DECLAN CARTER.
Morgan looked up.
“DC.”
He was gone.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Morgan stared at the empty place where he'd been standing.
“DC?”
Nothing.
She crossed the room.
His coat was still hanging over the back of the chair.
His truck keys sat on the table.
His phone lay beside Thomas' tobacco pouch.
Morgan picked it up.
“DC!”
Thomas moved toward her.
“Don't.”
Morgan spun around.
“Don't what?”
“Call for him.”
“He was standing right there.”
“I know.”
“And now he isn't.”
“I know.”
“So unless you've suddenly developed a useful explanation, move.”
Thomas didn't.
“Morgan, if it took him into the rooms, calling his name could make it easier for something else to answer.”
She stared at him.
“Then what exactly do you suggest?”
“We figure out where he went.”
“Brilliant.”
Mrs. Bell crouched near the place DC had been standing.
“Morgan.”
“What?”
“Look.”
A thin circle of ash covered the floor.
Morgan stopped.
It hadn't been there before.
Dark gray.
Still warm.
Something glinted near the center.
Morgan crouched.
A watch.
DC's.
She recognized it.
Morgan reached toward it.
Thomas caught her hand.
“What?”
“Don't touch anything it leaves.”
Morgan looked at him.
“That belongs to DC.”
“That doesn't mean DC left it.”
Morgan pulled her hand free.
“Then what am I supposed to do? Leave it there?”
Thomas looked toward the fireplace.
He retrieved the tongs again.
Morgan held out her hand.
Thomas stared at her.
“The tongs.”
He gave them to her.
She lifted the watch from the ash.
Nothing happened.
No voice.
No memory.
No door appeared.
Morgan set it on the table.
The second it touched the wood, the hands began spinning backward.
Mrs. Bell stood.
“Morgan.”
“I see it.”
Faster.
Minutes unwound.
Hours.
The hands spun so quickly they blurred.
Then the second hand stopped.
The hour and minute hands followed.
Both pointed straight up.
Morgan stared.
Something was wrong with the face.
She picked up the watch carefully.
Where the twelve should have been, the number had changed.
13.
Morgan frowned.
“There is not supposed to be a thirteen on a watch.”
Thomas went still.
Morgan noticed.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
“Thomas.”
His eyes remained fixed on the watch.
“I've seen that before.”
“A thirteen?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Thomas looked toward the black door.
“In the rooms.”
Morgan lowered the watch.
“What did it mean?”
“I never figured that out.”
“Of course you didn't.”
“Morgan.”
“What?”
“I was trapped there. I wasn't exactly taking notes.”
Fair.
Morgan looked at the watch again.
The hands remained pointed toward the thirteen.
Then the watch ticked.
Once.
And stopped.
Something knocked beneath their feet.
Three times.
Morgan looked toward the cellar.
“No.”
Another three knocks.
Thomas moved toward the cellar door.
Morgan caught his arm.
“You don't get to tell me not to follow things and then immediately follow things.”
“He might be down there.”
“So might everything else.”
Another knock.
Then DC's voice.
“Morgan?”
Her heart jumped.
Thomas shook his head.
“Don't answer.”
Morgan didn't.
“Morgan, can you hear me?”
She closed her eyes.
DC's voice sounded right.
Exactly right.
Then:
“Open the door.”
Morgan opened her eyes.
“Nope.”
Thomas looked at her.
“What?”
“DC knows about the red door. He wouldn't tell me to open it.”
The voice below went silent.
Morgan stared at the cellar door.
“Try harder.”
Mrs. Bell looked at her.
“Do not antagonize it.”
“Fine.”
A heavy impact shook the cellar door.
Morgan stepped back.
“Apparently it heard me.”
Then came another voice.
DC again.
But quieter.
Farther away.
“Don't.”
Morgan froze.
Thomas looked toward the door.
The voice continued.
“Whatever you hear, don't come looking for me.”
Morgan's stomach tightened.
“DC?”
Thomas grabbed her arm.
She hadn't realized she'd answered until it was too late.
Silence.
Then DC spoke again.
“I'm okay.”
Morgan stared at the door.
Thomas whispered, “Don't trust it.”
“I know.”
