Page 59 of They're Watching You

Twenty-Two

I reach Remington first, finding him bent over what looks like a sarcophagus, face ashen. “What happened?” My lantern swings as I rush toward him. Beneath my feet, the ground is coated in a fine layer of dust and rubble, like a massive stone rolled through here, decimating this placeRaiders of the Lost Ark–style. “Is it Polly?”

“No,” Remington says, putting a hand out to stop me from looking any closer.

“What is it? She’s not—is she—?”

“Polly isn’t in here. It’s a recording.” The same ancient camcorder Annabelle gave me a couple days ago is tucked against his chest.

“Give it to me.” I climb the few steps up the platform to reach him. Behind me, Gavin’s footsteps skid over the debris-ridden stone.

“Maren.” My light traces over Remington’s pallid skin. “It’s difficult to watch.”

That sick feeling is back now. “I have to.”

Hesitantly, Remington hands over the recorder. I slump down onto the step and press play, feeling Gavin’s palm on my shoulder as he looks on.

The recording begins with a shot of black. Slowly, white letters trickle onto the screen to form a message:

You failed your tasks. Now Polly and Jane must pay the price.

A girl appears in the frame now, Jane Blanchet. Straggly strands of her once-pristine caramel-brown hair dangle over one eye. She cowers, attempting to scramble back but hitting the wall as the unknown figure holding the recorder nears her. Then the camera cuts to the bare stone, and Jane’s terrified screams morph into tortured howls.

Up on the platform, Remington’s eyes are shut.

I cover my face with my hands, but the recording isn’t over. I have to watch. It could hold a clue to finding the girls.

The same stone lines the walls in the next shot, only the girl isn’t Jane. It’s Polly. My stomach clenches as the camera nears her, shaky in the filmmaker’s grip.Please, please, no.

Over the last two years, I’ve heard an endless variety of Polly screams: her playful scream, her spider-in-the-bathroom screech, her stage scream, her I-jammed-my-toe-on-the-bedpost yelp.

This sound is unlike any of those. This scream rattles the chamber, fraying every nerve in my body.

The camera trails away, focusing now on a single section of stone floor, which appears dirty at first. But the shot zooms in, and it’s not dirt at all. It’s blood.

Blood that continues to drip onto the stone until it becomes so thick that it splashes and runs into the cracks.

A new message appears on the screen now:

Remington’s attempt to share the clue will result in a restart. You’ll have one last chance to redeem yourself and save your friend. A duel: Maren vs. Remington.

Only one girl can be saved. Await further instructions here.

“That’s—” I breathe. Disoriented, I stand, missing a step and falling smack into Gavin. He catches me, but more importantly, he grabs the recorder before it shatters over the stone.

“Maren,” Remington says as if in a daze. He finally pushes himself upright and marches down the steps toward us.

“Stop,” I command, wheezing in the dusty air. I don’t know what Annabelle’s planning, but it seems pretty clear we can’t work together anymore.

He jerks back, as if struck. “Maren, you don’t honestly think I’m going to play this game.” His voice is grave. It’s too dark for me to make out his eyes.

“Won’t you? Jane could die. The girl you would do anything for, including lying. I’ve never fully trusted you, not since the start. And I definitely don’t plan to trust you now.” Remembering his coat, I wrestle it off, tossing it at him.

He catches it by a sleeve. “Trustis the only way all of us make it out of here. We can find Polly and Jane if we—all three of us—work together.”

“Are they even here anymore? We all know she managed to waltz down here and plant this video. She said the clue is void, that we’re restarting. I think that means she moved them.”

“She’s not superhuman,” he counters. “If she really snuck down here, it would’ve been in the last few minutes. Which means we might be able to catch her.”

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