The darkness enveloped me, my heart thumping in my ears, the anticipation of finally going home contrasting with a weighing sense of disappointment at having to leave him behind.

Silence engulfed me in the darkness of the armoire. There were no sounds at all—no buzzing, no shaking—just a stillness that echoed my own uncertainty, the only sound the relentless thumping in my ears. My imagination had conjured expectations of something magical, perhaps a tangible shift in reality. But as moments passed without incident, disappointment threatened to overshadow my hopes.

"Blake, nothing's happening," I murmured, my voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and resignation. The cramped space offered no solace, only the sensation of pins and needles creeping into my limbs. I shifted uncomfortably, seeking relief from the confinement, but Blake remained silent.

"Blake?" I called out softly, the sound of my own voice reverberating in the emptiness. Another minute dragged on, each second stretching into an eternity. With a surge of urgency, I pushed against the door of the armoire, yearning for answers in the void. "Blake, can you—" I stopped mid-sentence because, as I swung open the armoire door, Blake was no longer there. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood there, frozen in disbelief.

Could it be possible that I was back?

I looked around the room, scanning for any sign that things had changed, but everything appeared exactly as it had been before, the only difference being Blake no longer standing in front of me.

With a mixture of hope and trepidation, I made my way to the stairs and descended to the door at the bottom. I placed my hand on the doorknob, listening for any sounds out in the hallway before turning it. The familiar sounds of my family's life filtered through the door, and I hesitated for a moment. It was a strange feeling, a mix of longing to return to my time and a growing curiosity about what might be waiting on the other side.

I squeezed my eyes closed, took a deep breath, and then opened the door, stepping out into the hallway.

"And where the bloody hell have you been?" I jumped at the sound of my dad's voice. He was standing just outside the library doors, letting out a relieved sigh. His rough Black Country accent was as comforting as ever, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Dad!" I exclaimed, rushing to him and hugging him tightly, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around me comfortingly.

"And what the heck are you wearing?" he asked, a puzzled expression on his face as he held me at arm's length.

"Well, I was playing hide and seek, but the boys didn't come and get me," I explained innocently. I glanced down at Blake's dinner jacket. "I found it in the loft."

Dad's face crumpled into a frown. "For ten hours?" he asked in disbelief. "You've had everyone worrying, even your mom." As he said the word "mom," it was like a light bulb had gone off. He began to head for the stairs and shouted, "Annabelle! I've found her."

"Where are the boys?" I asked.

"Will's asleep; it's way past his bedtime. Tom is outside looking for you in the gardens. Honestly, Felicity, what has gotten into you?" Guilt washed through me.

"We were playing hide and seek, Dad. I found some old books up there and lost track of time." My father gave me a strange look as if he didn't believe me, and I couldn't blame him. The excuse sounded lame even to me.

"We'll talk more later," he said, his voice stern, but he squeezed my shoulder as we got to the top of the stairs.

We continued walking down the stairs together. "Honestly, Flick, we've all been looking everywhere. Even poor Mr. Baker," Dad continued, his tone a mix of scolding and relief.

"I'm sorry," I said as we walked down the stairs.

"Where have you been?" my mom asked as she rounded the corner from the ballroom. "Felicity!" she exclaimed, her hand going to her chest.

"Sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Sorry?" she repeated. "Where the hell were you?"

"We were playing hide and seek. I went up to the loft and then got caught up reading up there." My mom looked towards my dad, her face confused.

"So, you didn't hear us calling for you?" she asked, disbelieving me. "Do you know how worried we have been? Right, you will apologise to your brothers, and you will go down and see that poor old man, Mr. Baker. He's been out looking for you too. He's only just gone back to his cottage." At the mention of the cottage, my heart fluttered.

"I'll apologise to everyone in the morning."

"No, you will go now," she insisted. I looked at the grandfather clock; it was already 11 p.m.

The way my mother was acting, you would think that I was ten years old.

"Okay," I said finally and then walked past them both, exiting the manor onto the grounds.

As I stepped out of the manor and onto the grounds, a rush of conflicting emotions swept over me. The once-familiar pathways now lay obscured beneath a blanket of unruly weeds, and the vibrant blooms that once adorned the garden beds had wilted, casting a sombre pall over the estate. I walked along the path through the woods, shafts of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy, casting eerie patterns of light and shadow upon the forest floor. The beginning spatter of rain hit the top of my head.

I broke through the trees and was shocked when I saw the cottage. Sadness hit my stomach as I saw the dilapidation—the once vibrant paint now faded and peeling, revealing the weathered wood underneath. The garden was now in a state of disrepair, weeds tangling around the picket fence.

