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The Loneliest Number

The Broken Glass Bathroom.

Before Lore went in, her mind felt occupied, her mental fingers sliding around the margins of the puzzle of this place. Because that’s what it was to her: a puzzle, a game, a maze. Like Owen had said, a D&D dungeon, a Zork adventure game. Solve the puzzle. Choose the right path. It felt cold and clarifying.

But then she went into the bathroom.

She had to be careful—the whole room was full of broken mirror glass. Easy enough to step over, but it was a little slippery. Some of it was in the sink, too. The mirror itself was broken from the center out—as if someone had struck it with a fist or an object. Most of the glass was gone, though a few pieces still stuck to the backing. Slivers of Lore stared back at herself. But also: words. Someone had drawn words on the glass. Not on every shard, but on half of them, at least, drawn on with what looked like lipstick.

Help

Run

Lost

Pain

Scared

No

What the fuck . She tried to add that to the mystery. What was this? What were these messages? Were they written by someone else? Someone like them, someone trapped in this place? Her heart froze in her chest—

Were they written by Matty?

Was he still here, or was he long gone?

Had they waited too long to follow him?

Her bladder reminded her of why she was in here, so Lore went and sat on the toilet and did her business, leaning forward as she peed. She wanted to keep thinking about the mystery, the puzzle, but something else pushed those thoughts out. As she stared at the mildewy tile and at the broken glass, anger bubbled up in her. Anger at herself for not following Matty up the staircase—she’d wanted him to take acid, and he didn’t. She’d wanted to tell him how she was good with them being in a relationship, a proper real boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but she didn’t. She got mad, pushed him away, and he acted out. Called out the Covenant and they blew him off—and not long after, up he went, and then he was gone. You stupid bitch. You did this. This is your fault . Your fault for not chasing Matty then. Your fault for running up those stairs now. There was no winning. Every move in this game was a net fucking loss. A Choose Your Own Adventure book where every page turn led to being eaten, drowned, incinerated, trapped forever.

And then the anger multiplied—a mirror broken, one image into many. She was angry at the others for following her here. For not going up the steps when it mattered most. None of them cared about the Covenant. They’d all broken it. Nick talked a good game but what had he ever done? He sent them emails about staircases and doorways he’d read about, but did he ever go up one? No.

Suddenly she was sure as anything that she should do this alone.

Get rid of the others.

They were dead weight.

Holding her back. Like they always did.

Especially Owen. Weak, pathetic, do-nothing, go-nowhere Owen.

He’s the shadow on your X-ray. The cancer in you bringing you down.

Killing you.

If you want to find Matty—

If you want to escape—

You need to escape them first.

Then, a loud sound—

The door to the bathroom, thrown open. Wham . Lore startled as Owen ( shadow, cancer, pathetic ) barged into the room.

“What the fuck?” she asked, throwing up her hands. (Modesty was not one of her character traits, so she did nothing to hide anything.) “I’m pissing.”

“What the fuck to you,” he said, giving her his own what the fuck look. “You said to keep the door open when we went.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You were starting to close the door.”

“Closing the—what? I’m on the toilet. I wasn’t closing anything.”

Hamish’s head popped in over Owen’s shoulder. “It was drifting closed, I guess.”

“Well I didn’t close it.”

“Fine,” Owen said.

“Fine.”

Now, Nick peeked in. “Can we hurry this up? Hearing you piss makes me gotta piss, so ándale, ándale, let’s move.”

Lore nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Jeez.”

It struck her then—them coming into the room seemed to chase away those dark thoughts. Like cockroaches when you turn on the light. Skitter, skitter.

And the door, drifting closed without her touching it…

This place wants us to be alone .

Lore hurried up, flushed—the toilet worked, and so did the sink. The water was clear, had no smell. She cupped some in her hand and took a sip, and it tasted minerally and metallic but not like poison. Lore cast one last look at the words across the broken mirror shards, then she hurried out of the bathroom, a chill chasing her back toward her friends.