A bone-deep chill washed over An, making him shudder.
He choked, inhaling a thick atmosphere saturated with the smell of damp concrete and some kind of old chemical. A heavy scent of formalin. This wasn't his apartment. A second ago, he was still looking at the restoration blueprint for the Governor's Palace, the warm yellow desk lamp still shining on the paper.
Not anymore.
He was somewhere else. A dead waiting hall. Long wooden benches, covered in cobwebs, lay scattered. The plywood reception counter was rotting, swelling and blistering. Above, plaster fell from the ceiling, revealing rusted steel rebar. On the opposite wall, an oxidized bronze sign: TAM… A… CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.
A hospital. Abandoned. An's throat went dry. He was an architect; he knew decay had its logic. But this place… this place gave him a horribly wrong feeling.
A mumble broke the silence. "Shit… What is this? A movie set?"
An spun around. He wasn't alone.
A young guy with smoky-colored hair was scrambling to his feet. Beside him, a young woman was still sitting on the floor, shaking violently. And the fourth. A man in an expensive business suit, tie loosened, cowering in the farthest corner, muttering something unintelligible.
Khue shivered, trying to swallow down the nausea. The large man with the harsh exterior was assessing. Calm. This type, in case files, is always... Focus, Khue. The smoky-haired guy was shouting. Fight response. Dangerous. And the one in the suit... Freeze. Like the third victim in the Butterfly Collector case. Dammit, I won't be the fourth. Observe. Don't become a statistic.
A deafening sound cut through Khue's thoughts. CRASH!
The smoky-haired young man had just kicked the rotting wooden chair. "Talk! Who the hell are you? What the hell is this?" He shouted, turning on the other three. He was scared, and when he was scared, he became more aggressive.
The young guy's panic was like a match. An felt his heart hammer.
"Shut up!" An snapped. His voice was hoarse. "You want something out there to hear you?"
"Something." It hung in the air. The young man froze. His aggression immediately deflated.
An turned to the girl. She was shaking, shaking uncontrollably. A hazy image flashed through An's mind: his young colleague, trapped under the scaffolding, panicking. An's chest tightened. He hated the feeling of helplessness.
"You… the student?" He tried to lower his voice, but it was still dry and clipped. "I'm An, what's your name? Look at me. Breathe. Are you hurt?"
The girl started, looking up. "Khue..." she replied, her voice a tiny whisper. "Le Minh Khue. I... I'm okay. Not... not hurt."
"Good." An nodded. He backed up a few steps, until his back hit the cold concrete wall. He reached behind him, touching the damp surface, waiting for the familiar, solid feeling. Twenty years as an architect, he understood concrete like he knew his own voice. Knew where it would break, how much it would endure before giving up. Just like Minh. His intern. He endured the first impact of the collapsing scaffolding. The second one broke his spine.
An snatched his hand back. Not now. Not here.
"You three, over here." An motioned. "Get against the wall."
The smoky-haired guy glanced at An, then at the darkness. He muttered a curse, but also backed toward An. Khue scrambled up. Her legs were jelly, and she stumbled. An reached out, grabbed her arm, pulling her into position. The businessman, seeing everyone gather, also scrambled up in a panic, and quickly huddled against the wall with them.
An called to the man. "Hey, you. What's your name?"
The man looked up, eyes wild with fear. "Thanh… Tran Quang Thanh…"
"Alright, Thanh. Stay put." An muttered, his eyes fixed on the sign.
The smoky-haired guy reached into his hoodie pocket. An old silver Zippo. He flicked the cap open. A dry clack.
He struck the flint wheel. Flick.
A weak spark flashed and died. He tried again. Flick. Flick.
Nothing.
"What the..." He was frustrated. "Now what? I just refilled it yesterday."
He struck the wheel repeatedly. Only flint. No flame. The smell of flint, but no smell of gasoline. Absurd. This Zippo had never failed, not even the night he dropped it in the rain... the night the warehouse burned. The smell of gasoline that night was thick, sweet. But this... this was wrong. The piece of metal in his hand felt cold. Dead. He stared at the Zippo as if it had just betrayed him. He gripped it tightly.