I walked to the door and knocked lightly.

The distinct sound of footsteps shuffling across the creaky wooden floors inside reached my ears, and I stepped back slightly.

The door creaked open, revealing Mr. Baker, his face etched with surprise.

"Felicity?" he asked, his voice tinged with doubt as he questioned whether he had remembered my name correctly.

The darkness enveloped me, my heart thumping in my ears, the anticipation of finally going home contrasting with a weighing sense of disappointment at having to leave him behind.

Silence engulfed me in the darkness of the armoire. There were no sounds at all—no buzzing, no shaking—just a stillness that echoed my own uncertainty, the only sound the relentless thumping in my ears. My imagination had conjured expectations of something magical, perhaps a tangible shift in reality. But as moments passed without incident, disappointment threatened to overshadow my hopes.

"Blake, nothing's happening," I murmured, my voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and resignation. The cramped space offered no solace, only the sensation of pins and needles creeping into my limbs. I shifted uncomfortably, seeking relief from the confinement, but Blake remained silent.

"Blake?" I called out softly, the sound of my own voice reverberating in the emptiness. Another minute dragged on, each second stretching into an eternity. With a surge of urgency, I pushed against the door of the armoire, yearning for answers in the void. "Blake, can you—" I stopped mid-sentence because, as I swung open the armoire door, Blake was no longer there. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood there, frozen in disbelief.

Could it be possible that I was back?

I looked around the room, scanning for any sign that things had changed, but everything appeared exactly as it had been before, the only difference being Blake no longer standing in front of me.

With a mixture of hope and trepidation, I made my way to the stairs and descended to the door at the bottom. I placed my hand on the doorknob, listening for any sounds out in the hallway before turning it. The familiar sounds of my family's life filtered through the door, and I hesitated for a moment. It was a strange feeling, a mix of longing to return to my time and a growing curiosity about what might be waiting on the other side.

I squeezed my eyes closed, took a deep breath, and then opened the door, stepping out into the hallway.

"And where the bloody hell have you been?" I jumped at the sound of my dad's voice. He was standing just outside the library doors, letting out a relieved sigh. His rough Black Country accent was as comforting as ever, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Dad!" I exclaimed, rushing to him and hugging him tightly, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around me comfortingly.

"And what the heck are you wearing?" he asked, a puzzled expression on his face as he held me at arm's length.

"Well, I was playing hide and seek, but the boys didn't come and get me," I explained innocently. I glanced down at Blake's dinner jacket. "I found it in the loft."

Dad's face crumpled into a frown. "For ten hours?" he asked in disbelief. "You've had everyone worrying, even your mom." As he said the word "mom," it was like a light bulb had gone off. He began to head for the stairs and shouted, "Annabelle! I've found her."

"Where are the boys?" I asked.

"Will's asleep; it's way past his bedtime. Tom is outside looking for you in the gardens. Honestly, Felicity, what has gotten into you?" Guilt washed through me.

"We were playing hide and seek, Dad. I found some old books up there and lost track of time." My father gave me a strange look as if he didn't believe me, and I couldn't blame him. The excuse sounded lame even to me.

"We'll talk more later," he said, his voice stern, but he squeezed my shoulder as we got to the top of the stairs.

We continued walking down the stairs together. "Honestly, Flick, we've all been looking everywhere. Even poor Mr. Baker," Dad continued, his tone a mix of scolding and relief.

"I'm sorry," I said as we walked down the stairs.

"Where have you been?" my mom asked as she rounded the corner from the ballroom. "Felicity!" she exclaimed, her hand going to her chest.

"Sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Sorry?" she repeated. "Where the hell were you?"

"We were playing hide and seek. I went up to the loft and then got caught up reading up there." My mom looked towards my dad, her face confused.

"So, you didn't hear us calling for you?" she asked, disbelieving me. "Do you know how worried we have been? Right, you will apologise to your brothers, and you will go down and see that poor old man, Mr. Baker. He's been out looking for you too. He's only just gone back to his cottage." At the mention of the cottage, my heart fluttered.

"I'll apologise to everyone in the morning."

"No, you will go now," she insisted. I looked at the grandfather clock; it was already 11 p.m.

The way my mother was acting, you would think that I was ten years old.

"Okay," I said finally and then walked past them both, exiting the manor onto the grounds.

As I stepped out of the manor and onto the grounds, a rush of conflicting emotions swept over me. The once-familiar pathways now lay obscured beneath a blanket of unruly weeds, and the vibrant blooms that once adorned the garden beds had wilted, casting a sombre pall over the estate. I walked along the path through the woods, shafts of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy, casting eerie patterns of light and shadow upon the forest floor. The beginning spatter of rain hit the top of my head.

