Through the Glass (A Storybook Novel 1)

by Kira Moericke

  “Just go check on the boy!”

  It takes me a moment to realize what is about to happen. Even though my temples still pound, I scramble off the floor and hurry under the stairs, where there are thick spider webs. I get down on my stomach just as the door to the top landing opens and the sound of feet pound down the stairs, knocking the dust from the bottom of the steps into my eyes. I struggle to keep from groaning as I dig my palms into my eyes, trying to rid them from the dust and irritation.

  “Stupid kids.” A man steps onto the floor and starts down the hallway. He has a messy mop of brown hair and a strong build. From the creases in his hands, I guess he is about forty. He’s wearing a plain white shirt, a pair of pants that someone would buy from Fleet Farm or something, and construction boots. He walks towards the hallway and to the door with the big A.O. SMITH tank. He glances around, as if searching for someone, before opening the door and disappearing inside.

  I feel panicky as the man disappears into the room with the contraption and doesn’t come out instantly. “Go check on the boy!” is what the woman upstairs had yelled. Did that mean . . . Sudden realization dawns on me like a slap in the face. Ignoring the pain that pounds inside my head, I scramble to my feet and hurry to the room the man just went into. Inside the room, the man is gone, but a faint light glows from the other side of the A.O. SMITH tank. Noises come from the same spot as the light, too. Carefully, I creep into the room, step over the pipes that run across the floor, and stare at the floor where there is a vent-like hole, big enough for a man to slip through. Getting down on my knees, I place both hands flat on the concrete floor to balance myself as I lean forward to peer inside the hole. Below is a white room and a small ladder that leads to the floor. From somewhere down there, I hear voices.

  “What did you do to them?!” a voice shouts. It’s Maxwell, and he sounds pissed.

  “Shut up,” the man who went down there grumbles.

  “What did you do to them?!” Maxwell repeats. “What did you do, you son of a bitch?!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” There is a sudden cracking sound that sends fear and anguish running down my spine. Then the man speaks again, sounding closer. “Damn kid has a mouth on him.”

  I jump to my feet and hurry around the large tank, ducking into a corner to blend with the shadows. I wait, holding my breath as I hear the ladder rattle as the man climbs up it. Ducking to the floor the best I can, I watch the man crawl out of the hole and fix the cover over it. He brushes his hands off on his jeans as he murmurs something to himself. I watch him, my lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen.

  The man steps out of the room, still mumbling to himself. “Now where did that damn girl go?” Then he closes the door, casting the room into darkness.

  I count to ten in my head–just to make sure that the guy is gone–before I let out a breath and suck in a lungful of stale air.

  Adrenaline rushes through me at my new discovery. I know where Maxwell is and where hopefully Lynne is too! I get up to my feet and walk around the A.O. SMITH machine to the hole in the floor. I trail my fingers along the floor in search for the cover, but instead, I touch something that crinkles. I strain my eyes to see it. It’s a piece of paper with the words she and he and scream on it.

  “I can’t find the girl!” the man shouts from somewhere outside the door. “No, I don’t know where she is.”

  In panic, I quickly fold the piece of paper, stuff it into my bra, and start to trace my fingers along the floor again in search for the hole.

  After a moment, my fingers touch something cold. I dig my fingers through the little holes and pull the cover up. With not a lot of effort, I move the cover to the side, revealing the hole, which is dark. I have to take deep breaths of air to calm the fear that is starting to stop me from continuing. I don’t know what else is down there besides Maxwell.

  “Hey, Willow!” The man’s voice is almost right outside the door. “Where are ya?”

  I realize at this moment that I’m more afraid of the man finding me than descending down into the dark hole. Turning myself around, I stick my feet down in the hole first and dangle them until they find the ladder. Inching my way down, I keep my gaze on the closed door until my head sinks under the floor and I’m engulfed in darkness.

  My foot touches the floor sooner than I expect. Planting both feet on the floor, I let go of the ladder and walk blindly to a wall, knowing there has to be a light switch somewhere. My fingers run along the cool ridges of the cinderblock wall without any luck. After a moment, I give up and turn to the opposite direction of the ladder. “Maxwell?”

