I fast forward impatiently until a body fills the screen. Despite how much I prepare, I still jump when I see myself wandering out of the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel.
It’s from earlier this morning, I realize with a start, when I thought I was entirely alone.
The skin on my arms prickles, and a shudder runs through me. I yank at the sleeves of my T-shirt as if that will help ease how violated I feel. I quickly close out of the video, knowing what comesnext. I can’t bear to see myself dropping the towel, standing naked, completely vulnerable for a moment before pulling back on the one pair of underwear I have with me on this trip.
Instead, I scroll down, choose another video at random. It reveals a man and a woman, both middle-aged, rummaging in their suitcases, and I quickly close out. Another attempt reveals a man in his twenties watching TV on his laptop while lying on the room’s single bed.
I scroll even further, clicking again and again, finding nothing helpful.
Eventually, after several more attempts, I toggle the folder options to show the date each video was uploaded. And then I scroll immediately to the day I’m looking for: December 25, 2015. I click on one whose file number starts with 13, which by now I’ve realized indicates the room.
The image of my room as it was ten years ago fills the screen. It sits empty as the seconds of the red time stamp tick slowly upwards. I skip ahead on the video, pausing when a figure comes into view.
I can tell immediately that it’s Phoebe. The sight of her takes my breath away. Her eyes are red, her short hair wild. She’s thin, painfully so. She moves frantically, arms flying as she throws her belongings into the black designer backpack she used to carry.
My hands tremble as I watch Phoebe’s frenzied motions. And then, suddenly, she stops. She breathes slowly, as if to compose herself, and then turns. Her eyes lock with the camera, like she knew it was there. I fumble to pause the video, and Phoebe stares back atme. Her face gaunt, eyes panicked. There’s an aura to her as well. One I don’t remember from that night.
Fear.
I don’t know how long I stare back at her, my heart silently breaking as I consider all the things I could have done differently. Everything Ishouldhave done.
Eventually, I check the time stamp: 9:34 p.m.
I think back, trying to situate the video in my memory of that night’s timeline. And I know what’s going to come next. Phoebe will leave, flee the Inn. I’ll come back to this room, anger radiating off me as I realize she’s already gone. And then I’ll take off, eager to find her.
But not before first stopping downstairs in the small room that served as the Inn’s kitchen. Nothing more than a few drawers, a stove top, and a refrigerator that barely worked. I’ll pull out one of those drawers, grab the biggest knife I can find. And I’ll go out to look for her.
Before I can watch the rest of the video, a sound breaks into the room. A soft thud, followed by another. Footsteps.
Someone’s in the lobby.
I think of Nick’s story earlier, about how Randy’s life was ruined when the construction company found Phoebe’s remains. And then I remember Randy’s anger from this morning, how he seemed ready to rip Kyan’s throat out.
What will he do if he finds me in here?
Hackles raised, I hold my breath, trying to be as quiet as possible.
The footsteps slow gradually, before coming to a stop. I can feela presence hovering just on the other side of the door. I squeeze my eyes shut, try to will him away.
But I flick them back open when I hear another sound. One too familiar, one that signifies I can’t escape.
The slow creaking of the doorknob turning.
23
Claire
Now
“What are you doing in here?”
I’ve been caught red-handed, my neck craned towards the computer, Phoebe frozen on the screen.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say to the figure barricading the doorway.
“I came in here to check on you,” Declan says, one eyebrow raised. “Josh said you’d gotten back. I was hoping we could…talk. I checked your room first, of course, but it’s empty. Then I thought I heard a sound coming from in here, and well, here you are watching videos of…” He trails off as he realizes what—who—I’m watching, and I see his spine straighten.
He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but his jaw goes slack with shock.
