grey noise, his form sharp and predatory.

My body moves to run, but he’s faster.

In one blurred motion, he lunges, pinning me against the cold, hard wall. His hands slam into the drywall on either side of my head, the impact sending a shockwave of static through my shoulders.