“Mike…I thought…thought you were…” The tiny hardened buckshot of her pupils twitched to the arrow up the hall, voice high and unnatural: “He marked the walls down here, too?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I wasn’t sure whether I should be following them or not.”

“He said if we do what he wants, we’ll survive.”

“Snow told you that?”

“He wrote it, right here.” Jolie took a piece of paper from her pocket and held it up. “See?”

Mike had to take the note himself. Her hand was shaking too much to allow him to make out the words. But the handwriting was what got him more than anything, the clumsy, inexperienced scrawl trying to carry the adult syntax. He thought of the picture he’d seen in the file room, the little boy in the USA sweater, giving a sweet, enthusiastic thumbs-up to the newspaper photographer. When Mike finished reading the note a third time, he handed it back to her, wanting to wipe off his hands.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“It was in my hip pocket when I woke up. He must have put it there. Did you get one?”

“No, I—” But his hand was already reaching back to his own pocket, fingers locating a barely perceptible bulge, and his voice died. He felt the blood drain from his cheeks as he pulled forth a small piece of paper, unreality hitting him like a breath of pure helium as he fumbled the sheet open.

You have a choice. If you want out, go to the fire extinguisher at the end of the ground floor hall by the east elevator and look inside. Follow my instructions WITHOUT EXCEPTION and you will live. Remember, instead of giving you this note, I could have done things to you that would make the fires of hell look inviting by comparison.

“When…?”

Then he remembered back to the ER, when the hand had brushed up against him, even before the lights had gone out. Had he really been walking around with this note in his pocket since then? When else had Snow been that close to him?

Anytime, a deathly calm voice answered. Anytime he wanted, in the dark.

“I know the spot he’s talking about,” Jolie said, reading over his shoulder. “What do you think is there?”

Mike felt queasy. “No idea.”

“We have to go find out.”

All he had were questions, but he found himself nodding along anyway. Despite what Snow had written, they didn’t really have a choice, did they?

No.

They walked up the hall, Mike realizing they were following the arrows again. He could see now how Snow had used the darkness to take absolute possession of the hospital, and them with it, remaking it in his own image. It was so simple—just a few hours in complete darkness in which to work, and the place was his.

The familiar made unfamiliar. Uncanny.