DC's voice came again.
“Morgan, listen to me.”
She didn't respond.
“The door isn't where you think it is.”
A scraping sound followed.
Then nothing.
Morgan looked at Thomas.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You spent weeks in those rooms.”
“I spent weeks being lost in them.”
“Then get useful.”
Thomas flinched.
Morgan immediately regretted the words.
Not enough to apologize yet.
Mrs. Bell stepped between them.
“Arguing isn't bringing DC back.”
Morgan picked up his watch.
The hands remained frozen beneath the impossible thirteen.
“We know the rooms move.”
Thomas nodded.
“The entrances do.”
“And you said they can lead to the same place from different locations.”
“Yes.”
“So the cellar door might not lead where it led before.”
“Yes.”
Morgan looked at the black door.
Still there.
Still marked TM.
“Could that one?”
Thomas followed her gaze.
“Possibly.”
The blackthorn vines remained wrapped across its surface.
The roses had begun to wilt.
Morgan approached.
The marker still read:
ROOM FORGOTTEN. VACANT.
Except the final word was changing.
Morgan watched letters carve themselves into the wood.
VACANT.
The letters disappeared one at a time.
New ones replaced them.
CLAIMED.
Morgan's stomach dropped.
“No.”
She turned the marker over.
Nothing.
“Thomas.”
“I see it.”
“Claimed by who?”
Nobody answered.
Morgan looked toward the paper on the floor.
DECLAN CARTER.
She picked it up.
His name was fading.
“No.”
Mrs. Bell moved closer.
“Morgan?”
The D disappeared first.
Then the E.
“No.”
She grabbed a pen from the table and wrote over the letters.
DECLAN CARTER.
The ink vanished.
Morgan wrote it again.
Gone.
She grabbed the ledger.
Blank page.
DECLAN CARTER.
The letters faded before she finished the surname.
“Morgan.”
“No.”
She wrote harder.
Nothing.
Thomas watched her.
“It's taking the name.”
“Then we stop it.”
“How?”
“I don't know yet.”
Morgan pulled out her phone.
She opened her contacts.
DC
Still there.
She tapped it.
The contact opened.
No photograph.
No number.
No messages.
Nothing but two letters.
DC.
Morgan stared.
Mrs. Bell looked over her shoulder.
“What's his number?”
Morgan opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
She knew DC's number.
She had known it for years.
Except now she couldn't remember a single digit.
Her breathing changed.
“No.”
Thomas stepped closer.
“Morgan.”
“No.”
She looked at Mrs. Bell.
“What's his dad's name?”
Mrs. Bell frowned.
Morgan's stomach dropped.
“His dad. You know his family.”
“I…”
“What's his dad's name?”
Mrs. Bell couldn't answer.
Morgan turned to Thomas.
“Richard Carter.”
Thomas nodded.
“Richard Carter.”
“Who is he?”
Thomas hesitated.
Morgan stared.
“Who is Richard Carter?”
“He was…”
Thomas' brow furrowed.
“The search party.”
“And?”
Thomas looked genuinely confused.
Morgan's heart pounded.
“His grandson.”
No recognition.
“DC is Richard Carter's grandson.”
Thomas stared at her.
“Who is DC?”
Morgan stepped backward.
“No.”
Mrs. Bell looked frightened now.
“I know that name.”
“Declan Carter.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“I don't…”
Morgan grabbed DC's coat from the chair.
“This is his.”
Mrs. Bell stared at it.
“I've seen it.”
“He was standing right here.”
“I know.”
“Then remember him.”
“I’m trying.”
Morgan clutched the coat.
She could remember.
DC behind the Lantern Room bar.
DC teasing her.
DC warning her about October seventeenth.
DC standing beside her while thirteen fingers pressed against the window.
DC saying he didn't sound like the false voice behind the door.
She could remember all of it.
For now.
Morgan grabbed the permanent marker from behind the bar.
She pulled up her sleeve.
Thomas frowned.
“What are you doing?”
Morgan pressed the marker to her forearm.
DECLAN CARTER
Beneath it:
DC
The ink stayed.
Morgan stared at it.
Thomas did too.
“Why didn't it disappear?”
Morgan looked at him.
