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Ero tinkers with the door, kneels to pick the lock. Just like he kneeled when he?—

The patter of tiny feet jerks me around toward the back door, the sliding glass that led to the pool out back. A giggle jingles from the pantry, hiding in a half-opened cabinet.

But there’s no one here.

Just ghosts. The ghosts of mybabies. Yet why do I feel like I never knew them?

A soft nudge summons me back.

The door stands open, revealing stairs leading down into darkness. We give each other one final look before we take the first step. Ero taps my shoulder as I lead the way, my pistol ready ahead of me. At the first landing, I click on the tac-light attached to the bottom of my barrel.

Another level, I check the doors.

“Closet. Electrical hub,” I whisper.

“Hallway through here. What do you think the odds are that the power still works?”

“I haven’t paid the bill since we were here, so…” A nervous chuckle. Locating a large breaker, I throw the switch.

The hum of air units and other systems kicking on spreads out through the walls. Through the floor. How deep does this place go?

Ero’s boots clack metallically on the walkway of the hall through the other door. Lights flicker on along the walk as it splits ahead. The whole place seems industrial. Almost bunker-like.

In either direction the split in the hallway drops several steps, turning again several feet along. Ero nods for me to take the right. He goes left.

Electric buzz fills the walls, clicking periodically as more mechanisms spring to life.

“Psst.” The noise comes from across a wide-open space between the walkways. I see Ero. Each walkway is lined by railing, progressing the same direction about the width of the house apart. Suspended. Above what?

Both paths lead to the same glass room in the middle. More bridgeways extend beyond that.

We enter the chamber in the center from opposite doors, unease hanging in the air like toxic fumes.

Doesn’t help that this place is straight up MK Ultra-level creepy. Reminds me of military labs from the movies.

“Computers. Monitors.”

“Remind you of anywhere?”

“Yeah.” Ero’s jaw clenches.

Marrakesh. The palace basement.

A series of screens line the panel, all labeled. Living room. Kitchen. Patio. Curiosity gets the better of me. I click the red button under the first. The monitor fuzzes, clears.

“Should I…” Ero points.

Big red button over black and yellow stripes. That’s never a good sign.

“Fuck it.” We hammer the plunger down together.

And gawk at the scene below us. Massive lockdown gates retract into the walls, lights pop on. Revealing an exact replica of the house above us. Down to the pool outside and a backdrop of the surrounding countryside. A tinted glass ceiling caps the entire structure, no doubt allowing us to see down into the model home without anyone below seeing what lies above.

Where the house above was mostly emptied, this one is fully furnished. Decorated.

All of it is horribly, sickeningly familiar.

“What…?” It’s a rhetorical exclamation. This is exactly what I think it is.