  “Sara?” His voice comes from straight ahead.

  “Maxwell?” I stretch my arms out forward and shuffle across the room. It takes me a moment to get across the room, but when I do, I feel wood against my hands. “Maxwell?”

  “Sara, stay there. Stay. Right. There,” he orders.

  Ignoring his words, I feel my hand along the wood until I finally feel a chilly knob. I grab it with one hand twist while I use my other hand to slowly push the door open, expecting to see Maxwell. A pungent odor strikes my nose, making me cough. It’s musk and something else. Something awful. Reaching to my right, I feel for a light switch.

  “Sara, where are you?” Maxwell’s voice is close.

  “I’m in this room,” I say as loud as I can without trailing my voice back through the hole.

  “Sara, stop,” Maxwell says, his voice panicked.

  But my fingers have already found the metal bulge of a light switch. With a quick flip of the switch, light flashes throughout the room, making my eyes dilate so quickly that I have to cover them.

  “Sara?”

  Uncovering my eyes, one finger at a time, I look around the room. A squeak escapes my lips, and my knees start to shake. Fear makes me dizzy, my vision darkens around the corner, and cold sweat breaks out in all the wrong places. I understand now why Maxwell didn’t want me to come in here. Porcelain dolls. Their little blue and brown eyes stare at me like I am their target, and their ruby lips shine like blood. Some are smiling while others are crying or have blank expressions. There has to be a least thirty dolls staring at me from all around the room.

  “Sara?”

  No! My mind is screaming as I stumble against the door. No matter where I stand, it seems that there freaky, little eyes are following me.

  “Sara, are you okay?” Maxwell shouts.

  At the sound of his voice, I tear my gaze off the little Indian doll with a bow and arrow, and look across the room to look at a white door with shelves screwed onto it and dolls resting on it like soldiers.

  In fear, my lips tremble and I sway on my feet. I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  “Sara, answer me!”

  “Maxwell . . .” I tip back on my feet and lean heavily against the door. “There’s . . . There’s dolls . . .”

  “Smash them, Sara.” His voice sounds so distant now, as if we are rooms away. “Smash them all.”

  Smash them? I look around the room and blink. My vision starts to clear, and Maxwell’s words start to make sense. To overcome my fear, I have to take charge. I step closer to the rows of dolls and think, They’re only porcelain. Then, before I can think about what I’m doing, I grab the porcelain clown doll and throw it against the cement floor, shattering it into hundreds sharp-edged pieces. I tremble, staring at the broken pieces as something inside me changes. Somehow, I feel stronger. And angrier. Because of my stupid fear, Maxwell is stuck in the next room guarded by some freaky dolls.

  I snap.

  I start plucking the dolls off the shelf and throw them at the floor and at other dolls, breaking two in one. It takes me only a minute to break all the dolls except for the ones guarding the door that leads to Maxwell. I walk over to the door, and with an angry battle cry, I sweep my arms across the shelves, knocking all the porcelain dolls to the floor.

  “Sara?”

  “I’m coming in.” A twinge of satisfaction digs deep into my
chest as I yank off the unlocked padlock and toss it to the floor. Grabbing the door handle, I twist it and push it open.

  “Sara!”

  When I open the door, I find Maxwell strapped to a chair by his wrists and ankles with zip locks. When I see him, panic and relief rush through me. I feel like I’m going to collapse I’m so happy to see him.

  “Maxwell!” I rush over to him and fall to my knees. Tears come out of my eyes just from seeing him. His hair is dirty and messed up, and there is a bruise that decorates his left cheek. Besides that, though, he looks fine.

  “Sara.” Maxwell’s eyes get all glossy when he says my name. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine.” I smile at him before reaching down in an attempt to snap the zip ties from around his ankles. I dig my fingers between the strips of plastic and his legs, and tug.

