Chapter 7
Lionel was warm when he woke up—and strangely comfortable.
As soon as his mind clawed its way back to consciousness, he pried his eyes open, only to be greeted by the sight of a pale neck right in front of him. He blinked, his eyelashes brushing lightly against skin that was far too close.
He pulled back just enough to take in the situation.
One of Mads’ arms was wrapped securely around his back, drawing him close, while the other was tucked beneath his head, cradling it like a pillow.
Lionel’s own arms had somehow draped themselves around Mads’ waist in sleep, his fingers loosely curled in the fabric of the back of his shirt.
Their legs were a tangled mess, one of Lionel’s ankles hooked tightly around Mads’ calf as if to keep him from drifting away.
He became aware, all at once, of the slow, steady rise and fall of Mads’ chest against his own. Of the faint, warm exhale that brushed across his forehead. Of the scent of him—something faintly clean and woodsy that didn’t belong in this decaying building.
For a moment, Lionel just stayed there, breathing in time with him, letting the fragile comfort anchor him before the rest of the world came crashing back in.
He jolted backwards, yelping as he felt himself falling, and had to scramble back into his original position with his face pressed into Mads’ neck.
The other man stirred at the sudden movement and noise, and a moment later, pale red eyes were looking down at him in question.
“Lionel?” Mads’ voice was quiet. “What’s wrong? ”
Lionel just stared at him for a few moments, watching Mads’ flickering eyes while his pulse thrummed loudly in his throat.
Rather than answering, Lionel sat up, dislodging himself from Mads’ arms and legs, and looked around.
He blinked, rubbing his head as he looked around at the familiar apartment and realized they were both nestled onto a couch that was absolutely not meant to hold two people.
Lionel had specifically gotten one small enough so that any visitors wouldn’t be compelled to stay the night at his apartment.
Derek was asleep on the carpet beneath them, snoring softly.
“How the fuck did we get to my apartment?” Lionel murmured. He leaned over enough to shove Derek’s shoulder until he was jerking awake, looking around in a panic.
“Where—”
“We’re at my apartment somehow,” Lionel muttered as he got to his feet.
“How?” Derek asked, blinking.
“Maybe it was that creature.” Lionel frowned, placing his thumbnail between his teeth. He wasn’t going to have any nails left at this rate. “It looked different than the others—a lot more human. Maybe it did something.”
“Or maybe it's this building,” Mads said, sitting up on the couch and looking around.
“The building?” Lionel questioned him, his eyebrows raised.
Mads shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”
“Well, we’re all here and we’re not hurt,” Derek said as he pulled himself to his feet.
“This is where we were going anyway, so might as well not question it for now.” Lionel wanted to tell him that this was definitely something they should be questioning, but Derek was already walking around the apartment, surveying it.
Lionel’s apartment was just a studio—the cheapest thing in the building with just a single window, a tiny bathroom, and a kitchen where he could basically boil water and toast a piece of bread.
He knew what Derek was looking for, though, and walked over to the closet.
He pulled out the toolboxes inside—two small ones and one larger duffel.
He dug through them, pulling out only the useful items—another jab saw, a few large wrenches, hammers, two mallets, and two chisels. Derek wasn’t looking terribly impressed, so Lionel stood and rummaged through the closet again until he pulled out a steel baseball bat.
“Damn, not bad,” Derek nodded. “Let’s pack this up and get going.”
Lionel nodded, pausing for a moment before pulling out his cell phone.
He hadn’t even thought to check how long it had been since they left the kid behind.
He sighed in relief at the time—it had barely been an hour since they left.
“Yeah, let’s go. The kid lives in 907, which is a bit down the hall from here. ”
He let Derek take the bat and grabbed one of the mallets for himself before turning and offering the other to Mads. Mads eyed it, seeming to consider it before taking it from Lionel’s hand.
“Just swing it and try to hit anything besides me and Derek,” Lionel said to Mads' expression.
“I’ve fought them before, remember, I’m the one who saved you first,” Mads hummed. “It’s just a bit heavy, is all.”
“Here,” Lionel offered the jab saw instead. “Lighter and you just need to stab with it and it’ll do a decent amount of damage.”
“How are we even going to get to the boy’s apartment?” Derek spoke up. Lionel and Mads glanced back at him in question. “The hallways haven’t exactly been reliable,” he pointed out. “How do we know 907 will be where it’s meant to be?”
