Chapter 18 · The Seventh Frame

"Mark, what the hell is that thing doing?" Amy's voice cracked as the door pulled her across the living room.

The scars on her forearms twisted beneath her skin, bright red and moving fast. Mark caught her left wrist, but the burn lines stretched toward the black doorway hard enough to drag him half a step forward.

"Let go!" Daniel shoved away from the wall. "Mark, shut it down!"

"I've tried!" Mark's burned hand shook. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gray. "It won't close."

Amy dug her heels into the floor. She'd blown through three red lights to reach him after his text—an address and get here now. She'd expected a fight, maybe another body. She hadn't expected a door standing in the middle of Mark's apartment where no door had been before.

It had no hinges. No knob. No frame she recognized. Just a slab of dark wood cut into empty air, its edges trembling like heat over pavement.

"What happened?" she demanded.

Mark swallowed. "It appeared two hours ago. Then it played the SOS I sent three years ago."

"Your SOS?"

"The one I sent before I disappeared." His gaze stayed fixed on the doorway.