"You do realize that what you two are saying is absolutely insane, right?" Harriet declares incredulously, her voice echoing slightly against the damp walls.
Seated on the freezing stone floor of the old wine cellar, Maya and Jenks have taken the time to reconstruct the events of this nightmarish evening for Harriet and Camille.
The young girl, wrapped in the inspector's jacket, has listened with unusual intensity. Harriet, on the other hand, has interrupted almost every sentence, firing off a barrage of questions, demanding clarifications, or proposing theories that bordered on the absurd… But when they recounted Elias's tragic end, her objections fell silent, replaced by a heavy stillness.
"Isn't it simply possible that we're all victims of a collective hallucination?" she finally asks, her voice laced with desperate hope. "You said they drugged our tea with some hallucinogenic substance. And maybe poor Camille is just suffering from sleepwalking!"
"Are you serious?"
The young Frenchwoman sits up abruptly, locking eyes with the journalist in an intense stare. Her voice, firmer than at any point until now, cuts through the air like a knife. Since regaining consciousness, something in her has changed—she seems more grounded, less afraid, as if a newfound resolve has taken root within her. Ignoring Harriet, she turns to Jenks with cold determination.
"Are you certain that leaving this place isn't an option?"
Jenks sighs, running a hand over his head before answering.
"Jeffrey and Robert started clearing the path to the gate, but the road is still impassable. Even by car, we're stuck. As for leaving on foot, that's out of the question—it's freezing outside, and we're miles from any civilization. It would be suicide. Our safest option is to reach Ashford's office, get our phones, and contact the outside. I can call for backup."
Harriet throws her hands up in frustration.
"You're a cop, for God's sake! You could take down that... that psychopath with your bare hands and tie him up somewhere!"
"You didn't see what he did to Elias." Jenks straightens slightly, his features hardening. "He picked him up like he weighed nothing and threw him out the window without breaking a sweat. Harriet... I'm afraid we're not dealing with an ordinary human being."
The journalist shakes her head, as if trying to wake from a bad dream.
"This is insane… completely and utterly insane…" she repeats, almost to herself, her voice wavering under the weight of disbelief.
Camille leans slightly toward Maya, who is sitting beside her.
"You're awfully quiet."
The young woman, still motionless, indeed hasn't said much. For a while now, she has been staring at a spot on the floor in front of her.
"Weak and worthless…" she murmurs, her brows furrowed in deep concentration.
"Excuse me?"
Maya finally lifts her gaze, her features marked by intense contemplation.
"Sara… She said that Mr. Hall—or rather, whatever was controlling him—kept calling her weak and worthless. I've heard that before…"
Slowly, Maya straightens and begins pacing the empty space of the cellar, her footsteps echoing faintly on the cold stone floor. She seems lost in thought, her movements and expression betraying an effort to piece together a distant memory. She walks past the dark walls and abandoned barrels, letting her instincts guide her.
Suddenly, she stops dead in her tracks.
"The old and the poor and the weak…" She murmurs the words, repeating them like a revelation.
She whirls around to face the others, her hands opening toward Jenks, as if pleading for him to understand.
"Laying waste to the old and the poor and the weak!" Her tone sharpens, urgency taking over. "That's what Hugo told me in front of Jimmy's father's grave! I don't know how I could've forgotten something like that. Inspector, you were looking for a motive? Hugo is convinced he's purging society!"
Jenks furrows his brow, pulling a notebook from one of the pockets of the jacket draped over Camille's shoulders. He flips quickly through his notes, his expression growing more and more focused.
"Like some kind of purification delusion?" he asks while continuing to scan the pages.
"Doesn't that make sense?"
"It could. We've seen similar cases with so-called 'angels of death' in hospitals—people who believe they're liberating their victims from suffering. Others think they're acting according to a divine or higher will. But this… this isn't mercy. Hugo sees himself as a cleaner, a purifier of society. He's targeting groups he considers undesirable… the old and the poor and the weak."
He closes his notebook and offers Maya a small smile.
"Looks like we have our motive."
"And how does that help us?" Harriet crosses her arms and rolls her eyes.
Her tone is sarcastic, but the slight tremor in her voice betrays her unease. Jenks turns to her, a spark of analysis flashing in his gaze.
"More than you think. In your opinion, which emotion is most likely to trigger a delusion like this?"
"Contempt? A sense of superiority? Envy?"
"Anger," Camille answers calmly, considering the question before continuing. "That's what the other girl, Sara, said, isn't it?"
"Controlling his anger…" Maya, still deep in thought, murmurs to herself, repeating the words to commit them to memory. "If you can control his anger, he cannot reach you. Oh…"
Jenks, Harriet, and Camille all fix their attention on her.