He looked up, scanning the hall. His eyes—used to assessing surfaces for painting—unconsciously began to follow the lines. The cracks on the wall weren't random. They seemed to form a kind of pattern. Like... like what he had painted in the old warehouse, before it burned. Spiraling lines, leading to an invisible center. He shuddered. Fuck no. Don't think about it. Don't think about the fire.
An refused to stand still. He looked around, reassessing the space.
"The reception counter," he said, his voice low and decisive.
The other three looked at him.
"It's in the middle of the hall. If something comes from the hallways, we can hide behind it," An explained briefly. "And it's the only place that might have... documents, or anything."
Khue nodded; it was a logical plan.
"Are you crazy? Go out into the middle of that open space?" the smoky-haired guy protested.
"Here, you're an exposed target," An replied, his voice cold. "Being against the wall only protects your back. Your front, left, and right are all open. But at the counter, we only have one direction to watch. Choose."
An didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed Khue's arm. "Stay close to me. Don't make a sound."
He began to move, staying low, stepping carefully through the debris of broken chairs. Khue followed right behind him.
The smoky-haired guy watched them go, then looked into the deep darkness. He spat a curse, then hurried after them. Thanh, not wanting to be left behind, stuck close to his heels, his breathing ragged with fear.
It was only ten meters. Finally, all four of them reached the reception counter, huddling behind the rotting plywood partition.
An signaled for the three to be quiet, then he began to explore. He climbed over the counter. Inside was a mess. Moldy patient files, waterlogged ledgers that had turned into a foul-smelling pulp.
An brushed the rotten papers aside.
"Find anything?" Khue whispered.
An didn't answer. His hand had stopped. Amidst the thick layer of dust, there was an object, impossibly clean.
It was absurdly clean. Not a single speck of dust.
A small, deep-red rubber ball. It shone in the weak moonlight, as if it had been carefully polished and placed there just seconds before they arrived.
Thanh moaned, his voice cracking. His eyes were glued to the red ball, and his insides turned to water. No. No, not it again. Not that ball. He could still hear its thump... thump... bouncing down the hotel hallway, right before the doors disappeared. He had survived that. He had escaped. Why was it here? It couldn't have followed...
"Don't..." he moaned. "Don't touch it… Don't! It's…"
Khue looked at Thanh. He knew something. She had to ask. Had to. But her voice wouldn't come out of her throat. She swallowed, trying to regain control.
"You..." she whispered, her voice trembling but clear. "Have you seen this ball before?"
Thanh looked at her, his eyes full of terror. "You... you're new. You don't know."
"Know what?" An cut in, his voice sharp.
"If it sees you..." Thanh swallowed, glancing at the red ball. "If it sees you pick up that ball... you will never leave."
It was at that exact moment.
Clack.
A small but sharp sound echoed from the hall, exactly like a marble dropping on a granite floor.
The sound came from the end of the dark corridor to their right.
An's heart seized. He signaled for all four to be silent.
Then, another sound.
Thump...
This sound was softer, more regular.
Thump...
Thump...
Khue clapped her hands over her mouth. The smoky-haired guy's eyes went wide. Thanh began to shake violently.
It was the sound of a rubber ball bouncing.
It was moving, coming closer.
Thump...
It stopped, just outside their line of sight, at the end of the dark corridor. The sound was identical to the red ball in front of An, if it had been dropped.
The silence returned, a thousand times heavier.
Khue was staring at the hallway, mouth agape.
"An..." Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. "The... the hallway..."
An looked up, through a gap in the reception counter.
The single sliver of light from the broken window was narrowing.
He froze.
Not because of a cloud.
The two walls of the dark corridor… were slowly closing in. They were moving, grinding against each other sluggishly, crushing the space between them. The sound of concrete grinding on concrete began to fill the air, like the sound of boulders tearing each other apart.
"Run," An said, his voice low and decisive. "Run now."