OFF EXIT 23 — PART II

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE ROOMS THAT SHOULD BE EMPTY

The knocks stopped.

Not faded.

Not drifted away.

They just… ended.

Like someone had decided they were done making noise.

Ayla stayed frozen under the metal staircase, her back pressed against the cold support beam. Rain hammered the awning above them, but the sound felt distant compared to the silence in the walkway.

The teenage girl held up a finger, telling her not to move.

They listened.

Footsteps again.

Slow.

Measured.

Not searching.

Approaching.

Ayla could feel them now, more than hear them, the way you feel pressure change in a room when someone enters behind you.

Then Mason’s voice echoed down the corridor.

“Everybody stay where you are,” he called. “Power should be back any second.”

His tone was wrong. Too steady. Like he was reading from a script.

The girl under the stairs whispered, “He always does that.”

“Does what?” Ayla asked.

“Talks like everything’s normal,” the girl said. “Like he’s helping.”

A shadow crossed the light spilling from the office window.

Someone passed by the stairwell.

Ayla caught a glimpse of a long coat, dark fabric dragging slightly against the concrete.

Not Mason.

Not anyone she had seen before.

Her heart started pounding again.

The footsteps moved past them.

Then stopped.

Directly above their heads.

They could hear the slow inhale.

The pause.

The exhale.

Like someone standing still just to prove they could.

Ayla squeezed her eyes shut.

Please don’t look down.

Please don’t know we’re here.

The teenage girl’s hand tightened around Ayla’s wrist.

Then the footsteps continued.

Moving away.

The girl waited until the sound faded into the rain before she finally spoke.

“You see why I said you can’t stay out here?” she whispered.

Ayla nodded.

“What happens now?” she asked.

The girl hesitated.

“Now,” she said, “we find out what he wants from you before he decides to take it.”

CHAPTER NINE: MASON’S LIE

The power snapped back on without warning.

Lights flickered along the balcony.

The vending machine hummed.

The motel returned to looking almost normal.

Almost.

Ayla could see everything again.

The couple’s door still hung open.

The woman was gone.

The man was gone.

Room 11 was empty.

No struggle.

No blood.

No sign that anyone had been there at all.

Mason stood in the middle of the walkway, flashlight in hand.

The dark smear on it was gone.

He turned when he saw Ayla step out from under the stairs.

“Ayla,” he said quickly, relief rushing into his voice. “Thank God. I was worried you’d run.”

She studied his face.

The tight jaw.

The tired eyes.

The way he kept glancing down the hallway.

“Where did they go?” she asked.

Mason frowned. “Who?”

“The couple,” she said. “Room 11.”

He blinked. “There was no couple in that room.”

The words landed wrong.

“There was a woman on the ground,” Ayla said. “You were kneeling next to her.”

Mason’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

“I… you must be mistaken,” he said. “You probably saw shadows in the dark.”

“That’s a lie,” the teenage girl said.

Mason turned sharply. “You should be in your room.”

“You know exactly what happened,” the girl shot back. “You always do.”

Mason’s grip tightened on the flashlight.

“Ayla,” he said carefully, “this place does strange things to people. The storm, the power outages, the isolation—it messes with your head.”

Ayla stepped closer.

“Then explain this,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket and lighting the screen. The battery flashed at 1%, but it was enough.

She opened her camera.

On the screen was a photo.

The woman from Room 11.

On the ground.

Pointing at the doorway.

Mason’s face went pale.

He stared at the screen like it was something that should not exist.

“You said no one was there,” Ayla said. “So why is she in my phone?”

Mason did not answer.

The teenage girl whispered, “Because when people disappear here, they don’t just vanish from the rooms.”

“They vanish from the story,” Ayla said.

Mason finally spoke.

“You don’t understand what you walked into,” he said. “None of you do.”

“Then make me understand,” Ayla said.

Mason looked down the hallway again.

“He doesn’t like when we talk about him,” he said quietly.

“Then talk fast.”

CHAPTER TEN: THE NIGHT THAT REPEATS

Mason lowered his voice.

“This place isn’t just a motel,” he said. “It’s… a stopping point.”

“For what?” Ayla asked.

“For people who are running,” he said.

The teenage girl snorted. “Everybody’s always running.”

Mason nodded. “From something. From someone. From a version of themselves they don’t want to face.”

He looked at Ayla.

“And every once in a while, someone comes through who isn’t running. Someone who’s being… brought.”

A chill crept down her spine.

“Brought where?” she asked.

Mason swallowed.

“There’s a pattern,” he said. “Storms like this. Power outages. The same rooms. The same exit sign lighting up when it shouldn’t. People arrive thinking it’s coincidence.”

