Someone had been in there, and Mark wasn’t going to let them get away. Flipping the switch on, Mark holstered the pistol and flashlight, grabbed the door and pulled it into the hall. He turned back to the bathroom. Ceiling tiles. Perfect.

Standing on the toilet, he brought back up the flashlight, popped out a tile, and stood on tippy-toes to get a better view into the dark space. The beam of light flashed around, revealing pipes, pillars and reflecting off wire trays. For the most part the space was empty, and while dark, he could make out the four walls. One was directly to his right, another a few feet behind him, the other two far to the left, and further forward. There was no access through here to the larger maintenance area ahead.

He neither saw nor heard signs of movement. Inspecting the tiles around him, he realized that there was a decent layer of dust and grime covering everything. No one could have gone through here without disturbing that mess. The light flashed around the tiles as he searched for evidence of passage. A tile two away from the one he had popped out showed exactly what he was looking for. It had been moved, recently. Trails were carved out of the dust, and while not anything resembling marks feet or hands would make, his prankster had shown themselves very clever thus far, so he wasn’t surprised they left little evidence.

The beam followed the trail of disturbed dust as far as it could, about ten feet, disappearing and reappearing at random, but in the general direction of--That was it! Mark ducked back into the bathroom and ran out and back around the corner. There had been too much duct work between his vantage point and the elevator, but he was certain that was where the trail had been moving towards. He pressed the call button and the doors opened. Stepping in, he reached up and pushed against the panels on the roof of the elevator car, until the disguised maintenance hatch popped up.

Putting the flashlight in his teeth, Mark reached up with both hands to either side, and hoisted himself straight up into the shaft, sitting down on the roof, legs hanging down into the car. A quick glance around showed plenty of signs of disruption. Either this car required a lot of maintenance, or someone had been using this space regularly. And there was a hatch that lead into the space above the ceiling tiles. A small hatch. A very small hatch.

Mark paused. When he had seen the blood on the mirror, the one thing that was too cliche, too ridiculous for him to believe, he had completely switched gears. There was a person behind all of these shenanigans, and he was going to find them. Now, as he looked at that small hatch, and the marks in the dust leading towards or away from it, a chill went down his spine, as a primal horror gripped him.

No human could fit through that grate, as it was a grate, not a hatch. The two screws that should have held the bottom fast were gone. He reached over slowly and pulled at the bottom lip of the grate. It pulled away from the wall only an inch before meeting resistance. It was barely bigger than his hand. He let go and it snapped shut.

Mark sat motionless. His mind was blank. A numbness had creeped through him and consumed him. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. He closed his eyes. What was he doing? What was he chasing? “How do you know if you’ve gone insane?” The words came out of his mouth, and the thought gave him a weird tickling, itching sensation around his head. Opening his eyes, he scanned the inside of the elevator shaft with the flashlight.

Marks in the dust. That’s all they were. No person had been up here. No animal or creature had made these marks, they were just lines and smudges made by currents of air. There was a grate missing a couple screws. So what? Had there ever even been any blood on the mirror? Had the door ever been locked? What if he had been hallucinating? The mask, the door, the mirror, the monitor, all of it. How could he even know what was real and what wasn’t?

He sat there for a couple more minutes, then looked up the shaft. There was another floor, and there was still the basement, but all desire had left him to go searching. “Shit,” he said out loud, when he remembered the broken door. How would he explain that? Sighing, he flicked off the flashlight, put it back in his belt, and lowered himself into the elevator car.

Reaching up he replaced the maintenance panel. He pressed the button showing two triangles pointed away from each other, and the doors opened. The half-light of the hall no longer felt eerie, it was depressing. Numbly wandering down the hallway, he turned the corner to check on the damage he’d done to the door, and halted.

He felt himself sway a little, then staggered to his knees, head falling into his open palms. Tears came to his eyes unbidden, and he felt a wimper leave his lips. Then, “No. No, no, no. No…” He was sinking into a black hole of despair. This couldn’t be happening! Forcing himself to look up he saw the door, sitting on its hinges, open, undamaged. The door frame was also whole.

Swallowing hard, wiping away tears, Mark stood, shakily. A mask could be moved. Blood could be wiped away. Video tapes could be tampered with. Software could be buggy. Scientists could have high salaries, stressful jobs, and secrets to keep. But a broken door and splintered door frame could not be repaired or replaced in the few minutes he had spent in the elevator. Some things were not possible. His being crazy, was not one of those things.

Almost Mark turned away and left the building for good. He had almost done it before, and he seriously wanted to do so now, but the black maw of the bathroom almost seemed to call to him. The complete darkness of that room standing open just a few feet from him was calling to him. He could hear it, not with his ears, but on the edge of consciousness, rasping out, “Maaark…. Maaark….”

A foot staggered forward. A hand reached out to the wall for support. Another foot shuffled. He gripped the edge of the door frame. No splinters. Why weren’t there splinters? He turned into the room. Blackness surrounded him. How was it possible for a room to be so dark with a light so close by, even if it was around a corner?

His hand felt around the wall for the switch. Flick. The reflection of a teary-eyed Marine stared back at him in the mirror. The words, “help me” written across his forehead. Mark stepped closer to the mirror, abject terror seized him. He felt and saw his eyes go wide, the message on his forehead, written in what appeared to be grease, scrunched a little. Reaching up he wiped a finger across the first letter. The letter smudged and his finger came away black.

