Page 53 of Lost Echoes

27

Billa

I don’t sleep the night before. I can’t because every time I close my eyes, I see my mother bent under the fluorescent light, turning pages like she belonged in that underground place.

By morning, I’m convinced if I want answers, I’m going to have to play her game.

Later, during my laundry shift, I see my chance. The janitor, Mr. Keene, who is quiet and forgettable, leans against his cart while the machines churn, scrolling on his old flip phone. His keycard dangles from a retractable clip on his belt.

I set a stack of folded sheets on the counter near him, letting one tumble to the floor.

He barely bats an eye, focused on his phone’s screen. So I crouch down. My hand brushes his belt as I retrieve the sheet, quick as a trick I shouldn’t know how to do. My badge slips onto his clip, and his slides into my sleeve.

He doesn’t even notice.

My pulse, however, hammers. I tuck the real keycard into my pocket, heart racing with the thrill and terror of it.

When the washers hit their cycles, water churning loud, I slip back into the stairwell.

Down past Sub-level A, down to the gray door.

This time, when I press the stolen card to the scanner, the light flashes green. The light fades, leaving the scanner’s eye dark again. The door swings inward on a low groan, and a breath of air escapes from the space beyond—cool, damp, and sour, like rusted pipes and bleach.

I step into the dark and freeze on the threshold, clutching the keycard so hard the plastic edges dig into my palm. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then faintly, almost swallowed by the hum of old ventilation, I hear children’s voices.

My breath catches.

Not intelligible words, not even full sentences. Just echoes of laughter that turns quickly into crying. Whispers that swell and collapse, like waves against stone.

My throat closes. It’s impossible. This level hasn’t been used in years, not officially. But the sound is there, weaving around me, tugging at the child I used to be.

The urge to run seizes me. To slam the door, return Keene’s card, and pretend I never heard a thing.

Instead, I whisper into the dark. “You’re not real. You’re echoes.”

But the sound lingers, brushing my ears like a memory too alive to die.

I take one shaky step forward, then another. The door closes behind me with a final click, cutting off the stairwell’s light.

I’ve passed the point of no return.

I force myself down the stairwell, every step echoing too loudly. The hum of air grows heavier, vibrating in my chest. I remember this path—how it bent and narrowed, how the rooms with their glass walls stood like silent witnesses.

They’re still there. My buried memories.

I pass a chamber with a bolted chair, straps dangling loose. Another with shattered mirrors leaning against the wall, their fractured surfaces multiplying my reflection until I can’t tell which one is real.

I quicken my pace, struggling to breathe, until I reach the corner where I saw her last time.

And my mother is there.

She stands under the same harsh light, flipping through a file just like before.

My throat closes. I could turn and run, like everything inside me is screaming to do, but I have to find out the truth. Why is she here? Is she involved in everything?

Is it her fault Kenzi was brought here in the first place?

Hardly able to take a full breath, I step forward. The scrape of my shoe on concrete makes her freeze.