Chapter 27
Billa
I don’t sleep the night before. I can’t because every time I close my eyes, I see my mother bent under the fluorescent light, turning pages like she belonged in that underground place.
By morning, I’m convinced if I want answers, I’m going to have to play her game.
Later, during my laundry shift, I see my chance. The janitor, Mr. Keene, who is quiet and forgettable, leans against his cart while the machines churn, scrolling on his old flip phone. His keycard dangles from a retractable clip on his belt.
I set a stack of folded sheets on the counter near him, letting one tumble to the floor.
He barely bats an eye, focused on his phone’s screen. So I crouch down. My hand brushes his belt as I retrieve the sheet, quick as a trick I shouldn’t know how to do. My badge slips onto his clip, and his slides into my sleeve.
He doesn’t even notice.
My pulse, however, hammers. I tuck the real keycard into my pocket, heart racing with the thrill and terror of it.
When the washers hit their cycles, water churning loud, I slip back into the stairwell.
Down past Sub-level A, down to the gray door.
This time, when I press the stolen card to the scanner, the light flashes green. The light fades, leaving the scanner’s eye dark again. The door swings inward on a low groan, and a breath of air escapes from the space beyond—cool, damp, and sour, like rusted pipes and bleach.
I step into the dark and freeze on the threshold, clutching the keycard so hard the plastic edges dig into my palm. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then faintly, almost swallowed by the hum of old ventilation, I hear children’s voices.
My breath catches.
Not intelligible words, not even full sentences. Just echoes of laughter that turns quickly into crying. Whispers that swell and collapse, like waves against stone.
My throat closes. It’s impossible. This level hasn’t been used in years, not officially. But the sound is there, weaving around me, tugging at the child I used to be.
The urge to run seizes me. To slam the door, return Keene’s card, and pretend I never heard a thing.
Instead, I whisper into the dark. “You’re not real. You’re echoes.”
But the sound lingers, brushing my ears like a memory too alive to die.
I take one shaky step forward, then another. The door closes behind me with a final click, cutting off the stairwell’s light.
I’ve passed the point of no return.
I force myself down the stairwell, every step echoing too loudly. The hum of air grows heavier, vibrating in my chest. I remember this path—how it bent and narrowed, how the rooms with their glass walls stood like silent witnesses.
They’re still there. My buried memories.
I pass a chamber with a bolted chair, straps dangling loose. Another with shattered mirrors leaning against the wall, their fractured surfaces multiplying my reflection until I can’t tell which one is real.
I quicken my pace, struggling to breathe, until I reach the corner where I saw her last time.
And my mother is there.
She stands under the same harsh light, flipping through a file just like before.
My throat closes. I could turn and run, like everything inside me is screaming to do, but I have to find out the truth. Why is she here? Is she involved in everything?
Is it her fault Kenzi was brought here in the first place?
Hardly able to take a full breath, I step forward. The scrape of my shoe on concrete makes her freeze.
Slowly, she turns. Her gaze lands on me.
For a moment, there’s nothing. Just silence, disbelief widening her gaze. “Billa?”
The sound of my name in her voice after three years of absence nearly knocks the breath out of me.
My mouth is dry, and my hands shake. But I force the words out. “Hi, Mom.”
Shock ripples across her face. She drops the file, papers scattering like white leaves across the floor. Her hand rises, trembling, as though she wants to reach for me. But she doesn’t.
“I thought…” Her voice breaks. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
The silence between us is unbearable, thick with everything unspoken.
“Then why am I finding you here?”
Her expression falters, and in that moment I see two things at once—the mother I once knew and the stranger standing in this forbidden place. “How did you get here?”
“I work here.” I square my shoulders, feeling a jolt of boldness. “It would appear you do too.”
She flinches.
The words rip out of me before I can stop them. I’m too raw for niceties. “Tell me everything. Now.”
Her hand hovers in the air, then drops to her side. “Billa, please. You have to understand. Everything I did was for you.”
“No.” My voice cracks but doesn’t falter. “You don’t get to play the mother card. Not after I found you here. Not after years of silence. You’re going to tell me why you were in this place back then. What you were doing. What you did to me. And what you know about Kenzi.”
