Page 51 of Lost Echoes

As we walk toward the car, the wind carries the faintest scent of rain. My stomach twists. I’m actually doing this. I can hardly think. The drive feels too short. One minute the city’s behind us, and the next we’re on a narrow road swallowed by trees. My pulse thuds harder with every turn.

Then we arrive at the Radley parking lot. Once we begin our trek through the woods, everything inside me comes alive.

When the theater finally appears, my breath catches. The condemned building is only a shell, but I know the moment I step inside, it will all come alive again. Maybe more than it did before. This time, I’ll have to find a way to tell myself I’m not a puppet. I’m the one holding the script.

A string of police tape hangs limply, reminding me of the last time I was here. The windows are boarded, paint peeling in long strips. Rust stains streak the once-white stone like tears.

But my body doesn’t see ruin. It remembers. My hands move on their own—checking posture, smoothing invisible fabric… the first steps of a performance I don’t want to give.

Dr. Hanson speaks. “Kenzi. Look at me.”

I drag my gaze to her. She presses a small stone into my palm. “Anchor. Cold. Real. You’re here, not there.”

The stone bites into my skin, grounding me just enough to stop the gestures. I cling to it.

We step closer. The entrance looms, its heavy double doors chained but crooked, like someone forced them open and never closed them again. A dark gap gapes between wood and frame, breathing out dust and damp.

I stop at the threshold. My chest tightens, a sour taste rising in my throat. This is where it began. The place they turned children into performers, pain into entertainment, obedience into a script we could never stop reciting.

My fingers curl around the stone until they ache. “I can’t do this.”

Dr. Hanson’s voice is steady. “Yes, you can. Not alone, but with me.”

I swallow hard, forcing my feet forward. One step. Then another.

The theater waits, shadows thick and silent, ready to swallow me whole.

But it won’t. Not this time.

I’m two steps from the threshold when I freeze. The air that drifts out of the gap isn’t just dust and damp, and it carries something else. A whisper so faint I almost mistake it for the wind.

Places, everyone.

My chest seizes. I know that voice. Laurel’s. Crisp and commanding, threaded with false sweetness.

I grip the stone so hard the edges dig into my palm. “Did you hear that?” My voice cracks.

Dr. Hanson shakes her head, calm as ever. “No one’s here, Kenzi. Just us.”

But the whisper lingers in my ears, curling like smoke after a fire has ravaged.

I whisper back, more to myself than to her. “She’s still in there.”

Dr. Hanson places a grounding hand on my shoulder. “Laurel isn’t here. Only echoes remain here. You’re hearing echoes from your past.”

I nod, but my body doesn’t believe her. My skin prickles as if stage lights are already burning down, waiting for me to step into my cue.

The whisper fades, leaving only silence. Somehow, that’s worse.

I draw in a trembling breath. “Let’s go in.”

She nods and waits for me to take the lead.

The door groans as I push it open, a long metallic wail that makes me flinch. My heart pounds like a jackhammer though I try not to show it.

Inside, the air is thicker, stale with dust and mold. The faintest trace of something sweeter lingers beneath it—like powder makeup left too long in its case. My stomach turns.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Even so, we’re here. I don’t want to wait again for Dr. Hanson to get permission to return. This already took too long. I have to be brave.