“It was …” He swallowed. It was holding a knife. “It was the machine Charlie’s father built to kill himself,” he said hoarsely. Jessica’s eyes widened, and she stared at him like he was a ghost.

The knock came again, much louder, and they both jumped. This time they could hear Jen’s footsteps walking toward the sound. Jessica bent and pressed her ear to the keyhole. “Do you see anything?” John whispered. The front door creaked as it opened.

“Charlie,” John could hear Jen say. “What a nice surprise.” Jessica twisted around in her crouched posture.

“Charlie’s here?” she said, scarcely whispering, and John shrugged.

“Aunt Jen, it’s so wonderful to see you again,” Charlie’s voice came through faintly, but clear. Jessica stayed where she was, listening for more, but John was restless, and he looked around the room.

They were in a bedroom—at least, there was a bed—but it was mostly filled with cardboard boxes and old-fashioned wooden trunks. John stumbled around them for a moment, then froze, looking as though something had just occurred to him. He knelt quietly and opened one of the chests, moving slowly to make no sound.

“John, what are you doing?” Jessica whispered angrily.

“Something isn’t right here,” John breathed, glancing at the door. “Come on, this might be our only chance to find out what she’s up to.” John shuffled through some of the papers in the first chest, then closed the lid and flipped up the top of a nearby cardboard box: It was filled with computer parts and mechanisms he didn’t recognize. A second and third held massive tangles of electric cable. “This looks like stuff I’d expect to find in Charlie’s room,” he murmured to himself.

“Shhh!” Jessica hissed, pressing her ear back against the door to the hall.

“What’s going on out there?” John said under his breath. “I can barely hear anything.”

Jessica shook her head.

“Let me know if you hear someone coming.” John moved to a large green chest, the paint almost entirely worn off. There was no lock. John knelt beside it, found the handle, and heaved it open, then shuddered, falling back and pushing himself away.

“Jessica,” he gasped, moving back to the chest and leaning over it.

“Shhhh!” Jessica hissed from the door, listening intently.

“Jessica.”

“What, John? I’m trying to listen.”

“It’s … it’s Charlie,” he said hoarsely. “In the chest.”