Her eyes flash wide at my half-sister’s name. That one hits.
“You’ve spoken to her.”
My chest heaves, anger surging with fear. “You have no idea. She remembers the basement, the stage, and the performances. She remembers what was done to us. So don’t lie, don’t hide behind pretty words. What part did you play? What part did I play? Tell me!”
Her face crumples. For a moment I think she’ll deny it, but instead she presses her hands to her temples like she can hold in the truth.
“I didn’t know at first. Not the whole of it.
They called it research, therapies, and grants.
I believed them. God help me, I believed them.
And I needed the money. You’d think with your father being a Brannon that we’d never want for anything, but that would be a lie. ”
“You were down here.” My words are sharp as knives. “You signed things and kept records. You didn’t just believe—you participated. Try and deny it, but I’m putting the pieces together.”
Tears glimmer in her eyes. “When I saw what they were really doing, it was too late. I tried to pull you out. I begged them. They told me you were progressing too well, that you’d been chosen. My little girl…”
“Stop!” My stomach twists, bile rising. “Don’t say it like it was a compliment. You didn’t care about me.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “Billa… you were one of the best.”
The air drains out of me, and my knees nearly give. “Best at what?”
She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t have to because I see the shame and terror in her face.
I stumble back a step, shaking my head. “No, that’s not me. That’s not who I am.”
“You were forced,” she says quickly, desperately. “We all were. You were a child, and they shaped you, scripted you. It wasn’t your fault. You were innocent.”
But the words don’t soothe. They only make the truth press harder against my chest.
Kenzi’s haunted eyes flash in my mind, my own drawings, the whispers of the spool, and the one-eyed teddy bear. So much more than all of that.
My mother looks at me, tears falling freely now. “I didn’t want this for you. But if we don’t end it now—if we don’t finish what the Radleys started—the cycle will never stop.”
Her words land heavy, dangerous, like another script waiting to be followed.
And I don’t know yet if she’s trying to protect me… or recruit me.
My hands curl into fists. “You think I’m going to help you? After what you did? You lied to me for my entire life!”
Her eyes glisten. “If you don’t, they’ll use Kenzi next. They’ll finish what they started with you. She’s already under their spell.”
I laugh a short, broken sound. “You don’t get to scare me into obedience.”
“I’m not trying to scare you.” She glances at the scattered papers, one trembling hand flattening them like she can erase the mess. “I’m trying to give you a choice I never had.”
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. “A choice? Like the ones you gave me in that basement?”
Her face crumples. “You were supposed to be the end, Billa. Not the beginning.”
The words slam into me. “What does that even mean?”
“They built the program around you. The persona, the acts, the triggers. Kenzi was only ever meant to mirror you, to keep you steady.” She swallows hard. “If you walk away now, they’ll destroy her. Just like they almost destroyed you.”
I stare at her, cold all over. “Excuse me? I was barely touched. She was the one who was nearly ruined. In fact, the jury’s still out on that.”
She studies me. “You really don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re stronger than they realize. That’s why you’re still alive.”
The room tilts. I grab the edge of the desk to steady myself. “If this is some kind of test…”
“It’s not.” Her eyes flash, something desperate breaking through. “It’s a war, and they’re already inside this hospital. Inside the staff. I can’t protect you anymore.”
“Protect me?” I take a step back, my pulse a hammer in my ears. “You’re still lying. Still playing me.”
“Then look at the files.” She nudges a folder toward me with a trembling hand. “Every name, every date. The Radleys, Kenzi, you, me. It’s all in there. You’ll see the truth, whether you want to or not.”
I glance down at the scattered papers. My name stares back at me from the top page in bold black ink.
“Did you bring the Brannons into this? Or did they bring you in?”
“Everything is a circle, isn’t it?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s more than you think.”
My stomach twists. “What did you do to me?”
“I tried to make you a survivor,” she whispers. “Now you have to decide if you’re going to be their weapon… or their undoing.”
Her words hit like a trigger—another script, another stage. Only this time, I’m the one holding the cue.
And I’m not sure which role I’m about to play.