“Take a look at that,” he said, holding the bird in front of Timothy’s face.

“Get that thing away from me.”

“Relax. Whatever killed these birds isn’t contagious. Look at their beaks. They died from massive brain trauma. They were trying to peck their way out of here.”

Timothy looked back at the biologist, confused. He knew computers, not animals—animals scared the shit out of him. When he was a kid he had been bitten by a stray dog, and ever since then he had thought of animals as food: not pets, not friends, just meals.

“Why the hell would they have done that?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Emanuel dropped the bird back into the dirt.

“Are you telling me they committed suicide?”

“It appears that way.”

“I don’t understand. If they were pecking their way out of here, then they had to be trying to escape something. But what?” he asked, searching the room.

“That’s what you’re going to find out,” Emanuel replied with a grin.

The curiosity quickly faded from the young programmer’s face, which remolded itself into suspicion. He looked back at his teammate. “What does you mean, exactly?”

“You’re the computer guy, right?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with dead birds?”

“Alexia said this place is rigged with cameras. If that’s true, then they have to have caught what happened on video.”

Timothy smiled, finally catching on. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he chuckled, staring back at the dead birds.

“Back up!” Emanuel shouted.

“All right, relax. And keep your voice down. I thought you didn’t want Dr. Winston knowing about this yet.”

“You don’t have to call her ‘Dr. Winston,’ you know.”

“Whatever. Maybe you don’t have to, but then again, you’re the one sleeping with her.”

The words caught him off guard. “Don’t you ever mention that again,” he said, sucking in a deep breath.

Timothy rolled his eyes. “It’s not a secret, you know.”

“It happened a long time ago. And it stopped a long time ago, too. If I ever hear you bring this up again—” His voice was interrupted by footsteps in the hallway.

They waited for someone to appear, but the noise slowly faded into the distance.

“If you’re done messing around, then how about you show me the footage?”

“Right,” Timothy replied, glad to change the subject. “Here,” he said, pointing at the screen. “At approximately three a.m. the hens started going nuts. Take a look,” he said, spinning the translucent screen with a swipe of a finger.

Emanuel, however, wasn’t paying attention to the screen—he was thinking about the time. Three a.m. was exactly when Sophie had had her nightmare. It was the same time she always had her nightmare.

“The witching hour,” he said under his breath.

“What?”

Emanuel shook his head. “Nothing, just a thought.”

Timothy rolled his eyes again, and returned his gaze to the screen. “What do you think spooked them?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. There isn’t anything in the footage. At first, I thought one of the other animals might have gotten out of its section undetected—and then somehow managed to get back in, I suppose—but that seems unlikely. I can only think of one other thing, but it’s a long shot.”