The Hidden Room

              It was early in the morning, and Philomena didn’t have class until ten. Therefore, she was justifiably upset when her boyfriend snuck into her dorm and woke up her at six in the morning.

But then he said three little words, and her whole world changed.

              “I found it.”

              There was no confusion about what he meant.

              “Are you sure?” she croaked out, fumbling in the darkness for the water bottle somewhere on her bedside table. Her hand brushed glass, and closed around it.

              “Love,” said Fitch, “that one’s wine.”

              “Good,” she grumbled. “I’m hungover.”

              His deep, dark laugh filled the room, filled her heart, and filled her head. The wine bottle was abruptly forgotten, the room, pushed to the back of her mind. She reached out her arms. “Come here.”

              “Right now? We have important things t—”

              She grabbed his shirt, and yanked him forward. Fitch was big, but she was undeniable. “We can go find this room,” she breathed, “but I need to wake up first.”

              Again, that laugh. She’d fallen in love with him the first time she’d heard it.

              “Yes, ma’am.”

There are four hours between six and ten. They spent two hours in bed, though it was fair to say that Fitch was not his usual attentive self. Philomena didn’t particularly mind. She was using the experience as a fortification, more than anything else. They were about to walk into something potentially dangerous, and she just wanted him close for a while.

The other two, they spent finding Fitch something to eat. In the nearest dining hall, they talked about nothing while he devoured pancakes and bacon. When he was done with his third plate, Philomena put her elbows on the table, and leaned in close. Sensing the change in her attitude, Fitch pushed his last plate aside and mirrored her stance.

“It’s in the library,” he said without preamble.

Philomena shook her head. “Impossible. Too much traffic.”

Her boyfriend was already shaking his head. “It’s in the library,” he repeated.

She sat back, folded her arms under her chest. “Did you check? Sometimes the d—”

“The dead lie, yes, I know, love. They don’t lie any more or less than the living. Yes, I checked. Second floor, utility staircase in the back coming up from the tunnel. There’s a wider-than-average crack in the wall. No, I didn’t open it. Six people have died in that room, love. I wasn’t going in there alone.”

“Uncommonly wise of you,” Philomena said, and stood up. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He blinked at her. “Where? What? Nooooooo. NO. No way. I’m not taking you there.”

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s the middle of the day. What could happen?”

“Death,” Fitch said immediately. “Whoever’s killing people on this campus catches us, and you get merc’d.”

The girl sitting at the table next to them froze and looked over, fork halfway to her mouth. Philomena smiled at her.

“Sorry,” she said. “We’re running lines.”

The girl gave her a slow, doubtful nod, and went back to her food. But she kept sneaking glances at them over the next few seconds.

“Way to blow our cover,” Philomena said conversationally. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We’re going to need a couple things,” she said later, as they were heading towards Fitch’s lab.

“Like police,” he suggested.

Philomena squeezed his hand. “No, Fitch. This is personal. No police. We take care of this on our own.”

“You know what they call vigilantes in court, love?”

“Batman!”

“No. Murderers.”

“Who said we’re going to kill anybody?”

“You, love. So many times.”

She considered this, decided it was true. “Fair enough. You still okay with that?”

Fitch looked over and down at her. He was such a gentle man. So sweet, so kind. But he had a hard side, too. That was why they were a perfect match.

“Whoever this person is, they took someone you loved,” he said. “We’re gonna kill them. And then I’ll bring them back so we can kill them again.”

They’d stopped walking at some point during that sentence, and just stood staring into each other’s eyes. Silently, Philomena stood on her tiptoes, and Fitch bent down to kiss her. Then, they resumed walking, as though nothing had happened.

“We need a fighter.”

“We do. You need to call your brother.”

Fitch sighed. “I truly will never be free of him.”

Philomena patted his shoulder. “We also need an engineer. Someone who can figure out how to get into the room.”

Fitch was silent for a long time. Then, as they reached his lab:

“We really have to wait until the next person disappears?”