I broke through the trees and was shocked when I saw the cottage. Sadness hit my stomach as I saw the dilapidation—the once vibrant paint now faded and peeling, revealing the weathered wood underneath. The garden was now in a state of disrepair, weeds tangling around the picket fence.

I walked to the door and knocked lightly.

The distinct sound of footsteps shuffling across the creaky wooden floors inside reached my ears, and I stepped back slightly.

The door creaked open, revealing Mr. Baker, his face etched with surprise.

"Felicity?" he asked, his voice tinged with doubt as he questioned whether he had remembered my name correctly.

"Sorry to just knock on like this, but I wanted to apologise. It seems everyone was searching for me." As I said this, the rain started to fall harder.

"Come in," he said, opening the door wider and stepping back.

I nodded and followed him inside the cottage. As I entered, I couldn't help but notice several changes that had occurred in the space since my last visit. The sofas, once a different colour, were now a dark shade of blue, and the entire kitchen area had undergone a significant transformation.

"Please, have a seat," Mr. Baker said, gesturing towards the worn armchair by the fireplace.

"I'm okay, thank you," I replied, standing by the one familiar thing I recognized, the wooden dining table. I trailed my fingertips along the wood, remembering being sat on it only a day or so ago. My gaze wandered to the coffee table where an almost empty bottle of whisky stood.

Mr. Baker's eyes followed me as I trailed my fingers along the table. His expression seemed thoughtful at first, but there was an undercurrent of something I couldn't place. It made my stomach twist uneasily.

"Your parents were quite worried about you," he said finally, his voice calm but his gaze lingering on me. "They were searching for you everywhere, you know."

"I know, I'm sorry I lost track of time, Mr. Baker," I replied, my words feeling hollow as I glanced around the room again. Something about being here, in this space that felt both familiar and foreign, was unnerving.

Mr. Baker's thin smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he sat down in the armchair. "You can call me Neville. No need for 'Mr. Baker'."

"Neville," I said softly, the name rolling awkwardly off my tongue. It triggered a faint unease in me, like a distant bell ringing in the back of my mind. I turned my attention back to the room, my gaze drifting to the whisky bottle again. "I really am sorry for all the trouble I caused. I appreciate you looking for me."

His head tilted slightly, his smile fading into something unreadable. "I imagine you were up in the loft," he said slowly. "Did you... find anything interesting?"

I froze for a moment, my hand brushing against the edge of the table. "Not really," I lied, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just some old books and furniture."

Neville's eyes narrowed slightly, and the room seemed to grow colder. "Hmm," he murmured, leaning back in his chair. "You're quite an interesting young lady, aren't you?"

I didn't know how to respond to that. "It's getting late," I said quickly, taking a step toward the door. "I should probably get back."

Neville's gaze sharpened, and his tone shifted, low and cool. "Stop."

I froze in place, every instinct in my body screaming at me to leave. "Excuse me?"

"Sit down," he said, his voice carrying a weight that made my knees feel weak. His expression had hardened, and the frail old man I'd first met seemed to vanish before my eyes.

"I think my dad might be waiting for me," I stammered, glancing toward the door.

Neville's smile returned, but it was sharper now, predatory. "I said sit down."

Slowly, reluctantly, I sank into one of the dining chairs, my heart pounding. His gaze bore into me, unblinking and intense.

"I saw you," he said suddenly, his voice quiet but sharp.

I blinked, confusion and fear mingling in my chest. "Saw me?"

"Don't play stupid," he snapped, his tone rising. "You've been there."

My blood ran cold. I forced myself to hold his gaze, though my hands gripped the edge of the chair tightly. "I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice trembling.

Neville's eyes flared with anger, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched the armrests of his chair. "Don't treat me like a fool!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the small cottage.

He paused, his gaze shifting to a spot on the floor. His expression darkened, and his voice dropped to a low murmur. "She thought she could leave me. That I wouldn't notice. But I saw her. I saw her climb into that dumbwaiter. She couldn't escape me."

The air in the room grew heavy, suffocating, as Neville's words hung in the silence. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

"I... I really need to go," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I stood slowly, my legs shaky beneath me.

But Neville rose too, his movements surprisingly swift. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his tone icy.

Before I could react, he grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. Panic surged through me as I tried to pull away, but he was stronger than I'd anticipated. His other hand shot out, gripping my ponytail and yanking me backward. Pain exploded across my scalp as I stumbled, my head colliding with the corner of the table.

The world tilted, and darkness closed in around me.