🎭 False Alibi

“It took him because it knew you would come.”

Morgan stared at Richard.

“Then it was right.”

Richard still held her wrist.

“That isn't something to be proud of.”

“I didn't say it was.”

She pulled free.

“DC is behind that door.”

“Something is behind that door.”

“He went through it.”

“Yes.”

“Then I'm going.”

Richard stepped between Morgan and the white door.

“No.”

Morgan looked at him.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Richard.”

“I've spent longer than you have been alive learning what these rooms do.”

“And apparently DC has spent long enough in them already.”

Richard's expression hardened.

“You think finding him is the difficult part?”

Morgan didn't answer.

“The rooms let you find what you're looking for.”

“That sounds unusually helpful.”

“They also lie.”

Morgan glanced toward Thomas.

“So I've noticed.”

Richard continued.

“They show you memories. People. Places. Things you want badly enough to stop asking whether they're real.”

Morgan thought of her grandmother in the hallway.

Her voice.

Her face.

Come here, sweetheart.

“I know.”

“No.”

Richard pointed toward the white door.

“You know the voices lie. You know faces lie.”

His eyes settled on Morgan.

“You don't know what it feels like when the lie remembers everything.”

Morgan's confidence slipped slightly.

“What does that mean?”

Richard looked toward Thomas.

“Tell her.”

Thomas' face changed.

Morgan turned.

“Tell me what?”

Thomas didn't answer.

Richard did.

“Why do you think Thomas ran?”

Mrs. Bell looked between them.

“Richard.”

“He didn't leave me because the room remembered me.”

Thomas closed his eyes.

Richard continued.

“He left because another Richard walked into the room.”

Morgan went still.

“What?”

Thomas finally looked at her.

“He looked exactly like him.”

Richard's jaw tightened.

“He knew exactly what I knew.”

Morgan stared.

“My family. The Lantern Room. Margaret. Evelyn.”

Mrs. Bell looked at him.

“Everything?”

Richard nodded.

“Everything Thomas had just helped me remember.”

Morgan understood.

“The room learned you while Thomas was reminding you who you were.”

“Yes.”

“And then copied you.”

“Yes.”

Morgan looked at the white door.

“So how did Thomas know which one was real?”

Richard gave her a grim smile.

“He didn't.”

Silence.

Morgan looked at Thomas.

“That's why you ran.”

He nodded.

“I didn't know which Richard to take.”

Mrs. Bell stared at him.

“So you took neither.”

“I was terrified.”

Richard looked away.

Thomas' voice softened.

“I am sorry.”

Richard didn't answer.

Morgan looked between them.

There would be time later for apologies forty-eight years overdue.

Right now, DC was somewhere behind the door.

“Then we need a way to tell.”

Richard looked at her.

“There isn't always one.”

“There has to be.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm not leaving him here.”

Morgan approached the white door.

Richard didn't stop her this time.

She looked at the name carved across it.

DECLAN CARTER

DC's watch ticked in her pocket.

Once.

Morgan pulled it out.

The impossible 13 remained on the face.

The hands pointed toward the door.

Morgan reached for the knob.

Thomas spoke behind her.

“Morgan.”

She looked back.

“Don't trust the first thing you see.”

“Wasn't planning to.”

She opened the door.

Warm air hit her face.

Morgan stopped.

This wasn't another stone room.

It was the Lantern Room.

Full.

Music played.

People talked.

Glasses clinked.

Every table was occupied.

Morgan stood in the doorway.

“What?”

DC was behind the bar.

He looked up.

“Morgan?”

Relief crossed his face.

“There you are.”

Morgan didn't move.

DC came around the bar.

“Where have you been?”

She stared at him.

“You disappeared.”

He frowned.

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Morgan, you've been gone for hours.”

She looked around.

Nobody seemed concerned that a door had opened in the middle of the Lantern Room.

She looked behind her.

The white door was gone.

Richard.

Mrs. Bell.

Thomas.

Gone.

Morgan turned back.

DC stood several feet away.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Clearly.”

He moved toward her.

Morgan stepped back.

DC stopped.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“You look like you're deciding whether to hit me.”

“I haven't ruled it out.”

“Can I know why first?”

Morgan studied him.

Same face.

Same voice.

Same clothes he'd been wearing when he disappeared.

No injuries.

No ash.

Nothing obviously wrong.

“What happened at Grandma's house?”

DC frowned.

“When?”

“Today.”

“I wasn't at your grandmother's house today.”

Morgan's stomach tightened.

“Yes, you were.”

“No.”