“It isn’t,” the girl said.

“What happens to them?” Ayla asked.

Mason hesitated too long.

“They don’t leave the same way they came,” he said.

The teenage girl crossed her arms. “You mean they don’t leave at all.”

Mason didn’t argue.

“Then why are you still here?” Ayla asked.

Mason met her eyes.

“Because someone has to be.”

The rain pounded harder.

“Every time it happens, one person is… taken,” Mason said. “And the rest of us get sent back to the road. Like the night never happened.”

Ayla’s stomach twisted.

“You’re saying this has happened before,” she said.

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

Mason didn’t answer.

The teenage girl did.

“More than you’d believe.”

Ayla shook her head. “Then why is this time different?”

Mason’s voice dropped to almost nothing.

“Because he said your name.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN: WHAT HE KNOWS ABOUT HER

They went back inside the office.

The heater hummed like nothing was wrong.

The coffee pot was still warm.

Everything felt too normal.

Mason locked the door.

“You said he’s here for me,” Ayla said to the girl. “Why?”

The girl leaned against the counter.

“I don’t know your whole story,” she said. “But I know this: he doesn’t hunt people who are lost.”

“Then who does he hunt?” Ayla asked.

“People who already made a choice,” the girl said. “And are trying to outrun it.”

Ayla’s throat tightened.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” the girl said. “You just don’t like it.”

Mason pulled out a ledger from under the desk. Old. Thick. Pages yellowed.

“This book records every storm night,” he said. “Every guest who never checked out.”

He flipped it open.

Names filled the pages.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Some had dates next to them.

Some didn’t.

Mason turned to the last page.

One name was written in clean ink.

CARSON, AYLA.

Ayla felt the room tilt.

“You wrote my name before I even walked in,” she whispered.

Mason’s hands trembled again.

“It was already there,” he said.

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not,” the girl said. “Not here.”

Ayla stared at the page.

“How does he know me?” she asked.

Mason hesitated.

“Because he doesn’t see who you are tonight,” he said. “He sees what you did.”

The words hit harder than she expected.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said.

The girl tilted her head.

“You sure about that?” she asked gently.

Images flickered in Ayla’s mind.

A highway at night.

Headlights.

A sudden movement.

A sound she had tried not to remember.

Her hands tightened into fists.

“No,” she said.

Mason closed the ledger.

“He comes for people who leave something behind,” he said. “Something unresolved. Something that never got answered.”

Ayla backed away from the desk.

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said.

The lights flickered.

The rain slammed against the windows.

Three soft knocks echoed through the office door.

CHAPTER TWELVE: WHEN HE COMES INSIDE

Nobody moved.

The knocks came again.

Same rhythm.

Same spacing.

Same promise.

Mason whispered, “He’s not supposed to come into the office.”

The handle turned.

The door opened slowly.

He stood in the doorway.

Tall.

Hood up.

Face still hidden in shadow.

Not rushing.

Not threatening.

Just… present.

The air felt heavier with him in the room.

Like breathing required permission.

His voice was calm.

“Ayla,” he said.

Her name did not sound like a question.

It sounded like confirmation.

The teenage girl stepped in front of her.

“She didn’t do anything,” the girl said.

He tilted his head slightly.

“That’s not true,” he said.

Mason raised the flashlight with shaking hands.

“You can’t take her,” he said. “That’s not how it works.”

The man’s gaze shifted to Mason.

“You said that last time too,” he replied.

Mason flinched.

Ayla felt her chest tightening.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

The man finally looked back at her.

“To finish what you started,” he said.

Ayla’s mind raced.

“No,” she said. “You’re wrong. That was an accident. I didn’t mean—”

His voice cut through hers.

“You drove away.”

The words froze her.

The rain outside blurred into memory.

A dark road.

A figure in the headlights.

A sudden impact.

A scream swallowed by the storm.

Her breath came out in a shaky gasp.

“You didn’t stop,” he continued. “You didn’t call. You told yourself it wasn’t real.”

Tears burned her eyes.

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He stepped closer.

“So was he.”

Mason shouted, “There has to be another way!”

The man looked at him.

“There always is,” he said. “But she already chose.”

He turned back to Ayla.

“Come with me,” he said. “And this ends.”

Ayla looked at the teenage girl.

At Mason.

At the door.

If she ran, someone else would disappear.

She knew it.

Her hands shook.

“Is this how it always ends?” she asked.

The man answered softly.

“This is how it finally becomes honest.”

Ayla took a breath.

Then another.

And stepped forward.

Behind her, the storm kept falling.

But the highway outside was already going quiet.