“Walter,” Helga said, “you and me, front door. Amy, you and Chris go around back. Tony and DeeAnn, watch the windows on the side of the house. Michael, you and your friends watch those windows on the second floor—the gables. Holler if you see a fly twitch.”

Michael knew she was protecting him, but this wasn’t the time to argue. He had no problem hanging back. This wasn’t a game. He just hoped they’d be back on the road in the next few minutes, with Gabby on board.

“Okay,” he said, but Helga and the others were already on the move, creeping ahead like trained soldiers. Soon Helga and Walter were up the creaky porch stairs and positioned on either side of the front door. They glanced at each other; then Helga reached out, twisted the handle of the door. It swung open with a haunted-house shriek.

She and Walter slipped inside.

4

A minute passed. Two. Michael stood breathless, straining to hear what was going on. Nothing moved behind the windows he’d been tasked with watching, and he could tell that his friends were getting just as antsy as he was.

“Nobody’s in there,” he whispered. He almost dropped his gun to his side in defeat but knew not to be that stupid. “We came all the way out here for—”

“Michael!”

Helga. Shouting his name from inside. Everything else flew from his mind and he was on the move, sprinting toward the steps, taking them all at once, flashing through the still-open door. The front hall was empty, as were the two rooms he could see to either side, all wood and antiques and crooked pictures on the walls. This place was like something from an old flat-film, no sign of even a simple WallScreen.

“Where are you?” he shouted, just as Bryson and Sarah came barreling through the door on his heels.

“Up here! Quick!”

A staircase loomed on the right side of the hall. Michael went to it, this time taking only two steps at a time because they were steeper. His breath came ragged—more from the adrenaline than the effort—by the time he reached the top. He caught a glimpse of Walter’s shoulder in the nearest bedroom and ran to it. He slowed down and stepped inside.

An odd, haunting scene awaited him. A chair stood alone on the far side of the room, between a curtained window and a large wardrobe. Gabby sat in it, her hands tied behind her back and a gag wrapped around her mouth. She was disheveled, her hair a mess, her face red, and her clothes soaked with sweat. She looked awful, and she was trying to speak through the cloth.

And her eyes. She stared at Michael, pleading with her eyes for help.

He took a step toward her, but Helga quickly moved in front of him, blocking his path.