I got back to my feet. My eyes had adjusted as much as they were going to and I still couldn’t see shit. I needed to find Malia. There was no way I could do this on my own. Those other men in the video monitors had looked identical to the one I had just strangled. They all, I presumed, would be capable of putting me under that murderous spell. She had said she could help, and I had no better option than to believe her.

The same mad curiosity that got me to stick my head in the trap wall tempted me to look behind one of the doors in this hallway, but I resisted. Who knew what I’d find, which was part of the allure, of course. Instead, I shuffled back toward the surveillance room, grasping out in the dark until I reached the door. All the video monitors were now blank, so this room was dark as well. I groped for a light switch and found one, squinting against the glare. I climbed back over to the empty break room. Considered chowing another Krispy Kreme donut, but killing a man had murdered my appetite.

The twisted images from that hypnotic trance still wormed through my mind. Serrated words turned my thoughts into confetti. Letters swapping places to distort the meaning of my internal monologue. I no longer recognized my inner voice. Maybe the damage was permanent and they’d made me a schizophrenic.

But the mirror had been an illusion. As had Caspian’s decapitated head. The rooms had been fabricated. This experience was richly detailed, but fake. So, too, was this mental condition. A momentary fog caused by some kind of hypnosis. Had the fight in the dark been staged? The dead man a dummy?

I staggered toward the far do0r. Stopped, and shook my head. Not do0r, door. Imposter words invaded my mind, spoken through a mental ventriloquist. Hijacking my helium. I mean, my he4d.