  “Sara, stop. You’re not going to break it,” Maxwell says, watching me.

  “But I have to get you out.” I give a quick tug, but the plastic bands don’t break.

  “Then grab the chair and don’t let it move.”

  “What?” I slip my fingers out from between his leg and the zip ties and look at him.

  “I’ve tried to break the bands, but the chair keeps moving when I do, so I can’t break them. So if you hold the chair still, I should be able to snap them,” he explains, watching me give up on the locks. There are dark pink lines on my fingers from where the zip ties had dug into them.

  Without another word, I stand up and hurry around the chair. I don’t know where I’m supposed to grab, so I just hang onto the top bar in the backrest.

  “Are you hanging on tight?” Maxwell asks.

  “Yeah.” I grip the chair a little tighter, hoping it’s tight enough.

  Then, with a sudden jerk, Maxwell kicks his legs one, two, three times. On the third kick, there is a sudden snap! and the zip locks break.

  “Are you okay?” Maxwell asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply a little breathless.

  “Can you hang onto the chair one more time?”

  “Yeah.” I retighten my grip on the chair and brace my feet on the floor.

  With a sudden jolt, Maxwell grunts as he breaks the bands from around his wrists.

  “Maxwell?” I let go of the chair and take a step to the side.

  “Are you alright?” He jumps to his feet and spins around to face me. His brown eyes burn into mine.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Were you here the whole time?”

  Maxwell nods then brings his hands to each side of my face and presses his lips against mine. This time, I don’t stop him. It’s good to be near him, to touch him again. Then he pulls away and crushes me in an embrace. His hands wrap tightly around me as I snake my hands around his torso.

  “I was so scared,” Maxwell whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “I didn’t know what they were doing to you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I cry, tears pouring down my cheeks and wetting Maxwell’s shirt. “It’s all my fault you were trapped down here.”

  “Hey.” He holds me out at arm’s length and wipes away my tears with his thumbs. “This isn’t your fault, okay? It’s those bastards.”

  “But Maxwell–” I have to tell him about the deal I made.

  “It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Maxwell cuts in, “now that I know you are safe.” He brings me back towards him in another tight embrace.

  The piece of paper that I have stuffed in my bra crinkles. With a slight frown, I back away and fish it out.

  “What’s that?” Maxwell watches me as I unfold the sheet of paper.

  “I don’t know. I found it in that room that led down here.” I unfold the last fold and look at the first sentence:

  Leander yanked the girl into the room and watched his chance slip away as the door swung shut and locked from the other side.

  Fear makes my hand tremble. What is this?

  “Sara?” Maxwell sees me shaking. “What is it? What does it say?”

  Finding my voice, I struggle to keep my hands from shaking so I can read the paper.

  ‘ Leander yanked the girl into the room and watched his chance slip away as the door swung shut and locked from the other side. He let his hands fall off her arm and moved to the door, anger boiling deep inside him. “Son of a bitch!” He yanked on the door handle, not ready to realize that his chance to escape had been stolen from him. Angry, he smashed his fist against the hard wood of the door. After a moment, he had to face the fact: He was never getting out of that room.

  Turning to face the girl and the child who he had just pulled from the hallway, he snarled, “Thanks a lot.”

  “What did we do?” the girl asked, her dust-spotted face twisting into a confused frown.

  “That was my chance to escape!” Leander shouted. “And you two ruined it!”

  “How did we ruin it?” the girl shouted back. “My sister and I woke up to . . . to this place, and then something started chasing us. We ran, okay? Then you grabbed us and dragged us in here.” She glanced around the room nervously. “Where are we even?” ’

  My hands start to tremble uncontrollably again, that I have to let the paper go. It falls, fluttering in the air until it lands on the tip of Maxwell’s shoes. Those words . . . I recognize them. I’ve said those words along with Maxwell. My head starts to get all dizzy again, but I hold my ground as Maxwell reaches down and picks up the paper. He wears a frown as he silently reads to himself, then flips it over and starts to read what’s on the back.

