Page 11 of Artifice (Pros and Cons Mysteries #4)

T he room was small, perhaps ten feet square, with walls painted an institutional gray.

What stopped Olive wasn’t the size or the color, but what lined those walls.

The walls were padded and had several restraint cuffs secured to metal brackets at different heights. One set hung at adult height, but the others—Olive’s stomach twisted—were positioned for someone smaller.

A teenager. Like Colin.

She stepped farther into the room, her breath catching at the dark stains on the padding in one corner. The air held the acrid scent of bleach barely masking something else—sweat and fear. A single overhead light cast harsh shadows across the floor, illuminating scratch marks near the baseboard.

“This isn’t therapy,” she whispered.

She pulled out her phone to document what she was seeing.

What exactly was going on here at Lighthouse Harbor?

Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.

She pictured Colin in here.

She imagined the fear and desperation on his fifteen-year-old face—his mischievous eyes, the spots of acne on his pale skin, his messy blond hair.

No kid should have to feel that way.

What had that girl said? That people stayed in here however long it took to learn their lesson?

Did that mean someone might be in here for hours? Days? That they’d be in here with no window, padded walls, and restrained by handcuffs?

It looked as if the school had kept one of the mental hospital rooms as it was before transforming the place.

This room was a thing of nightmares.

Olive didn’t want to stay in here any longer.

She needed to leave.

Before she could move, the click of the door shutting behind her sent a jolt of adrenaline through her.

Olive whirled around, lunging for the handle.

But the door wouldn’t budge.

At the same moment, the overhead light went out . . . plunging her into absolute darkness.

“Hello?” Olive called out, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Is someone there?”

The silence that answered felt heavy, oppressive.

She fumbled with her phone, trying to use its flashlight.

She frowned when she saw the screen. No signal?

That was okay. She could still use her flashlight.

Except . . . the battery mysteriously drained before her eyes.

Within seconds, the screen went black.

What? How had that happened?

She pressed her back against the wall, away from those restraints she could no longer see but knew were there.

Think this through, Olive. There’s no reason to panic. There’s nothing in here to harm you.

In the perfect darkness, her other senses heightened.

Was that . . . was that breathing she heard on the other side of the door?

Someone was listening, she realized.

“I know you’re out there.” Olive forced strength into her voice despite the fear clawing at her throat. “Let me out.”

The breathing stopped.

Then came a sound that chilled her more than the darkness or the restraints—soft laughter, followed by retreating footsteps.

This was no accident.

Someone had wanted to trap her inside here.

A shiver raced through her.

Alone in the blackness, Olive realized with sickening clarity why Colin might have been desperate enough to attempt a dangerous escape from Lighthouse Harbor—and why someone might have been equally desperate to stop him.

She was surrounded by the evidence of what happened to students who didn’t conform.

How was this even legal?

How was she going to get out of here?

She wasn’t sure.

This place was designed to keep people in.

Her only hope was that someone would hear her and realize she wasn’t a student trying to escape punishment.

That they’d have mercy on her and let her out.

Or maybe Margaret would come looking for her after the class time ended.

With that thought, Olive began pounding on the door again.