Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
The single sheet of paper that lay on the table was only a paragraph long, stating I wouldn’t publish my review of Void in any form until a week after the production closed. I scribbled my name on the signature line and dropped the date beside it . . . only to remember it was after midnight and technically November now.
I’d just finished correcting it when the door opened, and a man carrying a tablet strolled in. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and distinctly American. It wasn’t his jeans or T-shirt that gave him away, it was how he carried himself. Like me, he looked out of place, but he seemed as if he were trying very hard not to show it. His forced casualness gave it away.
“Tyler Quinn?” His voice was deep and serious. I nodded, and he flattened his lips into something resembling a polite smile. “I’m Josh Sharpe.”
Surprising. I rose and took his offered handshake. “Good to meet you.”
When it had become clear to me this evening that I couldn’t fit a nap in before my appointment, I’d spent my time after dinner scouring the internet for any information I could on Void. All I’d discovered was that Josh Sharpe was as much a mystery as his creation.
He was younger than I’d expected.
“If this is Void’s ten-year anniversary”—I strove for a conversational tone—“you were—what? Twenty-five when you started?”
He didn’t like my question. “Twenty-four.”
He gestured for me to return to my seat and took the one across from me, setting the tablet down on the long table between us.
“Just so we’re clear”—his expression was fixed—“my initial agreement with Refiner was with the entertainment writer. Not an investigative journalist who wants to do a deep dive. I get the reason for the last-minute switch, but you’ll be writing a review—and that’s all. I won’t be sitting for an interview, which you’ll be fine with, because your piece will be about Void. Not me. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me out altogether.”
Seriously? I arched an eyebrow. “I don’t usually let others dictate how I approach a subject.”
“And I don’t usually invite journalists inside my installation.” Because he saw Void more as an art installation than entertainment. He gave a slow, thorough blink after delivering his threat. If I didn’t agree to his terms, he’d send me packing.
Shit, I was going to blow this before I even got in.
I couldn’t let that happen. This story was too important to walk away from. My job, and potentially everyone else’s at the magazine, could depend on it.
I squeezed out an apologetic smile. “You got it. Review only.”
It set my mind burning with questions though. What was driving his need for privacy? Was there something illegal in his past, or was he just intensely shy?
No, maybe it was simpler than that.
Perhaps he stayed mysterious because it added to the myth Void had grown into. The boogeyman of haunted houses, conceived and run by a man who was a ghost.
Appeased, Josh turned his attention to the tablet and woke up the screen. “I’m going to read a series of statements,” he said, “and I need you to repeat each one back to me. Ready?”
I didn’t love where this was going, but I nodded anyway.
His gaze moved across the screen as he read the words aloud. “I will not touch the performers at any time unless instructed to.”
I cleared my throat. “I will not touch the performers at any time unless instructed to.”
“But I understand they can and will touch me.”
I fed the same sentence back to him, even matching his indifferent tone. And that was how it went, him reading and me repeating.
“For my safety and that of the performers, I will follow all instructions given to me until I’m told my journey through the void is over. I agree to stay on all marked paths. I understand I’m required to go through the void alone.”
As I recited the statements, unease crawled up my back. It was a smart and sinister move to make the guests go through Void alone. There’d be no comfort or support, no one to lean on if things got too intense.
“Once I enter the void,” Josh stated, “I will not speak unless specifically instructed to.”
I echoed his words, but my tone wasn’t as confident as I wanted it to be. No way this blanket statement wouldn’t come back to haunt me.
He set the tablet down, and a faint cruelty gleamed in his eyes. “However, you’re allowed to scream whenever you’d like.”
“Great,” I said flatly.
“There’s an exception to the last rule.” He leaned back in his chair and studied me critically. “If you get too scared or don’t feel like you can continue . . . you have an out. You can say safety or mercy if you want to quit or feel unsafe. A cast member will ask you to confirm your decision, and if you do, then everything will stop. But you must leave immediately. Understood?”