Rozie hated playing hide and seek with her older brother, Nelis. A long time ago, their parents took them out to Grandmother’s house—her mom’s mom. Not grandma, Grandmother. The woman was made of cast iron. Rozie couldn’t remember when exactly, but the woman left Texas to be near her brothers in a fit of independence—until Rozie’s mom had convinced her to return to Texas to live in an assisted living community.

  But that summer, Rozie and Nelis roamed the brambly woods, got ticks, and shot fireworks on the 4th of July. Grandmother taught her to paint with oils for the first time, and as the only kids in the area, they played tag when it rained for two days straight.

  Nelis found a hiding place—a superb hiding place. The house was a single story with a partially exposed basement with just enough space and furniture to keep two children occupied. According to her brother, Rozie wandered by several times without finding him. It was so good, that after Rozie moved on to look elsewhere, he would change places. He’d get bored and tap the walls or shut a door too loudly. It frustrated her to no end when she found him some place she’d already searched. Nelis talked about his perfect hiding spot, one so good, he’d move to keep it secret.

  As Rozie raced down the corridor, she held onto that idea of moving. She refused to be trapped in a room with Benjamin.

  Halfway down the hall, her suspicions were confirmed. A set of stairs connected the hotel wing’s top and bottom floors. The hall ended at an after-thought of a sitting space. Another antique couch backed up against the staircase and two armchairs stood guard on either side. Rozie stopped at the first step and looked back over her shoulder. She guessed that about ten minutes had passed, but she couldn’t know for sure. A glance at her phone—almost eleven at night—didn’t tell her anything really. She realized with a chill, that she was having fun. A type of fun, small and crowded with genuine fear.

  The stairs climbed up the far wall toward the left. They banked around the wall with a landing before they continued up to the second floor. Rozie ascended the steps, planning to hide in the shadows and watch for Benny.

  “Psst.”

  Halfway to the landing she froze. She crouched and looked down to her right at the sound of movement. Riley peered back at her between the railing bars, squished up behind the couch.

  “Where are the others?” he asked.

  “Basement. I got separated from Dom, and… it didn’t seem like a good idea.”

  Riley scoffed. “I don’t blame you.” He ducked down to peer beneath the sofa down the hall. So far the coast the coast was clear. Grant propped himself back up on an elbow.

  “This place gives me the creeps. Ben—” she whispered. , she thought.

  He nodded when she didn’t continue.

  The minutes ticked by. After a while, Riley lowered himself out of sight behind the chair, and Rozie climbed the steps to better conceal herself from the corridor.

  As night settled deeper into the mansion’s bones, the structure settled. Timber cracked, and the entire wing creaked in the wind. But none of the sounds compared to the metallic shrill of the timer going off.

  Rozie readied herself to move, rising to her feet, leaning as far as she dared to stare down the hallway. Just as her heart rate began to settle again, she saw movement. The lights obscured her view, just a glimpse of Ben in the center as he criss-crossed the hall searching a room on one side before emerging to search another. As she watched, she decided that when Benny got closer, she’d move upstairs while he searched a room.

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  , she thought as time passed.

  She shifted her weight on her aching feet, knees protesting. When she looked up again, Ben crossed the hall into another room. She blinked. He had emerged from different doorway than the one he entered. He was speeding up. They weren’t exactly silent when they went to the basement. Maybe Ben was just being systematic.

  Her lungs ached, and she realized she stopped breathing. Slowly she let the air out of her chest in a slow exhale through her lips.

  . Ben entered a room.

  She watched the doorway waiting for him to appear. When he did, she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. He came out of a different room. On the other side. A chill coursed down her body, the hairs on her arms standing on end. Fear drove her up a step. She glanced down at the sofa below, but she couldn’t see Riley.

  Two figures crossed the hallway and entered different rooms. Her breath caught again. One stopped at a locked door and turned toward the next. The other Ben threw a door open and charged inside. Before she realized it, she had backed into the wall on the landing, breathing in rapid shallow gasps. Rozie crept upward, never taking her eyes off the staircase behind her. She had to be imagining things, tired, the liquor, hormones, stress.

  On the second floor the nearest light flickered on and off at irregular intervals. Its partner across the hall was dark. On and off, the faulty sconce burned bright then plunged Rozie into darkness. She walked as quickly as she could, reminded by a creaking floorboard how footsteps carried through the old building. She clung to wall to minimized any sound.

  Except for the doors, solid paneling and short by modern standards, and their hardware, antique metal knobs patinated with age, the hotel wing looked just like that—a hallway in any other hotel. Gray commercial-grade carpet, low and tightly woven, lined the floors. The tell-tale intensity of LED bulbs scalded her eyes when she looked directly at the light fixtures. But she staired at the light long after she passed, bleaching her retinas when it came to life only to leave her in darkness, the an afterimage floating in her vision.

  Just her imagination. Riley would have seen it—seen Ben, two Bens searching the rooms. He would have reacted. She blinked and glanced down the hall back toward the mansion side. She stood in the middle, a knob pressing against her back. A gray-clad staff member stepped out into the hall. Hands clasped to keep them from trembling, Rozie hurried, eager for company—someone, anyone.

  She winced as her feet drummed through the floor and up the walls. She glanced back and began to jog, as much as she could eight months pregnant. The staff member, a young man sensed Rozie’s attention and paused. When she reached him, Rozie felt sweat prickling her forehead. She slowed to catch her breath.

  “Is there anything I can do for you ma’am?”

  He clutched a pen and clipboard. She struggled to think of something to say.

  “I, uh, I don’t know which room is mine.”

  “Oh, yes! If you head downstairs to the receptionist’s desk, they’ll have your key for you.”

  Voices drifted up the stairs at the end of the hall—male, Riley and Ben. She glanced back at the young man.

  “And breakfast? What time is breakfast?”

  He smiled warmly. “Breakfast will be available at seven, but I’m not sure what’s on the menu. Would you like me to find out?”

  Another glance back at the flickering light.

  “No, it's fine. I’m sure it’ll be terrific.”

  He gave a quick nod and turned back to his clipboard. Rozie strode back into the main hall as the staff person entered another room.

  Footsteps clacked their way across the floor below. Rozie backed away from the rail. Ben crossed the round room, his back to her, charging for the back room and the basement below. Her heart raced again as she retreated into the second-floor sitting room. From her perch she waited, peering around the edge of the door frame. A few minutes later, Willow’s shrill laughter carried up into the room. Willow, far past tipsy, clung to Erica as they returned to the parlor below.

  Rozie exhaled, feeling like she could finally breathe. Quickly, she strode down the main stairs to join the other women while she waited for Dom.