“You disappeared from her living room.”

DC shook his head.

“Morgan, I haven't been to your grandmother's house since yesterday.”

Wrong.

She stepped backward.

DC noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Morgan.”

She looked toward the bar.

Thomas' tobacco pouch wasn't there.

Neither was the ledger.

The Lantern Room looked normal.

Too normal.

“What day is it?”

DC stared at her.

“Seriously?”

“Answer.”

“October seventeenth.”

Morgan went still.

“No.”

DC's expression changed.

“What?”

“What year?”

“2026.”

October seventeenth.

Morgan looked toward the windows.

Outside, Bellweather was dark.

People walked along the sidewalk.

Normal.

Everything looked normal.

Except Morgan knew it wasn't October seventeenth.

She had not somehow skipped weeks.

“This isn't real.”

The conversations around her stopped.

Every single one.

Morgan slowly looked around.

Nobody moved.

DC's face fell.

“Morgan.”

“No.”

The patrons turned toward her.

Together.

DC stepped closer.

“Listen to me.”

She backed away.

“Stay there.”

“It's me.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

Morgan thought.

Facts weren't enough.

Richard had warned her.

A copy could know facts.

Memories.

Names.

Connections.

Maybe even private conversations.

She needed something else.

“What did you say when I told you the waffle iron turned itself on?”

DC stared.

Then laughed once.

“I asked whether you were going to remain alive.”

Correct.

Morgan hated that.

“What did I say after the woman at the Lantern Room window disappeared?”

“You didn't say anything immediately.”

Also correct.

“Morgan, it's me.”

She looked at him.

“What's your phone number?”

DC rattled it off.

Morgan couldn't remember whether it was right.

The rooms had already taken that connection from her.

She tightened her grip on his watch.

“What did Grandma call me?”

DC frowned.

“I don't know.”

Morgan paused.

“What?”

“I don't know what your grandmother called you.”

Relief flickered through her.

A copy trying to convince her might have invented an answer.

Or maybe that was what it wanted her to think.

Wonderful.

Now paranoia had layers.

DC looked toward the frozen patrons.

“I don't know what's happening, but we need to leave.”

“Where?”

He pointed toward the front door.

Morgan looked.

The door hadn't been there a second ago.

Red.

“No.”

DC followed her gaze.

His expression changed.

“That wasn't red.”

“What color was it?”

“Black.”

Morgan looked at him.

“When?”

“Before you got here.”

Her pulse quickened.

“What happened to you?”

“I was at your grandmother's house.”

Morgan stared.

DC continued.

“One second I was standing there. The next I was in a room with thirteen doors.”

The photograph.

“Then?”

“I heard my grandfather.”

“Richard?”

DC went still.

“You found him?”

Morgan nodded.

“He's alive.”

DC stared at her.

For the first time, his composure broke.

“What?”

“He's here. In the rooms.”

“My grandfather is dead.”

“Apparently Bellweather's definition of dead needs revision.”

DC looked toward the red door.

“I heard him behind a white door.”

Morgan's pulse quickened.

“You opened it.”

“Yes.”

“What was behind it?”

“The Lantern Room.”

“This Lantern Room?”

“I thought so.”

“How long have you been here?”

DC looked toward the clock behind the bar.

“I don't know.”

The clock had no hands.

Morgan stared at it.

DC followed her gaze.

“That had hands before.”

The patrons smiled.

Every one of them.

Morgan moved closer to DC.

“Don't look at them.”

“Wasn't planning to.”

One patron stood.

Then another.

Then another.

Chairs scraped backward across the floor.

DC lowered his voice.

“Any ideas?”

“One.”

“Good.”

“It's terrible.”

“Less good.”

Morgan grabbed a glass from the bar.

She threw it at the front window.

It shattered.

The glass.

Not the window.

The glass hit the window and broke apart while the pane remained untouched.

The patrons stepped closer.

Morgan grabbed DC's arm.

“Run.”

“Where?”

She looked behind the bar.

Cellar door.

Normal wooden door.

No red.

No black.

No number thirteen.

“Down.”

They ran.

The cellar wasn't the Lantern Room cellar.

Morgan knew immediately.

Stone walls.

Mineral air.

A narrow corridor.

DC stopped behind her.

“This wasn't here.”

“Welcome to my week.”

The door slammed shut.

Morgan tried it.

Locked.

“Great.”

DC looked at her arm.

“What happened?”

Morgan followed his gaze.

Black marker covered her skin.

DECLAN CARTER

DC

RICHARD CARTER'S GRANDSON

LANTERN ROOM

DC stared.