"What?" Jenks asks.
"Hugo takes control of his host when they're angry!"
She pauses, her eyes glimmering with a mix of excitement and gravity.
"That night at the hotel, Jimmy insisted we attend his comedy show. I turned him down… and he looked so, terribly upset. Hugo must have taken over shortly after. And Jimmy's father… he was becoming violent, maybe because of his son's constant crying, or because Rose only had the child to save their marriage. With Sara, it was the same thing. Mr. Hall would get frustrated whenever he couldn't capture the perfect shot of her. That frustration must have opened a door for Hugo."
Camille clutches the edges of Jenks's jacket slightly, murmuring darkly:
"Patrick…" Her face hardens, and she clenches her jaw. "The little boy I was babysitting… He was so excited when we arrived at the hotel. Restless, impossible to control. He was running everywhere, touching everything. He even broke some of the birthday decorations…"
Maya nods softly, her eyes filled with understanding.
"That could have been enough."
"And you," Jenks turns to Harriet, "I'm guessing Jimmy didn't appreciate your questions when you went to see him. Hugo took advantage of that and locked you in the freezer."
Harriet crosses her arms, skepticism written all over her face as she scoffs,
"Great. So what's the conclusion? Be nice to him, and he'll let us go?"
Her voice is sharp, cutting, betraying her frustration and her inability to accept the idea that a spirit or a demon could be behind all this chaos. Jenks closes his notebook with a firm gesture and helps Camille to her feet, the cold visible in the mist escaping from his lips.
"First, we can't stay here," he states calmly but with authority. "We need to get back upstairs before we freeze. At the very least, we have to lock ourselves in a room with access to a mirror. Apparently, we're about to have company, and considering the last time I saw Ryan Rand, he tried to have me assassinated, I have no interest in finding out what he's planning this time."
Maya, lost in thought until now, begins to pay more attention to her surroundings. She realizes that there is no longer any noise coming from upstairs. The furious pounding from Hugo, which had echoed insistently not long ago, has stopped. Maybe he wasn't able to break down the door and follow them into the winter garden. But this heavy silence doesn't mean they are safe.
"Leaving? Absolutely not!" Harriet swats away Jenks's offered hand, her face tense. "Jimmy could find us!"
Jenks sighs but keeps his composure.
"And if we stay here, you and the girls will freeze to death. That's not an option. I know it's not ideal, but the sigils Maya knows how to draw seem to work."
"Oh, well, if we're putting our faith in magic drawings, then everything's just fine!" The journalist rolls her eyes, her sarcasm returning in full force.
Yet, after a moment of hesitation—or perhaps because her fingers are beginning to go numb—she finally accepts his hand and gets to her feet, her hair disheveled and her expression still sour. Jenks adjusts his coat over Camille's shoulders.
"First, we find the most secure place in the house. Then, we decide what to do next. Harriet, you wouldn't have seen Simon, by any chance?"
"No, and I'm not going to pretend I care," the woman shrugs with obvious disdain. "He was no better than the others…"
Maya exchanges a look with Jenks, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They both know they need to look for the young man. Whatever she thought of him, Maya couldn't bring herself to wish him the same fate as Jeffrey.
Jenks cautiously leads the way, and Harriet follows, muttering irritated comments under her breath, her tense movements betraying her nerves. Maya lingers at the back, wrapping a protective arm around Camille to support her.
"How are you feeling?" she asks the young Frenchwoman, lowering her voice slightly.
"Surprisingly… fine, given the circumstances," Camille takes a shaky breath, but to Maya's surprise, her expression remains calm and steady.
The young woman's gaze falls on the French girl's wrists, and her heart tightens at the sight of the scars striping her delicate skin.
"I'm sorry, I saw you when you..."
"Ah." Camille follows her gaze, but after a moment of thought, she seems willing to talk about it. "I started after Sea View. I blamed myself for... for what happened. I felt like doing this... it paid my debt. Like I at least had control over something in my life, even if it was pain."
"And... now?"
The young girl lifts her eyes, thinking for a moment, searching for her words.
"I don't really remember what was happening when... Sara was there, but... I don't know how to explain... she left something behind."
"Something?"
"Yes, like an emotion... or the memory of an emotion. Not clear, but... it's there. A bit like when you remember something from the past."
"Nostalgia?" Maya suggests gently.
"Something like that, yes. She was strong... and brave, despite everything she went through. She died trying to protect the children. I can understand that. I... I'm glad she found peace, and even if it doesn't erase that little boy's death, even if it doesn't change the past... I feel like I helped... in something good."
Then she smiles, a true, sincere smile. Peaceful. Maya gently squeezes her arm, offering a reassuring presence.