The first instinct was to rub at it, wash it off. He had a sink and paper towels here. After one rub, he stopped. Wait. If he removed the grease he would never know if he was imagining it. He clung to the thought, held on to it like he would a life preserver on stormy seas. Mark ran to the elevator, hit the call button, then slipped inside as soon as the doors began to open. He quickly pressed the “L” and the triangles pointed towards each other.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he repeated out loud as the elevator hummed. Then it dinged and the door opened. He ran across the lobby and opened the door to the break room. Leaping over tables and chairs he was at the bathroom in seconds. He checked the mirror in there. The light was much brighter here, and the message, though badly smudged by his first attempt to remove it, was visible. Pointing at the grease he said, “Don’t you dare disappear on me!”

As he ran out of the bathroom and back through the cafeteria, Mark found himself wishing he had his phone. Company policy didn’t allow mobile devices in the labs, they couldn’t risk anyone taking pictures or video. Given the number of rules he was breaking, it suddenly seemed silly that he hadn’t bothered to break this one. It wasn’t like he was going to be selling industry secrets. Still, the risk had not seemed worth it before now. While bringing bullets and the shotgun could get him fired, having his cell phone here could get him sued. And probably for a lot of money. His sanity would have been worth the price.

The door opened and he turned for the metal detector. He ran through it, green light flashing down on him, and he reached for the door to the labs. The color of light registered, but he found himself not caring. Maybe the metal detector was buggy too, but he had to find out if there was grease on his forehead or not.

Sprinting down the hallway, he opened the door to the changing room. “Yes!” He cried out. Dan was there, climbing out of his cleanroom suit.

“Whoa, what’s up Rambo?”

“Dan! Is there grease on my forehead?”

The kid seemed dumbstruck and blinked a few times, but then frowned and nodded, “Yeah, man, there is. What happened?”

“What does it say?”

“Uh, say? It doesn’t look like it says anything, bro, just a smudge of grease.”

The mirror, “It’s written backwards. Like, all the letters are flipped. Can you read it?”

Raising an eyebrow, Dan shook his head. “I don’t see any letters. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. I’m great. I smudged it a bit, but it did say something before. But you can see the grease, right?”

Dan was starting to seem very hesitant, “Yeah, bro, I see the grease.”

“And you’re not high right now?”

“Whoa now!” Dan got defensive for a second, but the look Mark gave him cut it short. “Nah, man, I’m not high tonight. Just need to pee real bad.” Mark sighed and closed his eyes. “What’s your deal?”

“I just, I…” Opening his eyes Mark looked at Dan. “Dan, have you experienced any hallucinations in the lab? And I don’t mean from your drugs.”

The boy suddenly got very serious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mark took a couple steps closer, but Dan didn’t seem intimidated. “Don’t mess with me, Dan. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit tonight, and I’m not in the mood. Tell me what you know.”

“You think you scare me? You have no clue what fear is.” Mark raised an eyebrow, and Dan sighed. “Look, Mark, there’s a reason I come in to work wasted every night, OK? I don’t want to talk about it. How’d you even get grease all over yourself? What’ve you been up to?”

Mark knew he had a great poker face, but Dan had him cornered. He didn’t respond, and Dan nodded. “We all got our secrets. So you saw some things. Join the club.” Kicking off the last leg of his suit, Dan passed him and opened the door, exiting the room.

Grease all over? Looking down at himself he realized Dan was right. There were smudges of grease on his shirt and pants. His hands were smudged all over. He had climbed into an elevator shaft. He had put his head in his grease-covered hands. Was it just a smudge? Were the words only in his imagination?

Following Dan, Mark opened the door and started down the hallway. Dan had just reached the other end and opened that door. Jogging to catch up, Mark opened the door to hear Dan’s squeaky sneakers crossing the lobby. He followed Dan into the bathroom. The boy peed while Mark washed his hands, scrubbing at the grease. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was grateful for Jeremy’s suggestion to keep a clean uniform in his locker.

A toilet flushed, and Mark saw Dan through the mirror as he turned and approached. The sink next to him turned on as the kid began washing his hands. Their eyes met in the mirror. “So, what did it say?” Dan asked.

Mark took a good look at the smudge on his forehead. There was no real indication that it had said anything anymore. Had he messed it up that much? He thought he could maybe make out the remains of a couple of the letters. Looking back at Dan, he answered, “Help me.”

Was that a smirk? “I gotta get back before Wanda thinks I’m napping or snacking. Just…” His face had changed back into a serious expression. It didn’t suit him. “Don’t quit, Mark. Please.”

“Give me a good reason not to.”

“Because… Well, because you’re probably the only one who… can.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, but Dan broke eye contact and turned to leave. Can? Can? Can what? Can quit? I can quit so I shouldn’t? The boy was gone now. Looking back in the mirror, for just a moment, he remembered the message and it seemed clear to him on his forehead again, but then it was just a smudge. Help me. The only one who can. Grabbing some paper towels he began scrubbing his forehead with them. Help who?

“When exactly do you get a day off?”

Mark shrugged. “Whenever they hire another night guard. Then I might get a night or two off.”

“I hope that happens soon. You seem more tired every day.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

Laughing she hugged him, “That’s true. Well, hero, go get some sleep. I’m taking everyone to my sister’s so we don’t keep you up.”

“Thanks, babe. Love you.”

She kissed him. “I hope they hire someone soon.”

Nodding, he climbed the stairs. The house was quiet, but Mark couldn’t sleep. Rolling over, he picked up the TV remote from the nightstand and turned it on. He browsed some options then decided on an old sitcom he’d heard of but never watched.

Leaving it on just loud enough to hear, but not understand, he closed his eyes again and finally drifted out of consciousness.