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We no longer whispered. If Sam was here, he would have come out by now. As quiet as we were, we still made noise. He had to know we were here. That relieved some of my anxiety, but not all of it. We still needed to hurry. If Sam wasn’t here, then where was he?
Drake pushed open the first of the two doors and revealed what looked like a bedroom. Two sets of bunk beds. All four of the beds were perfectly made, with almost military precision. Again, no personal belongings. Drake tilted his head, pointing back down the hallway. One more door.
I held my machete ready as he spun the knob and yanked it open. I froze. Not because someone was there, but because after the spartan and lifeless rooms this final room was a disaster in contrast. It was some type of office, obviously very used. Bookshelves, filing cabinets, two different desks. On one desk sat three video monitors. Currently all three were off. At the back of the room was another door. Heedless of danger, I rushed into the room and tried the other door, but it was locked tight.
"Damn," I grunted.
"We need to go, Dahlia." Drake looked around the room, anxiety written all over his face.
The bookshelves and filing cabinets drew my eyes. "No. Not yet. I want to look through these first."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Drake looked shocked at my suggestion. "We’ve been gone too long already. We have to go. Now."
I sat my machete on the desk with the video monitors. My decision had been made. "No, Drake. Who knows when we’ll have another chance like this? Hell, if we’ll ever have another chance like this? We look now. You stand guard while I check this stuff if it makes you feel better."
His eyes were so wide I thought they might pop out of his head. It was easy to see that he wanted to argue, to drag me out of the weird hidden bunker, but he must have seen the determination on my face and realized it was a lost cause. His shoulders sagged, and he grabbed my machete. "Fine. I’ll help look too, but we have got to hurry. All right?"
"Cool."
In seconds, I had the files and folders out, digging through them. Drake moved to the opposite side of the room and opened a wooden cabinet.
"I don’t see anything important here," he said after shuffling through it. "Looks like normal supplies. Batteries, lightbulbs, stuff like that."
I pulled a thick manila folder out of the filing cabinet and laid it on the desk. "What about that stack over there?" I said, pointing at a pile of papers on the opposite desk.
Drake flipped through them quickly. "Looks like receipts for stuff. A fridge. An oven. Some furniture. I don’t see any names, though. Just credit card numbers."
Digging into my own pile of papers, my eyes widened when I saw something at the top. It was vague, but it was more than we’d ever had before. On the top of some sort of form was a name. Not a person’s name but a business. DAG LLC.
"Does this ring any bells? DAG LLC?" I asked.
Drake froze and frowned. His brow furrowed as he thought about my words. "No. What’s it for?"
"I have no clue. Looks like a purchase agreement or something. I think…I think it’s for the warehouse. The metal building surrounding the mansion. At least that’s what I can get from what I’m seeing. No addresses though. The date is from almost two years ago." I looked up at him. "Two years?"
Drake glanced at the door nervously. "Keep looking. I’m giving us five more minutes. No more. If we aren’t done by then, I carry your ass out. Got it?"
I nodded absently and dug into the filing cabinet again. This time pulling out a two-inch three ring binder. I opened it, and within seconds of scanning what was inside my jaw dropped. You didn’t have to be an expert to realize what I held in my hands. Blueprints. The mansion. All the rooms. Even some that I’d never seen before. Doors that I had no clue were there. Jesus Christ, there were hidden doors all over the goddamned place. It was easy to see how Sam and whatever helpers he had got around without us seeing them.
The pages of the folder almost tore as I flipped through them. Electrical schematics, plumbing and HVAC mechanical drawings.
"What was that?" Drake hissed. "Did you hear something?"
I couldn’t pull my eyes away to even register what he was talking about. "No," I muttered absently. "Nothing. Go check if you want."
Drake sighed and glanced out the office door before going back to looking. "No, I’ll keep looking. Two minutes left."
At the back of the folder I found a thick sheaf of notebook paper. The words were written in a precise blocky handwriting. I had to read the first page twice before it truly sank in. The gas that had been used on Drake, Kaden, and I hadn’t only been piped into the dining room, but to every room of the house. Hidden vents along the floor of each room allowed Sam to send it anywhere he wanted. Holy shit. My stomach went cold thinking about it. God, he could have kept us knocked out for more than a day and we’d never know it. It sent my whole idea about how long I’d been here into a tailspin. Could it have been months? A year? How fucking long had this piece of shit had us?
Not only us. Names that I didn’t recognize were written on earlier lines, long before mine: Danica Bryant, Charles Toomey, Bradford Mulishen, several more too. Previous housemates. Past dolls who’d no longer had any usefulness.
On the last page was a schematic of wiring throughout the house. None of it made any sense until I read the handwritten annotation below it:
2 a.m. system reboot each night. Thirty minute power outage for the house while reboot takes place.
"Dahlia, It’s time. Let’s go." Drake was at my side tugging at my shirt.
"Drake," I gasped, not even acknowledging what he’d said. "The power goes out every night. For thirty minutes."