Philomena grimaced. “You know the rule just as well as I do. Every time he takes someone, they stay missing for forty-eight hours before their body turns up. That’s the only way we have to know he’s in the room.”

“Fucked up,” Fitch muttered. “Alright. I’ll call Abercrombie. You know an engineer?”

“I’ll call Kyle. He knew Meredith, too.” She stretched up, gave him one last kiss. “See you soon, sweetheart. Have fun with the corpses.”

Two nights later, Fitch entered a sub shop on the east side of the city and sat across from a man who looked just like him—but far smaller.

“What do you want?” Abercrombie snapped, without preamble.

“Good to see you, too,” Fitch answered. “I need your help.”

“By which you mean Philomena needs my help.”

Fitch inclined his head. His brother smirked. “She need a dresser moved, or something?”

This went unanswered. After a couple seconds, Abercrombie’s smirk flickered, then deteriorated completely. He looked away from his brother’s icy eyes. “Alright,” he muttered. “What do y’all need?”

Fitch pulled out his phone and passed the device across the table. “You know how people have been dying around campus?”

Abercrombie nodded, took the phone. Read the screen. “Six this year. Police keep saying they’re accidents. Are they not? Oh.” He jerked. “Oh.” He brought the phone closer. His voice shook. “Oh no.”

Fitch watched. “Meredith was the latest victim. Philomena’s furious. I snuck into the morgue at the hospital and Called her back. She told me where she died. There’s a secret room in the library. We’re gonna make sure nobody else dies, Crombie. We need you in case it comes to a fight.”

Abercrombie’s face was white. His eyes were glued to the phone. Fitch gave him a minute to mourn the tall, willowy girl who’d been a close friend of all three of them. They’d all had Calculus together.

His brother closed his eyes. His shoulders trembled. One hand clutched the edge of the table, hard enough to crack it. His voice shook with grief. “Did she suffer?”

In his mind’s eye, Fitch saw Meredith’s mangled body. Heard her voice rattle through a strangled throat. He knew his voice was cold and empty. All the fire in the world couldn’t have warmed it.

“Yes.”

Abercrombie made a single, heartbroken sound. Very, very carefully, he set the phone on the table and slid it back across. “Did she know who killed her?”

Fitch shook his head. “Spirts’ minds are fragmented things. All she was able to tell me was the location of the room.”

His twin brother exhaled hard, and sat back in his chair. “What’s the plan?”

It had been an easy decision, calling Kyle Fuller. He’d been close with Meredith. He’d known most of the victims, actually.

Also, he owed her one. A big one.

Philomena made the long trek to the engineering campus, and asked around until she found him in the CAD lab. Hunched as he was, glued intently to the screen, he looked cartoonish. Big ears, big nose, big glasses, big hands. 

“Hey, Kyle,” she said.

Predictably, he did not hear her.

“Kyle,” she said again, louder.

Nothing.

She drew in a deep breath, and threw her voice into the room. “KYLE!”

He jumped, and looked wildly around until he spotted her.

“Fuck!” he barked.

Philomena smirked. “Sorry.”

He leaned back, stretched. Ran his hands through his thick hair and laughed. “What’s up?”

“I need to call in that favor, Kyle.”

“Word. Whatchu need?”

“I’m going to give you a call one night,” she said. “Soon. When I do, I need you to come to the library. And I need you not to breathe a word to anybody, now or after. You will carry this to your grave. Can you do that?”

He tilted backwards in his chair, so far backwards that he had to have been using magic to anchor himself to the floor. He looked up at the ceiling in thought.

“What’s this about, Philly?” he asked finally. 

“It’s about Meredith. It’s about all of them.”

His head snapped around. The floor beneath Philomena’s feet trembled.

“You know who did it.” It was not a question.

              “We know where,” she corrected.

              He gave her one slow, definitive nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

              Philomena’s smile had sharp edges. “See you soon, Kyle.”