"I'm glad," she murmurs, before looking up at the hatch Jenks has just opened.
They all climb out hurriedly into the winter garden, their hearts pounding in unison, and feel immense relief as they see the furniture hasn't given way. The greenhouse door remains relatively intact against Jimmy's frenzied assaults. On the other side, silence now reigns—oppressive, but reassuring compared to the chaos from earlier. Jenks, always cautious, steps forward first to assess the situation. He leans in to take a quick look through the gap in the door, then signals to them that the way is clear.
With a collective effort, they set to work moving the heavy shelving unit blocking the entrance. The dense wood creaks slightly, but they work with nervous precision, each sound feeling amplified by the suffocating silence. Once the path is cleared, Jenks steps out first, Maya follows closely, then Camille, and finally Harriet, who brings up the rear, casting wary glances behind her as if expecting a shadow to emerge at any moment.
A grim silence welcomes them.
Jeffrey's body still lies on the floor, his face horrifically disfigured, crushed into a pool of dark blood that spreads in thick streaks around his head. Maya averts her eyes, but the image remains burned into her mind.
Upstairs, Robert's screams—heard when he was sprayed with pepper spray—have also gone silent. A stillness so complete that it seems to absorb even the sound of their breathing. Jenks, on high alert, hesitates for a moment, scanning the top of the stairs. Uncertainty flickers across his face before he glances toward the main hallway and abruptly freezes.
"Ashford's office… it's open…"
Intrigued, Maya leans forward and indeed sees the door wide open. A warm light spills from the room, casting a perfect rectangle of brightness onto the dark hallway floor.
"The phones…" she breathes, hope rekindling inside her.
Jenks nods, keeping his voice low but firm.
"Follow me. Camille, Harriet, wait here."
With methodical precision, Jenks and Maya move down the hallway, their footsteps as silent as possible. Maya feels her heart pounding wildly, a mixture of hope and fear. What if this was finally over? She catches herself imagining the scene: they retrieve the phones, call the police, and within hours, reinforcements arrive to neutralize Ashford, Robert, and even Hugo. It would all finally be over.
But another thought creeps in, insidious. Jimmy. What would happen to him? She bites her lip, fighting a surge of conflicting emotions. Why worry about him? After all, his anger had been the source of all this. If he had been able to control himself, none of this would have happened.
But as she dwells on it, an even more uncomfortable truth emerges: Hugo had taken control because Ashford had threatened Jimmy with hurting her. It was her that had pushed him over the edge. A wave of guilt crashes over her. What does that make me?
She shakes her head, banishing the intrusive thoughts just in time to see Jenks cautiously lean into the doorway of the office. She holds her breath, following his movement with her eyes.
"AH!"
A figure suddenly lunges from inside the room.
Hugo bursts forth, his face still speckled with blood, twisted into a savage grin, his bat raised high. Before Jenks can react, he swings down violently, striking the inspector directly in the face.
Jenks collapses heavily at Maya's feet, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud that echoes through the hallway. Unconscious, he doesn't move.
Panic grips Maya's chest like a vice. Time slows as she stares at her fallen partner, eyes wide with shock. But instinct takes over. She pivots sharply on her heels, ready to flee, her heart pounding so fiercely it feels like it might explode from her chest.
She catches a glimpse of Harriet and Camille farther down the hall, their faces pale and contorted with horror, shouting their names in a mix of despair and terror. Their arms reach out helplessly toward her.
Maya doesn't have time to respond. Her legs prepare to propel her toward them.
A powerful arm suddenly wraps around her waist, stopping her dead in her tracks. A warm breath brushes against her ear as a voice—both singsong and terrifyingly menacing—whispers:
"Not so faaast…"
Despite all her strength, Maya can't break free from the relentless grip. She struggles with desperate fury, trying to elbow, hit, scratch—but it's like striking a wall. The next moment, a coarse fabric is pressed over her face. A sharp, nauseating smell floods her nose and mouth, engulfing her like a toxic cloud.
She chokes, her head caught in a vice. Her vision blurs, the hallway's edges rippling like a wet canvas. Everything becomes hazy, indistinct, unreal. She barely registers Harriet grabbing Camille by the arm, dragging her away despite the young Frenchwoman's screams.
"MAYAAAAA!" The cry rips through the air, desperate, almost animalistic.
Hugo tightens his hold, the cloth still firmly pressed against her face. She feels her strength draining away, her body growing heavy—too heavy. Her head slumps against his shoulder, and she hears him again, his voice soft and venomous, whispering in her ear:
"Come on now, time for bed, Maya… Sleeeep…"
A faint pressure on the top of her head follows, a grotesque parody of a tender kiss, and the icy shiver it leaves behind is the last conscious sensation she registers.