“I don't know.”
She wrote beneath the name:
RICHARD CARTER'S GRANDSON
Still there.
LANTERN ROOM
Still there.
Then:
MY FRIEND
The final words faded.
Morgan froze.
She wrote them again.
MY FRIEND
Gone.
Mrs. Bell whispered, “It isn't erasing facts.”
Morgan looked at her.
“What?”
“It's erasing connections.”
Morgan's blood went cold.
Names could exist.
Records could exist.
People could exist.
But if nobody remembered how they belonged to one another...
What was left of them?
Morgan looked at the black door.
“That's how Bellweather forgot the thirteenth searcher.”
Thomas stared at it.
“Yes.”
“And Kiara.”
Mrs. Bell closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Morgan looked at the words on her arm.
DECLAN CARTER
She tightened her grip on the marker.
“Not this time.”
They spent the next hour writing down everything Morgan remembered about DC.
Not what she felt.
Facts.
His name.
His family.
The Lantern Room.
Where he stood when he disappeared.
What he had been wearing.
What he'd said.
Anything the house seemed willing to let remain on paper.
Mrs. Bell wrote copies.
Thomas did too.
Morgan put one in her pocket.
One in DC's coat.
One inside Thomas' tobacco pouch.
One beneath the wooden marker box.
“If one disappears, we still have the others.”
Thomas looked at the pages.
“And if they all disappear?”
Morgan uncapped the marker again.
“Then I write them again.”
A smell drifted through the room.
Smoke.
Morgan looked toward the fireplace.
Cold.
The smell grew stronger.
Pumpkin.
Cinnamon.
Charred wood.
Mrs. Bell looked toward the kitchen.
“Something's burning.”
Morgan followed the smell.
On the kitchen table sat a pumpkin.
She stopped.
It hadn't been there before.
The orange skin was blackened on one side.
Smoke curled from its stem.
Morgan approached carefully.
Words had been carved into it.
ONE NAME FOR ANOTHER.
Thomas read over her shoulder.
“No.”
Morgan looked at him.
“What?”
“That's an offer.”
“For what?”
Thomas looked toward the hallway.
“For DC.”
Morgan stared at the pumpkin.
One name for another.
“No.”
Thomas looked at her.
“You don't even know what it's asking yet.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Morgan.”
“No.”
She turned to face him.
“We are not trading anybody.”
The pumpkin split.
Ash spilled across the table.
Something lay inside.
A photograph.
Morgan used the tongs to pull it free.
DC.
He stood in a narrow room.
Unharmed.
Confused.
Behind him were thirteen doors.
Morgan's breath caught.
“He's alive.”
Thomas took the photograph.
“For now.”
Morgan glared at him.
“He's alive.”
She turned it over.
Writing covered the back.
BRING ME THE NAME YOU FORGOT.
Morgan read it twice.
Mrs. Bell stepped closer.
“The thirteenth searcher.”
Morgan looked at her.
“You think that's who it wants?”
“It may be.”
Thomas stared at the photograph.
“No.”
Morgan turned.
“What?”
Thomas' face had gone pale again.
“I remember that room.”
“The one DC is in?”
“Yes.”
Morgan looked at the photograph.
“Then you can get us there.”
Thomas shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Thomas pointed at the doors behind DC.
“Those aren't exits.”
Morgan waited.
“They're memories.”
The kitchen went quiet.
Morgan looked again at the photograph.
Thirteen doors.
Different shapes.
Different colors.
One was red.
One black.
One yellow.
One was covered in peeling floral wallpaper.
Another appeared to be made from rough wood.
And at the far end stood a narrow white door.
DC wasn't looking at the camera.
He was staring at that one.
Morgan brought the photograph closer.
Something had been written across the white door.
Tiny letters.
She could barely read them.
Thomas leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
Morgan's stomach dropped.
RICHARD CARTER.
Mrs. Bell whispered, “His grandfather.”
Morgan nodded.
The photograph changed.
DC reached for the white doorknob.
“No.”
Morgan gripped the picture.
“DC, don't.”
He couldn't hear her.
His fingers touched the knob.
The photograph went black.
Then three words appeared across its surface.
COME REMEMBER HIM.