A month went by. Philomena sat on pins and needles. She started to think it would never happen. The killer had gotten bored, or left campus.

              Then, one day, a young woman named Alice vanished—also from the Engineering school. The news spread like the cold. Philomena called Kyle, and Fitch called his brother. The four of them met at the library.

              “Didn’t expect you so soon,” Philomena said to Kyle, who’d been waiting for them at the designated arrival spot.

              “I’ve been studying here,” he said. “Figured I’d save myself the sprint. What’s the plan?”

              Fitch and Abercrombie came into the small room, just then. Philomena greeted them with a tense glance and checked her phone.

              “It’s ten. Library closes in two hours. We hide in here. At twelve-thirty, we track this guy down and save that girl’s life.”

              And that was what they did.

              “Alright,” Abercrombie growled. “Let’s go get this fucker.”

              Fitch got up and led the way, holding his phone out to light the darkened hallways. They descended a level, went to the other end of the building, and took a service door up a tiny, dusty staircase. Fitch turned right at the first landing, ignoring both the door and the continuation of the stairs, and pointed to the wall underneath said continually ascending stairs. “Right there. See that crack?”

              Kyle stepped forward and put his hands on the stone. All Philomena could see was his back. “Hmm,” he said. Then, after a couple more seconds— “Ingenious!”

              He did something, and the wall swung soundlessly inward. He stepped aside, and Fitch shone his flashlight into the room.

              “Looks like a hallway,” Kyle observed. “Shall we see where it goes?”

              Philomena’s heart was pounding against her ribs. She couldn’t believe he was so calm. She looked over at Fitch, saw him shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Abercrombie looked like he was already in fight-or-flight.

              “Let’s fucking do it,” he growled. “Shut that light off. Everybody hold hands. I’ll lead. Yell if you see trouble.”

              “In the dark?” Kyle asked dubiously.

              “Abercrombie’s a physiologist,” Philomena reminded him.

His frown cleared. “Pupillary modification?”

              Abercrombie turned to them. In the darkness, his irises glowed faintly red. “Something like that.”    The hallway was narrow. Dusty. And longer than it seemed like it could be. They wandered in the dark. Fitch’s palm was warm and moist in hers—Kyle’s, dry as a bone.

“Doors,” Abercrombie muttered after a while. “I’ll check them. Stay here.”

              “Horror movie vibes,” Fitch muttered as his brother’s glowing eyes faded into the dark. “Where is this fucker?”

              They waited in the darkness. “You feel anything, Kyle?” Fitch asked. His voice was as tense as his hand. “Footsteps? Machinery?”

              The engineer’s voice floated up to her from behind. “Too much background noise from the library A.C. That’s one of the things that makes this a prime location. Can’t feel anything through the floor.”

              Philomena jerked her head around, squinting at him. “Prime location?”

He chuckled. “If you’re gonna kill people, there aren’t many better places to do it.”

“Fucked up, Kyle,” said Fitch.

“Sure is,” the engineer agreed. “So is all this.”

At the very edge of her vision, Philomena saw a faint flash of light. She squinted into the darkness ahead of Fitch.

              Abruptly, Abercrombie materialized out of the darkness. His red eyes made Philomena’s blood run cold. In their faint glow, she saw him hold a finger to his lips.

              “Someone turned on a light at the bottom of a staircase. Stay quiet. Follow me closely. And watch your step. Philly, take Fitch’s shape.”

              Philomena swallowed, squeezed her boyfriend’s hand. She focused on the contact, feeling the strength in his palm, the texture of his skin. The rush and flow of the blood through his veins. She concentrated on that heartbeat, matching hers to his, until their hearts beat the same.

              And then her hand was the same size as his, and Abercrombie’s glowing eyes were looking at her chest. Her voice, when it came out, was deep and rumbled in her chest.

              “Done.”

              “You’re a shapeshifter?” Kyle asked. He’d dropped her hand during the transformation.

              “Most theatre kids are,” Fitch answered for her. “Let’s go.”