“You wrote my biography on yourself?”

“Your name started disappearing.”

His expression changed.

“What?”

“The rooms were making us forget you.”

“Us?”

“Me. Mrs. Bell. Thomas.”

“You found Thomas Mercer too?”

“Yes.”

DC stared.

“You've been busy.”

“You were gone.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. A few hours.”

“For me it hasn't been that long.”

Morgan looked at him.

“How long?”

“Maybe twenty minutes.”

Time.

Again.

Morgan looked down the corridor.

“Richard said time doesn't work properly here.”

DC was still staring at the writing on her arm.

“Why is there nothing saying you know me?”

Morgan looked at him.

“What?”

“Your notes.”

He pointed.

“Name. Grandfather. Lantern Room. Facts.”

Morgan's stomach tightened.

She remembered.

MY FRIEND.

Gone.

Twice.

“It wouldn't let me write the connection.”

DC looked at her.

“What connection?”

Morgan hesitated.

“That you're my friend.”

For some reason, saying it aloud felt strange.

Not wrong.

Thin.

Like the words belonged to somebody else.

DC noticed.

“Morgan.”

“What?”

“You don't remember me.”

“I remember you.”

“Not what I asked.”

She looked at him.

DC waited.

Morgan could remember hundreds of details.

His face.

His voice.

The Lantern Room.

Growing up in Bellweather.

But when she tried to reach for the feeling attached to those memories...

There was nothing.

Her stomach dropped.

“DC.”

His expression softened.

“Yeah.”

“I know who you are.”

“I know.”

“But…”

“I know.”

Morgan hated the look on his face.

Not hurt.

Understanding.

That was worse.

“We'll fix it.”

DC nodded.

“After we get out.”

Morgan looked down the corridor.

“Agreed.”

Something moved at the far end.

A man stepped into view.

DC froze.

“Grandpa?”

Richard Carter stood beneath a hanging light.

“Declan.”

DC moved.

Morgan grabbed him.

“Wait.”

DC looked at her.

“That's him.”

“I know what he looks like.”

Richard approached.

“Thank goodness.”

Morgan didn't release DC.

“Where are Thomas and Mrs. Bell?”

Richard stopped.

“Waiting.”

“Where?”

“My room.”

“What did Mrs. Bell say when we left?”

Richard frowned.

“What?”

“Before I opened the white door. What did she say?”

“I don't remember.”

Morgan studied him.

Possible.

“What was written on the wall in your room?”

Richard's expression tightened.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Answer.”

YOU LEFT HIM HERE.

Richard should know.

He'd been sitting beneath it.

Instead, he smiled.

Morgan stepped backward.

“There you are.”

DC looked between them.

“What?”

The smile remained.

Richard's face changed.

Not dramatically.

That would have been easier.

His eyes simply became unfamiliar.

DC whispered, “That's not him.”

The false Richard tilted his head.

“Declan.”

DC stepped back.

Morgan tightened her grip on his arm.

The thing smiled wider.

“You came all this way.”

Morgan looked around.

Doors had appeared along both walls.

Red.

Black.

Yellow.

White.

Dozens.

She refused to count.

The false Richard looked at Morgan.

“You remembered him.”

Morgan said nothing.

“You weren't supposed to.”

DC whispered, “Don't answer.”

The thing looked at him.

“You weren't supposed to matter.”

Morgan's jaw tightened.

It smiled.

“But she came anyway.”

The doors began opening.

One by one.

People stood behind them.

Evelyn.

Kiara.

Thomas.

Mrs. Bell.

Richard.

DC.

Morgan.

Copies.

Dozens of familiar faces.

Morgan's own face smiled at her from three different doorways.

“That's disturbing,” DC muttered.

“Deeply.”

The false Richard stepped aside.

Behind him was another door.

Gold.

Morgan had never seen a gold door.

The thing pointed toward it.

“You want the real ones?”

Morgan looked at the copies.

“Obviously.”

“Then choose.”

The gold door opened.

Inside were two chairs.

Thomas sat in one.

Mrs. Bell in the other.

Both unconscious.

Alive.

Morgan stepped forward.

The thing raised one hand.

“Not yet.”

Morgan stopped.

“What do you want?”

It smiled.

“One truth.”

“What truth?”

It looked at DC.

Then back at Morgan.

“Tell me which one of you Bellweather chose.”

Morgan said nothing.

The thing waited.

DC leaned closer.

“You know?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Morgan looked at the gold door.

Thomas.

Mrs. Bell.

Alive.

Close.