Maya moves cautiously through the dimly lit hotel hallway, her footsteps muffled by the worn-out carpet. Every creak of the wooden floor beneath her feels deafening, betraying her position. Her heart pounds in her chest, so violently that she wonders if Jimmy can hear it, hidden somewhere in the shadows.
She grips the spirit box tightly, as if the simple object could protect her. The hallway lights flicker slightly, and a shiver runs down her spine. She glances right, then left, ears straining for the slightest sound. Nothing. Only that suffocating silence, so heavy it seems to seep into her very thoughts.
At the end of the corridor, the door she saw in the scrying mirror catches her gaze. Another ghost is waiting there… Harvey… or maybe Doctor Bose. Taking a shaky breath, she steps forward, her legs stiff with fear. She casts nervous glances behind her. Yet, there's nothing. Only the empty hallway, bathed in that flickering light.
She finally reaches the door and places a trembling hand on the handle, tucking the spirit box under her arm as she fumbles through the collection of keys she has gathered. But just as she is about to slide the key into the lock, a nearly imperceptible shift in the air behind her makes her head snap around. Too late.
A warm breath against her neck.
A rush of air.
She barely has time to turn before a brutal blow explodes against her skull.
A sharp, searing pain rips through her head, as if a blade of fire has been driven into her mind.
The spirit box slips from her grasp and crashes to the floor, its buttons dull under the fractured screen. Maya stumbles, a crushing wave of dizziness overtaking her. Her vision sways, the hallway twisting into a blurred whirl of flickering lights and receding walls. Her legs buckle beneath her—but before she can collapse, firm hands grip her shoulders, holding her upright.
A low, cruel laugh echoes inside her already-dazed mind.
Jimmy.
She tries to move, to scream, but her muscles won't respond. Her thoughts turn sluggish, foggy. The pain fades, replaced by an unbearable weight pressing down on her.
She wants to fight, but her mind drifts, teetering between awareness and oblivion. Her eyelids flutter open and shut, struggling to stay awake.
She feels something warm trickling down her forehead.
Blood. She's bleeding. The blow has split her scalp.
She hears her own breath—ragged, uneven—as the world around her dissolves, leaving behind only one overwhelming, terrifying, all-consuming sensation.
Powerlessness.
Maya slowly opens her eyes, blinking with difficulty even though the room is bathed in darkness, save for the pale glow of the moon. For a second, she expects to find the crumbling walls and musty stench of one of the storage rooms in the Sea View Hotel. But no. She can't be there.
The scar she has carried since that nightmare itches—a deep, unpleasant irritation at the base of her hairline. The wound may no longer bleed, but it leaves behind a raw, agonizing sensation that refuses to be ignored. She swallows, her throat dry and scratchy, an awful, medicinal taste coating the back of her mouth and nose.
Everything in her feels numb, anesthetized—her limbs heavy, her breathing slow. She tries to focus, to pull her thoughts together, but they drift, lost in an impenetrable fog. Where is she? What happened? Unable to move her head, her gaze sweeps across the room, landing on a low coffee table just within sight and a set of armchairs on the other side.
She realizes she is lying on her side, resting on a comfortable couch. Her head, slightly elevated, seems to be resting on a cushion. No… not a cushion. It's uneven, too warm, too alive. A soft heat radiates beneath her cheek. Something presses against her waist—a presence both familiar and invasive. Slowly, she becomes aware of it. A hand rests there, settled as though claiming ownership.
She shudders, but her body refuses to react.
And then, suddenly, a movement.
That hand, shifting gently, almost tenderly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Another sensation follows: a soft pressure at the crown of her head. No, not a pressure… a caress. Fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles through her hair.
Her throat tightens as the realization crashes over her—where she is, but more importantly, who is with her.
"Restless sleep?" a mocking voice murmurs just above her.
Her heart skips a beat. She knows, without even looking up, that it's Hugo. His voice, smooth and singsong, drips with amusement, as if he's savoring every second of his dominance.
He watches her, his ever-present, cruel smile tugging at his lips as he continues to stroke her hair with twisted affection. She wants to sit up, to shove him away, to scream—but her body refuses to obey. The weight of his hand on her waist grows firmer, almost possessive.
"Ah, my poor Maya," he purrs, entertained. "Look at you… so fragile, so exhausted. You should be grateful, you know. If I weren't here to take care of you… who would?"
Maya keeps her eyes fixed on the room, refusing to let them meet his. But he tilts his head slightly, his grin widening as he leans in closer.
"Stay still," he breathes, his voice deceptively soft—a threat disguised as a promise. "Everything will be fine… as long as you behave."
And that feeling crashes back into her, stronger than ever.
Powerlessness.