Flynt and Avery stand before the mansion’s entrance, where a glass chandelier hangs by a silver chain, enveloping the room in a warm glow. The house displays a staircase adorned in gold trimmings, spiraling up the room into an interior balcony. Inset into the side of the stairway is an immaculate elevator. Avery glances past her reflection on its surface, untouched, unlike the dust-ridden surfaces throughout the house. There is a mannequin just outside that pristine pair of elevator doors, wearing a floral hat and dress. A man, clad in a fanciful tuxedo, gazes down the grand stairway at Flynt and Avery. He descends to ground level, while Avery stuffs her hands into her pockets.

“What are you doing here?!”

“Uh... kidnapping. What are you doing?”

The man throws off his jacket and reaches for the pistol at his side. Avery lunges at the man, tearing her hands out of her pockets, decked in brass knuckles, and she smashes her fist up the side of his head, pummeling the man against the wall. Eventually, she lets up, walking away from the motionless, bloody body on the base of the stairs.

She glances about the room before returning to the staircase. Flynt walks in tow, creeping over the body, up the stairs, and across the landing, where they settle before a grand hallway. Overtop each of the doorways is a golden plaque. One plaque reads Kitchen. Another reads Laundry, and they pass several such rooms as they traverse the wide hallway. At the end of the long hall is a solitary door, over which rests a thin plaque labeled Jack.

They step through the door, into a pitch-dark passageway. Flynt draws his matchbox from out of his pocket, strikes a match, and holds it out in front of him, illuminating the hall. The dark hardwood floor shines underneath Flynt as the light from the match provides a dim, fleeting glow, resounding all throughout the corridor. Thin streams of water drip down the walls, discoloring their decorated trims, and a faint radio static echoes down the hallway.

“Man, what the fuck is up with the murder hallway?”

Flynt shrugs.They creep further through the hall, the wet floorboards clicking beneath them. A thin chandelier hangs overhead, its chain squeaking as it sways. Water drips along the chain, down the chandelier, settling into shallow puddles upon the hardwood floors. Just beside the door at the end of the corridor, there lies a desk, littered with papers, potted plants, framed photographs, and an old-fashioned radio. Avery saunters through the doorway, dragging Flynt just behind her.

Underneath them, the hardwood floor is tidy. The wallpapers are well-kept, and the room is bright. Scattered about the bedroom are low tables laden with glass statuettes, with a bed so large that it takes up half the room. Mounds of decorated sheets and comforters rest over the bed, on top of which a slack-jawed young man sits up. Flynt leans against the door, fidgeting with his sleeves, while Avery approaches the boy.

“Hey… Are you Jack?”

“Yes, I am. Well, that might depend on whom I am called by.”

“Okay, cool. I’m kidnapping you.”

“I was afraid that might be so.”

“Wow… I’m honored.”

Avery stands upright and marches toward the head of the bed frame. She reaches a hand into her pocket and pulls out a rag. Jack lurches backward, sliding off his bed, onto the floor.

“Wait — I will go quiet! There is no need for that!”

Avery pauses.

“Oh... Okay, sure.”

She reaches her hand over the bed, hanging it over Jack. He grabs her hand and pulls himself to his feet.

“You know, this seems too easy…”

“What? How do you figure that?”

Avery pauses.

“There was one dude out there guarding your room. You left the damn front door unlocked. I don’t trust that shit.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Oh. That is shocking.”

While Jack trots around the bed, Avery turns toward the door from which they came and pushes it open. That same hall is now bright. The radio is nowhere to be seen, and the wallpapers are unstained. Flynt and Avery exchange glances as they pace down the hallway.

“Jack… What’s with the murder hallway? Why did it change just now?”

“Murder hallway? Will there be a murder?!”

“Nah… Don’t worry about it.”

After marching down the revitalized hall, they stop short of its entrance. Flynt steps away from the door, staring glassy-eyed at it. At once, that door flies open. A man in a sleek tuxedo swipes an axe at Flynt. Flynt weaves backward, and, as the man swings the axe past Flynt, the sharp back-end of the axe punctures Avery’s leg. As the man tears the axe away from Avery, she snatches at the handle, grabbing it just under his hand. Flynt steps forth, punching the man in the face. He stumbles back, and Avery grabs the axe as she falls to a knee, clutching at her wound. Avery lurches forward, driving the axe through the man’s chest, and the man plops to the ground in a bloody puddle. A splotch of blood pools down Avery’s leg.

Flynt hobbles out onto the landing. Jack remains in the doorway, quivering, staring at the body. Flynt glances back, backpedals, and guides Jack across the hall. They pace down the stairway, over another body, out the front doors, and into the yard. On the path of cobblestones, Jack, his voice shaking, taps Avery on the shoulder.

“Pardon. How are you walking?”

“Huh?”

“With your leg, I mean. How are you able to — are you okay?”

“Yep… I’m good. Are you?”

“Yes.”

Flynt’s car idles just outside the front gate, sputtering behind it a thin cloud of smoke. Deagon leans out the front window, glaring at the group.

“Well, I’ll be damned. We’ve got two more stops.”

Dark clouds well up over the night sky. Without a word, they approach the vehicle. Flynt walks Jack to the backseat, while Avery hobbles around the front of the car.