  “Maxwell . . . ? Are they . . . ? Is this . . . ?” I can’t get my words to form complete sentences.

  Maxwell looks up from the piece of paper, with emotion I can’t detect covering his eyes. He glances back down at the piece of paper, his hold on it tightening until it crinkles.

  “Are they documenting us?” I ask softly.

  “No.” He shakes his head so that a brown curl falls into his eyes. “No, it’s not just a document.”

  “Then what is it?” My voice comes out in a quiet quiver. Do I really want to know? I’m not sure.

  Maxwell looks up at me, the curl shifting on his forehead. “I think it’s a story.”

  “A story?” I squeeze closer to him so that we can both see the paper and read what it says.

  “Yeah.” He flips the paper back over and starts reading out loud.

  ‘ “You ruined my chance to escape!” Leander roared.

  “I was just about to leave when you came running down the hall screaming.”

  “I did not come running down the hall screaming,” the girl said crossly. ’

  “But this is us.” None of this makes sense. “Why would someone want to write a story about us?”

  “I don’t know.” Maxwell stares at the piece of paper as if it holds some kind of hidden answer.

  “This doesn’t make sense.” I take a step back and look around the room. The walls are the same white painted cinderblocks like the other rooms, with a naked bulb in the center, giving off harsh lighting. There is a foul smell that makes my nose crinkle. My eyes dash to the corner of the room where something lays in a heap. “Maxwell, what’s that?” I point to the red lump in the corner.

  “Nothing.” He reaches for my hand, but I move away and head for the corner.

  With each step, the foul smell gets stronger, but curiosity gets the better hold of me. When I’m a few feet away, I see that the lump is a large blanket wrapped around something. Something gold spills out one side of the blanket.

  “Sara. Stop,” Maxwell demands.

  “What is this?” I whisper, ignoring him. Reaching out, I carefully grab the edges of the blanket and pull it back. A scream escapes my lips for a second before Maxwell’s hands wrap around my waist and covers my lips. He pulls me away from the blanket, turns me to face him, and hugs me close to his chest.

  “Shhh . . .” He presses me tightly against him and rests his chin on top of my head. “Shhh . . .” I can feel his breath stir some of my hair.

  “T
ha . . . That . . .” I struggle to turn my head to look at the blanket and what I’ve uncovered: A body just starting to decompose. It had been wrapped up and had been tossed down here, shoved into a corner. The gold that had spilled out of one end of the blanket was blond hair. “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Maxwell whispers, still hanging onto me. “She was down here before I got here.”

  Then it hits me. The gold I had seen intertwined in the rug when I first woke up in the Red Room had been that girl’s hair. I also remember what the man had called me before I descended down here. I look at the body with a mixed feeling of sadness and anguish and fear. “Hey, Willow! Where are ya?” The man had said Willow. That meant . . .

  “Willow.” Her name comes softly off my lips.

  “What?” Maxwell looks down at me, confused.

  “Her name . . . It’s Willow.” I can’t take my eyes off her. Adrenaline rushes through me as my anger boils. It isn’t just about Maxwell, Lynne, and I anymore–even though that’s bad enough–but now some other poor girl who was involved with this too. The bastards who did this are going to pay–I’ll make sure of it.

  “How do you–”

  “Finally found you damn kids.”

  Maxwell and I whip around to find the man in the white shirt standing in the doorway with an amused expression on his face. Something dark flashes in his blue eyes.

  “I’ve been looking for you for a while now,” the man says, looking at me. Then he looks behind Maxwell and I to look at Willow’s body. He chuckles. “So you found her.”

  “Why did you kill her?” I don’t know where my voice comes from, but I suddenly feel brave. Or at least a little.

  “Kill her?” The man chuckles again. “I didn’t kill her.” His twinkly gaze dances from me to Maxwell.

  “Then what happened to her?” Maxwell asks beside me. I can feel the hand he has wrapped around my waist tighten.

  “She couldn’t make it.” There is a wicked smile on the man’s face. “Not like you.” His eyes fall back on me.