“What do you think we should do then?” Lionel asked.
“Maybe someone should go check to see if this floor is positioned correctly,” Derek said. “Then if something is wrong, not all of us will be stuck out there.”
“Okay,” Mads nodded. “Then you go.”
Derek blinked at him. “What?”
Mads waved a hand and arched an eyebrow at him. “Go,” he repeated. “You go check.”
“Why should I have to—!”
“Stop,” Lionel cut in with a groan, running a hand over his face. “We shouldn’t split up because the hallways keep warping and the building keeps rearranging everything. If one person goes out, then they might not be able to come back.’
“No, I think Derek’s idea is really good,” Mads hummed. “He should go check.”
“Mads—”
“I’m not going out there alone!” Derek yelled.
“But you’re the one who suggested—”
Just as Lionel was about to interrupt the two of them again, they heard an ear-piercing screech. Lionel jumped at the sound, and Derek raised the bat instinctively. All three of them tensed as the apartment shook around them.
It took him a moment, but Lionel slowly raised his head to look at the ceiling. “They’re right above us,” he breathed.
“Let’s go,” Derek whispered frantically, rushing to the door.
There wasn’t much they could do besides check that the way was clear before starting their journey toward 907.
Lionel felt Mads’ hand clamping down on his own after a few steps, and his stomach sank at the fact that he had forgotten about the other.
He turned and whispered a quiet ‘sorry,’ but Mads just smiled at him silently.
Lionel frowned as they picked up their pace, but something felt off.
The hallway stretched endlessly before them, impossibly long, as if it were warping and folding in on itself.
His feet felt heavy, like he was running through thick molasses, even though their speed seemed normal.
No matter how fast they moved, it was like they were stuck on a treadmill—making no real progress forward.
He glanced down at the apartment door numbers, hoping for a landmark, but they were gone. The gold plates that usually marked each door were blank, smooth, and featureless, erasing any sense of familiarity. Every door looked exactly the same, a uniform blur of pale wood and cold metal handles.
Lionel forced his gaze forward, locking onto a large potted plant sitting halfway down the hall.
Beside it hung a fancy, old-fashioned light fixture, its glass prisms catching what little light there was—a surprising survivor in this decaying building.
He focused all his attention on that distant landmark, trying to will himself closer with each stride.
He grabbed Mads’ hand and tugged him faster, dragging him along while Derek struggled to keep pace behind them. But no matter how hard he pushed, the light never drew nearer.
His breath grew ragged, chest heaving with desperate gasps. Finally, he slowed, coming to a trembling stop. “This is wrong,” Lionel panted, voice tight with frustration and fear.
“Ya think?” Derek groaned, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’ve probably run half a mile already!”
Mads was still staring down the endless corridor, his brows drawn together in a perplexed frown. Lionel squeezed his hand gently, trying to pull him back from whatever loop of confusion had him trapped.
“Maybe you’re right,” Lionel said quietly, voice low. “Maybe it’s the building itself—maybe it's messing with us.”
Not a moment after the words left his mouth, Lionel suddenly pitched sharply to one side.
A startled yell ripped from his throat as gravity betrayed him, and he slammed down hard onto the floor, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.
Pain flared sharply, but it was the disorientation that hit him worse—the world swayed and tilted, colors and shapes blurring for a moment.
He groaned, head swimming, as his eyes darted to where Mads and Derek had also crumpled nearby. All three of them lay scattered on the floor, breathless and stunned. Blinking to clear the dizziness, Lionel’s gaze flicked to the door that was now beneath him, and his mind stuttered.
“What—”
Before he could finish, a sudden, violent shove sent them tumbling again, this time to the other side.
He barely had time to fling his hands forward, bracing to protect his head from a crushing impact, before his body hit the ground again with a sickening thud.
A heavyweight crashed down on top of him, pinning him in place. Lionel gasped, the air knocked from his lungs, as a muffled groan followed the sound of Mads’ body settling against his own.
Hands fumbling, Lionel helped Mads shift to a less awkward position. He looked properly dazed, his eyes fluttering as if struggling to focus. Lionel’s heart hammered against his ribs as he forced himself to look around, taking in the surreal new perspective.