William came back the next morning.
Earlier than he needed to.
He told himself it was to get ahead of the day, beat the crews, get clean measurements before anything changed. That was the word he kept using.
Changed.
Like there was a moment things decided to be different.
The building looked the same from the outside.
Same brick. Same dead windows. Same hollow feeling sitting behind it like something waiting to be filled.
William stood across the street for a moment longer than necessary, staring at it.
Trying—without really admitting it—to remember it wrong.
Inside, the air felt colder than yesterday.
Not by much.
Just enough to notice if you were paying attention.
The crew was already there.
Same four men.
Same positions.
Doing the same things as yesterday.
One of them glanced up as William walked in, then went back to work without saying anything. No greetings this time. No jokes.
Michael wasn't anywhere in sight.
William didn't waste time.
He moved straight for the shaft.
Didn't look around.
Didn't speak.
Just walked.
The mark was still there.
He stopped a few feet from the edge.
Didn't step closer right away.
Something about seeing it again—exactly where he left it—should've been reassuring.
It wasn't.
Because it didn't look like something he had added.
It looked like something that had always been there.
William stepped forward slowly and crouched near the edge, eyes locked on the red line.
Six inches.
Vertical.
Clean.
The small notch through the center exactly where he'd made it.
But it wasn't alone.
He leaned in slightly.
There were more.
Faint. Older. Worn into the concrete just enough that he hadn't noticed them yesterday—or maybe hadn't been meant to.
Parallel lines.
Same length.
Same spacing.
Each one marked with the same small notch.
Running along the edge of the shaft in a sequence that was too even to be accidental.
Too precise to be ignored.
William didn't move for a long time.
"Good reference marks."
The voice came from behind him.
One of the workers.
William didn't turn.
"What?" he said.
"For alignment," the man replied simply. "Helps keep everything consistent."
William looked back at the marks.
Then down into the shaft.
Then back again.
"I didn't see these yesterday," he said.
The worker shrugged.
"They've always been there."
William nodded slowly.
Like that made sense.
Like that was an answer.
But his eyes stayed on the marks.
Counting them.
Without meaning to.
There were too many.
"Yeah… okay. I think I'll be on my way now. Thank you."
William turned before anyone could answer.
He cut down a side hallway and pushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The fluorescent light flickered once before settling.
He pulled out his phone.
Opened the photo.
His mark was there.
Six inches. Vertical. Clean.
But it wasn't alone.
There were others.
Not as many as he'd just seen—but more than there should've been. Some faint. Some worn. Some sharper, newer.
Placed with intention.
Not random.
Not mistakes...........
He stared at the screen, his grip tightening slightly.
He wasn't crazy.
He wasn't crazy.
William walked back to his truck, slower now. Controlled.
He climbed inside, shut the door, and sat there for a moment before pulling out his journal.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
(There is more than one mark. Some are faded. Some are damaged. None of them were here yesterday.)
He pressed harder than he needed to.
Then closed the journal.
He drove straight home.
Didn't take another call.
Didn't check his mirrors.
He just needed the day to end.