Alexandra Sokoloff - The Unseen

Somewhere between. Half-life , he said enigmatically. Then his face darkened and he glanced at the others around him.

But where is this? How can you see me? she thought at him, frightened.

A jumble of thoughts came from him then: Vortex whirl pool threshold gateway timeless limbo . She could feel his frustration at the inadequacy of the words.

Dimension . He finally ended. Dimensions. There are so many more than one .

She could hear everything he said clearly in her head. But no one around them heard. Leish never turned toward either her or Morgan.

The round-faced boy was looking at her intensely.

What happened? she thought at him. He glanced surreptitiously at the tall, blond man.

Dr. Leish wanted big results, violent results. He wanted to see the poltergeist effect at full force. He thought—hoped—that our psi ability would bring the force out into the open .

Laurel felt a chill, realizing how very closely they had followed Leish’s example. She looked at the table, at the séance—so eerily similar to what her own group had just been doing

And he—made contact? she asked silently, her own voice hollow inside her head.

Not him , the young man—Morgan—said. It was a dynamic, between the house, and us—

Another RAP reverberated through the whole of the house… through the foundation, through Laurel’s body. Everyone at the table looked up, electrified. Laurel clenched herself, thought at the young man at the table.

What is it?

He glanced for a second toward her. What she got from him was not words but a black wave of fear… it made her cold all over. Her teeth began to chatter and her breath came shallow and fast, she could actually see it in the air, but she pressed on.

Morgan… Uncle Morgan… I need to know. Is it madness? An imprint of madness on the house?

For the first time she saw the young man across from her flinch. Again he did not speak, but the voice in her head was raw and urgent.

It is dangerous to think you understand. It is many things. It is pure irrationality. There is no answer. It is a mistake to think that you know. It will not be known .

The young man at the table closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them and Laurel heard in her head:

We opened a door .

She looked toward the striking blond man with the clipboard. Is that how Dr. Leish died? Because of something you saw? What?

Morgan shook his head, a quick, surreptitious shake. You must get out before it is summoned again. Stop it before they open the door. You must get out .

How? she said, frightened beyond anything she had ever felt before. How?

At the table beside her Dr. Leish and Rafe Winchester started arguing, without sound—the blond older man with the clipboard and the black-haired younger man across from Victoria. They both stood, soundlessly screaming at each other across the table,

And then the knocking started, and that Laurel could hear, and feel, too; feel it reverberating through her… and everyone in the grouping froze, looking upward…

One by one the mirrors began to shatter on the walls, exploding outward into the room.

And the electric-eyed boy lunged across the table and seized her hand—

Laurel jolted and her eyes flew open as she gasped, tried to gasp… and couldn’t. Her chest was on fire… she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get a breath… but then she felt the duct tape binding her mouth and remembered, and she drew a shuddering breath of air through her nose. She lay in the small bed with her heart pounding like the waves of knocking from her—

— Dream?

She was on the bed, in that small, cold, white room, and it was dark—not black, though, not full dark, more gray dark, and she realized it was raining, black, roiling clouds outside the window.

She was still bound to the bed, the rope through the rings. There was a smell of burning around her, although she could see no flame.

She breathed shallowly against the smell, fighting the rising tide of panic…

She heard a RAP that reverberated through the entire house—through the foundation of the house, through the floor, through the bed, through her body….

Oh God, they’ve started …

She felt panic, terror—she writhed and fought against the ropes.

Helpless. Helpless .

She felt a rush of blistering anger and did not know if it was her own or Paul Folger’s.

And then she realized there was something in her hand.

Laurel curled her fingers around it and felt a sharp pain. She lifted her head from the bed and looked down the length of her body toward her hand.

She was clutching a long, sharp shard of mirror.

What? What?

She thought of the mirrors in her dream, shattering outward, of young Morgan lunging across the table and grabbing her hand…

A wave of confusion hit.

He gave it to me?

Don’t think. Just use it. Hurry .

She clutched the spike of mirror, curled her fingers toward the rope that bound her arms, and found she could just reach the rope with the edge of the mirror. It was a camp rope and sliced easily with the razor-sharp shard. In a few slices she had cut through and pulled her arm free. She sat up and ripped the duct tape off her mouth, not caring about the pain, and then used the mirror to slice through the rope on her other arm, Adrenaline gave her a push… she tore off the remaining rope and jumped off the bed.

She flung herself at the door—locked, of course. She looked wildly around the room and grabbed the coat stand, hefted it in both hands, aimed the heavy base at the door underneath the doorknob, and ran at it with all her weight.

The door cracked open just as another RAP shook the house.

Laurel whirled back to the bed and seized the mirror shard, slid it gingerly into her skirt pocket as a weapon. Then she stumbled out into the hall, amazed at her freedom. No time to think of that. Two ways, two choices. Main stairs or back?

Main stairs led to front door. They were all downstairs, she was sure.

Have to get them out .

She pulled the mirror shard from her pocket, wincing as the sharp glass cut her again. She held it carefully and ran as silently as she could down the hall, halting to ease around the corner into the entry at the top of the stairwell, to listen. She heard no voices… no rapping…

Where is Anton? Would he be in there with them? Can’t can’t can’t get caught again …

She moved onto the stairs and crept downward toward the landing. Rain pelted the gardens outside the huge arched windows beside her, and the sky was black.

Still no sound from downstairs.

She poked her head around the corner of the landing. She could see downstairs to the front entry hall. A dark man hovered beside the archway of the great room, watching whatever was inside.

Laurel’s pulse skyrocketed and she pulled her head back and stood pressed against the wall, trembling, clutching the mirror shard in her fingers.

Dr. Anton .

He was standing just outside the great room with that damned clipboard.

So they all must be inside .

He was right next to the front door, too close for her to get by him, even if he didn’t see her until she was right on top of him. And I can’t leave Tyler and Katrina in this house .

Do I go back? All the way up and around, down the servants’ stairs? Do I have time?

She eased her head back out and looked down at Anton, assessing the bulk of his body. She studied the mirror shard in her hand. Can I sneak up on him, go for the jugular? If I run at him, with downward momentum, can I possibly shove him against the wall, knock him out? She glanced around her for some other weapon, but all she saw within reach were a few small paintings hung on the walls. Useless .