Ryan stares at the mirror from his position on the floor, his aching back arched against the rough concrete blocks. He’s seen enough films, watched enough TV shows full of snarling detectives and elusive spies to consider that he might be staring at a two-way mirror. Is someone – whoever took him, whoever has been doing this – watching him right now? And when … when are they going to force him to confess?
He drags his eyes away from the mirror and looks up at the countdown, still frozen at 00:60. When will that begin ticking? The videos, the ones from the Confession Room, play on a loop in his mind: that first victim, did she and her boyfriend get a warning or did it simply start counting down? And what – or who – was making them speak?
He searches the room again, trying to take in every detail. There must be something. There must be some way to get out.
And there, on the far side of the room, are two things he’s overlooked in his quiet hysteria, even as they sit there, plain as day.
Two more boxes.
He rushes to his feet but stops himself from galloping across the room again at full pelt. The chain … will it let him go that far?
He limps carefully forward, each link unfolding and going taut against the next until finally, the entire manacle is stretched straight as steel wire. He leans forward, balancing on the chained leg, stretching his arms out in front of him. But his fingers don’t even graze the box by the door. There’s no chance of reaching it.
He retreats but doesn’t slump back down to the floor. Instead he rests his forehead against the wall, flexing his knees, locking them into place and then relaxing them, again and again. He blinks slowly, and his gaze shifts along the floor from his feet to the opposite corner. And there, in a mirrored position to his own, is a metal hook, hammered into the wall. A place for another human to be kept prisoner.
And he doesn’t have a fucking clue who that person will be.
He has heard of the Confession Room – of course he has. He’s even been on the forum when other confessions have been posted. He watched as the one about the Henley brothers went live, a chill running through him thinking about where they might be, whether they could be saved. This time, they must have posted after he left for the pub. He had wondered why his mum kept on calling. He thought she was just being a pain in the arse. But she was trying to warn him.
Whoever this other person is, when will they bring them in?
What do they have to confess?
They must be bringing them in soon because nobody has faced this room alone. Nobody has been here without a partner.
No.
Not a partner. A competitor.