Too easy.

“This is an alibi.”

DC frowned.

“What?”

Morgan looked around at the copies.

“The rooms keep giving us explanations.”

Thomas was the thirteenth.

No, he was the thirteenth room.

Kiara was taken by mistake.

Evelyn traded her place.

Richard disappeared.

DC was claimed.

Every answer created another answer.

Another version.

Another excuse.

A false explanation that made enough sense to follow.

“It's been lying about the rules.”

The false Richard's smile faded.

Morgan continued.

“Maybe some of them are real. Maybe none of them are.”

“Morgan,” DC whispered.

“Grandma warned me about the red door.”

She looked around.

“But the red door isn't the problem.”

The thing stared at her.

“The doors are.”

For the first time, it looked angry.

Morgan smiled.

“Got you.”

Every door slammed shut.

The corridor shook.

DC grabbed her arm.

“What did you just do?”

“I think I annoyed it.”

“You seem good at that.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn't praise.”

The gold door remained open.

Morgan looked at Thomas and Mrs. Bell.

Then at DC.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Good enough.”

They ran.

Morgan reached the gold door first.

She crossed the threshold.

Nothing happened.

DC followed.

Still nothing.

Thomas stirred.

Mrs. Bell opened her eyes.

“Morgan?”

Morgan exhaled.

“Can you see me?”

Mrs. Bell frowned.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Thomas sat up.

“What happened?”

“Later.”

DC moved toward his grandfather.

Richard lay on the floor behind the chairs.

The real Richard.

DC dropped beside him.

“Grandpa?”

Richard opened his eyes.

He stared at DC.

Then reached up and touched his face.

“Declan.”

DC laughed.

Just once.

Relief.

Richard sat up.

“You shouldn't be here.”

“Apparently that runs in the family.”

Morgan looked around.

One room.

Four walls.

No windows.

And only one door.

Gold.

Thomas stood.

“Where are we?”

Morgan looked at the door.

“Hopefully leaving.”

Richard shook his head.

“No.”

Everyone looked at him.

“The gold door doesn't lead out.”

Morgan sighed.

“Of course it doesn't.”

DC helped Richard stand.

“Where does it go?”

Richard looked at Morgan.

“To the place where the rooms keep what they've taken.”

Morgan's expression changed.

“Names?”

“Names.”

“Memories?”

“Yes.”

“People?”

Richard looked toward the gold door.

“Sometimes.”

Morgan thought of Kiara.

The real Kiara.

Not the child in the orchard.

Not the voice behind the door.

Not a copy.

Kiara Walker.

“What happens if we go through?”

Richard looked at her.

“You'll see what Bellweather forgot.”

Morgan reached for the knob.

Thomas caught her hand.

“Wait.”

She looked at him.

“What?”

“If Richard is right, everything the rooms have taken could be behind there.”

“Yes.”

“Forty-eight years of it.”

“Maybe longer.”

Thomas nodded.

“And you finished the count.”

Morgan's stomach tightened.

DC looked between them.

“What count?”

“Long story.”

Thomas didn't look away from Morgan.

“You counted thirteen.”

“Yes.”

“The woman wanted you to.”

“Yes.”

“And afterward, the rooms started opening.”

Morgan slowly released the knob.

Thomas continued.

“What if finishing the count wasn't how it took DC?”

Morgan stared.

“What if it was how it opened this?”

The gold door clicked.

On its surface, letters appeared.

Not carved.

Not written.

They pushed outward from beneath the wood.

THIRTEEN REMEMBERED.

Then:

ONE REMAINS.

Morgan read it twice.

DC stood beside her.

“One what?”

The words disappeared.

New ones replaced them.

THE FIRST LIE.

Morgan looked at Richard.

“What was the first lie?”

He shook his head.

“I don't know.”

Mrs. Bell went very still.

Morgan noticed.

“Mrs. Bell?”

She didn't answer.

“Margaret.”

Thomas saw it too.

“What do you remember?”

Mrs. Bell looked at him.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Thomas didn't disappear on October seventeenth.”

Silence.

Thomas stared at her.

“What?”

Mrs. Bell backed away from the door.

“The search wasn't on October seventeenth.”

Morgan's pulse quickened.

“But the records…”

“Were changed.”

“By who?”

Mrs. Bell looked toward the gold door.

“Evelyn.”

Morgan stared.

“Why?”

Mrs. Bell's voice shook.

“Because October seventeenth wasn't the day we lost Thomas.”

Thomas looked sick.

“Margaret.”

She looked at him.

“It was the day we brought him back.”