Michael had been seeing strange messages appear around the house—scrawled on mirrors, blinking across old screens, carved faintly into the walls.
"Michael, it's me."
"Michael, it's me, father."
But the latest message unsettled him in a way the others hadn't:
"Michael, please listen to me. I need you to check under the bed in, what used to be... my room.... You'll see a trapdoor that leads to an elevator... That elevator will bring you to an underground facility... You'll find your sister down there, or... what's left of her. Please, just... put her back together for me. I'll be waiting for you here, as long as I can."
Against all reason, Michael had done exactly as the message instructed. And doing so had broken him—again.
He returned to his room, exhausted and barely holding himself upright, feeling like a ghost inside his own skin. Slowly, he stepped inside and spoke into the silence:
"Father, it's me... Michael. I did it. I found it. It was right where you said it would be. They were all there. They didn't... recognize me at first, but then... they thought I was you. And I found her. I... put her back together... Just like you asked me to. She is free now, but something is wrong with me. I should be dead, but I'm not. I've been living in shadows. There's only one thing left for me to do now. I'm going to come find you. I'm going to come find you..."
The room stayed silent.
But Michael felt something watching.