              They went down the stairs towards the light, Philomena moving uncomfortably in her temporary skin. They filtered out into a large, circular room. Drawings covered the walls, anatomical figures and graphs. There was a computer against a far wall.

But it was the room’s centerpiece that drew their eyes. A crude stone table jutted from the cement floor. Upon it lay a naked, bloodied figure.

She was not breathing.

The four of them stood in stunned silence.

“Fuuck,” Fitch breathed.

“Too late,” Kyle observed.

“Fitch,” Abercrombie said. “Wake her up. We need information. I’ll watch the stairs.”

His twin grimaced, but moved forward. He put his hand on the deceased girl’s chest—slowly. Respectfully. He spoke to her like a child, with quiet, soothing words. A feeling began to permeate the air. A sensation of prickling cold, a smell like lavender and grave dirt, a feeling that something was coming. Philomena shivered, and felt goosebumps break over her spine.

Black lightning began to gather around her boyfriend. The hair rose on Philomena’s arms as it poured into the corpse onto the table. When it ceased, Fitch removed his hand, and stepped back. His head sagged. His body slumped. His eyes, however, were bright and furious.

“She died in pain,” he murmured to them. “A lot of pain.”

The girl on the table lurched up, and screamed—a long, ululating howl. A sound of purest agony. The voice of a banshee from Hell. The girl raised one broken, bloodied arm, and pointed a crooked finger directly at Kyle.

Then she collapsed back onto the table, still once more.

Philomena turned head just in time to see Kyle swing his arm like a baseball bat. A bar of metal broke free from the wall and flew across the room, piercing Abercrombie’s chest and protruding out the other side. He staggered back, hands flying to the wound. His eyes were wide, shocked. He let out one single, startled breath—

and toppled to the floor.

Philomena gaped at him, unable to process what was happening in front of her eyes.

“Philly, run!” Fitch bellowed, and lurched towards Kyle. The other man simply raised a fist, and the stone of the table broke and flew at Fitch. The pieces battered him, drawing cries of pain and anger as they broke his flesh. Kyle drew back his arm again, and ripped another chunk of metal from the wall. This one had a point, and a sharp edge. He hurled it at Fitch. Without thought, Philomena hurled herself towards him. The projectile slammed into her, dug deep into her belly. The sensation was fire and the ripping of things that were never supposed to tear—and the object ripped outwards through her back. She collapsed on suddenly-nerveless legs, staining the floor with a pool of blood. The shock severed her concentration, and she shrank into herself again. At least she would die wearing her own face.

Something touched her shoulder. The pain vanished. The fog in her mind cleared. The bleeding stopped. She looked over, and found Abercrombie looking at her through hazy eyes. The pool of blood still spread from under him. He’d only been able to save one of them, and he’d chosen her.

Run, he said with his eyes. Live.

Philomena got to her feet, and looked for Fitch.

He lay slumped against the wall, with the projectile that should have killed her buried in his chest. Flat, empty eyes stared at her.

Color drained from the world. Philomena didn’t even move as Kyle came towards her.

              This is my fault. We should have called the police. I made him do this. He died because of me.

              “Oh, Philly.” Kyle’s voice was so soft, and so full of pain. “I’m so sorry.”

              She tore her eyes away from Fitch.

              “Wh…why did yo—what...” She lifted her hands, but she had no anger left.

              He shrank from whatever expression was on her face. “Sorry, Philly. In most stories, the good guys win. But this isn’t a story. Close your eyes; I’ll make it fast.” He reached out, and took her hand. She didn’t try to stop him.

              “Why?” she asked, a little stronger this time. He shook his head. He had no right to look so compassionate. Like he cared.

              “You don’t need to know. Just know that what I’m doing here will make the world a better place someday. Fitch didn’t die for nothing.”

              “You knew them,” she whispered. “You knew them all.”

              Now something like real pain tugged at Kyle’s face. “Just close your eyes, Philomena. It’ll be just like going to sleep.”