Elijah didn't sleep anymore.
He didn't dare.
The moment his eyelids dropped, he heard voices behind them. Not dreams—memories. Theirs. Not his. He didn't know how many stories had been shoved inside him, only that they were all screaming to be remembered.
And tonight…
Tonight, he would find the place where they all began.
Room 9.
---
It started with a blueprint.
An old, brittle hospital floor plan tucked behind the janitor's cabinet. Elijah found it while digging through old security records, hoping to find proof he'd hallucinated everything.
But the blueprint told another story.
The current hospital wing had eight rooms on the lower level.
Except the plan showed nine.
Room 9 was in the morgue sector.
No door. No hallway leading to it. But it was drawn clearly. A rectangular space labeled Experimental Storage – Do Not Catalog.
No one had ever mentioned it.
None of the techs, not even the retirees, spoke of a ninth room.
So he asked the one person who might remember.
The dead.
---
Drawer 9.
He'd never opened it before.
Now it called to him.
His fingers trembled as he gripped the handle.
He expected resistance, but it slid open too easily, like it had been waiting.
Inside was no body.
Only a key.
Old. Rusted. Covered in dried, dark flakes that could have been blood.
Attached was a tag.
> "TO BE USED ONLY WHEN TRUTH CANNOT BE HIDDEN."
---
He wandered through the lower corridors with the key in hand. The lights dimmed behind him as he walked, one by one, until only the faint green glow of the emergency strips guided his steps.
There was a door at the end of the hallway that he'd always assumed led to a boiler room.
But now… it had a keyhole.
He placed the rusted key inside.
It turned.
And the door opened.
To Room 9.
---
It was not a room.
It was a vault.
Walls made of surgical steel. Ceiling painted black, covered in names—so many names.
Written in ash.
Written in blood.
And in the center, an operating table.
Above it, chains.
Below it, drains.
And at the foot of the table, a mirror.
Not a modern one.
A warped, antique slab of silver-glass that pulsed slightly with each breath Elijah took.
It was then he realized something else.
> He couldn't hear his own footsteps.
> Couldn't hear himself breathe.
> Couldn't hear anything… except them.
The whispers.
> "You finally came."
> "We've been so patient."
> "Do you know what this place is?"
He didn't answer.
But the mirror did.
It rippled.
And showed him a scene he never should've seen.
---
A girl strapped to the table.
Eyes open. Still alive.
A man in surgical garb leaning over her, whispering apologies as he injected formaldehyde while her heart still beat.
Her screams were silent.
Because her tongue had been removed.
In the reflection, Elijah saw himself.
Not as the man performing the act—but watching.
Younger. A medical student. An intern.
Eyes wide. Frozen.
He had seen it happen.
He had never spoken.
---
The mirror shattered.
Not from impact.
From revelation.
The whispers turned to voices.
> "Tell them."
> "Tell them what they did here."
> "Tell them how they made us forget."
The names on the walls began to glow.
Each one pulsing red.
Thousands.
Tens of thousands.
Every name belonged to a body that passed through this place and left with a rewritten cause of death.
Victims of experiments.
Of silence.
Room 9 had been the center of it all.
And it had been erased from maps, logs, and memory.
Except for Elijah.
Now it lived in him.
---
He stumbled back.
The door had vanished.
The chains on the ceiling began to swing.
The table was no longer empty.
He was lying on it.
Watching himself watch himself.
> "You listened. Now they will too."
> "You are the archive."
> "Open the book."
And in his hands, the book returned.
Pages alive.
Ink that flowed like blood.
And on the next page… a new name appeared.
VALERIE BANE.
Her face.
Smiling.
Then twisted.
> "She's next."
> "Unless you stop pretending this is just about you."
---
The walls began to collapse.
The table vanished.
He stood alone in an empty hallway again.
No door.
No mirror.
But in his hand…
The key was gone.
And in its place:
A scalpel.
Freshly used.
Blood on his gloves.
And Valerie's voice over the radio:
> "Elijah? I'm heading your way. Power's acting up again. You okay?"
He looked at the book.
Next to her name was one word:
"UNCONFESSED."
He ran.