by D. K. Wall
I licked water from the walls and searched desperately for crumbs. Not for the first time, I caught a rat slowed by the wintry cold, slammed its head against the stone wall to kill it, and sank my teeth into it. Rats were better tasting than some things, and it was too cold for insects.
That last day, the day I escaped, the light outside was gray and cold. I could barely see in the corners as I searched for something—anything—to eat. I was sitting there, thinking I was going to starve to death, and I made a decision. Just like that, snap, and I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want to die in that basement—a shocking thought, considering how little I had to live for.
I didn’t expect to get far and figured he would catch me and kill me for trying to escape. I knew I wouldn’t make it. I just didn’t want to die without trying.
I put a first tentative foot on the bottom tread of the wooden stairs and listened to it creak. I held my breath and waited for the storm of his footsteps, for the door to be yanked open, for him to glare down at me in fury at my boldness. I remained frozen as minutes slipped by, listening, but only the groaning of the wind answered me before I gathered enough courage to move to the next step. Still more ticks of the clock until the next. And the next and the next. The shadows of the brief winter day shifted across the room as I moved cautiously from step to step, always prepared to scamper back down.
Hours passed before I stood at the top, trembling as I pressed my ear against the door. Tree branches clacked against each other as the wind groaned. Ravens squawked as they fought over food in the woods. A rat scurried in the walls.
But not a human sound reached my ears. No footsteps. No voices. No breathing.
With sweat dribbling down my back despite the cold, I reached out with a quaking hand and turned the knob. The latch slipped away from the strike plate with a loud, echoing clack. I squeezed my eyes shut, dreading the storm of approaching boots.
But I heard only silence.
Maybe another hour passed—I don’t know, I’ve never owned a watch—until I built enough nerve to push on the door. It didn’t move. An unseen but often heard padlock held a hasp closed on the other side. I looked in the shadows of the basement as if some previously hidden tool would come to sight, but I knew every square inch, and it held nothing useful.
Nervously wetting my lips, I grabbed the handrail with each hand and kicked with all my strength, which wasn’t a lot. The door held solidly in its frame. I slammed my shoulder against it. Despite the intense pain the impact caused me, the door didn’t release.
But I also realized something. He wasn’t in the house. No way he wouldn’t have heard me banging on that door. I didn’t know when he would return, or who might be with him, but I had a chance at freedom for the first time in my life.
Sheer desperation to escape filled me. I pushed, shoved, and clawed before a crack appeared in the wood panel of the door. I wriggled my fingers into the splintered wood, desperately prying the hole bigger and bigger until I could squeeze my arm through and grasp the padlock. I yanked and pulled but it didn’t give. I screamed in frustration and twisted hard. With a sudden snap, the door yielded. I stumbled into the kitchen and fell face-first onto the floor.
For the time ever, I was out of the basement without him.
Then again, maybe he was watching.
I bolted to my feet and looked through the dark house. His shape rose from a shadowy corner where he had been waiting, laughing at my feeble escape attempt. His meaty hand slipped the wide leather belt from around his waist, and he raised it high over his head in a clenched fist. As I heard it whistling through the air toward me, I cowered and wrapped my arms around my body, bracing for the sting of the flaying swipe.
The pain never came. I peeled my eyes open and looked where he had stood, but only the shadows of tree branches danced on the wall. He had never been there.
I rose to my feet and staggered through the kitchen and into the den. Shadows morphed into recognizable shapes. Logs lay stacked against the wall, but the fireplace was dark and cold. A small table held dirty dishes and glasses. A Mason jar sat half-filled with clear moonshine. A stench hung in the air.
I worked my way through the shadows to the far end of the room and reached for the exterior door, convinced it would be tightly locked, but the knob turned easily in my hand. I slipped out onto the sloping wooden front porch, its supports rotting and termite infested. A board under my foot squeaked.
I breathed in deeply and felt the cold air. A few snowflakes fell, and I realized I was cold. I didn’t have a coat or shoes because he never gave them to us. We used burlap bags as blankets at night and wrapped them around our feet during the day for warmth. Maybe he had something else, but I couldn’t go back in the house to search. He might be in there drunk or asleep.
I cast one last glance back at the house and fled into the surrounding woods. Branches smacked across my face. My feet slammed into rocks. But the pain meant little compared to the elation of being outdoors. I whooped and hollered, celebrating my victory, and I ran as far as I could.
I didn’t stop until the reality hit me. I was free.
25
Connor held his breath as if he was alone in the house late at night watching a horror movie on TV. But unlike some Stephen King story, he knew the ending—the boy had survived, because he sat beside him with his head leaning on his shoulder. Still, he couldn’t help worrying that the monster might win instead.
Before hearing the details of the escape, Connor had only allowed himself to think briefly about the nightmare his brother must have endured before he chased the thought away. A fleeting imagined scene wasn’t the same as hearing the words blow by blow, the shaky little voice hammering the reality home.
He ran his hand along Jaxon’s torn fingers, the ones that had beaten the frame of the door and ripped the lock off. Admiration for his little brother’s resolve filled him. He doubted that he would have had the strength and nerve Jaxon had shown.
He made a silent vow. No matter what, he would protect Jaxon every minute for the rest of their lives, never to let him out of his sight. Never again would he fail his little brother.
Roxanne paused in her note-taking and asked, “Can you tell me the man’s name?”
Jaxon sucked in a breath and shook his head. “No.”
“That’s okay. We don’t need to do that yet.” Roxanne chewed on the end of her pen. “Let’s talk about what you saw as you left the house. It’ll help us locate it.”
“Not much. The road was dark, and it was snowing.”
“So there was a road all the way up to the house?”
“Sort of, but not really a road. It was pretty overgrown, but the brush wasn’t as thick as it was in the woods. It was just wide enough to get the van through the trees.”
“So not paved. Was it gravel or just dirt?”
“I stepped on rocks. I couldn’t really see them, though, because of the brush.”
Jaxon coughed, a deep, phlegmy sound. Everyone paused, and Connor remembered the doctor’s warnings about his brother’s weakened immune system and his long exposure to cold. Connor grabbed the plastic cup on the bed tray and filled it with crushed ice and cold water from the pitcher. He held the cup in a trembling hand as his brother sipped. With a napkin, he wiped a rivulet of water from Jaxon’s chin. The boy cleared his throat and nodded that he was ready to continue.
Roxanne asked, “How long of a walk until you saw anything else?”
“I was running ’cause I didn’t want to get caught. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes, and then the woods ended.”
“Excellent. Really helpful. What did you see when you came out of the forest?”
“A big field with an old house and a mobile home behind it.”
“Like a farm?”
“Maybe it was once. I don’t know. It was just like a big field.”
“Did you knock on the door?”
“No. It was too close to where I came from. I was scared he might still wake up
, find me missing, and come after me.” He quivered. “Besides, you could tell no one lived there. Two of the walls and the roof had collapsed. The windows in the remaining walls were broken, and burn marks ran up the sides. I peeked, trying to find somewhere to hide, but snow was piling up inside, so I didn’t try to go in very far.”
Connor noticed David tense and sit up, but the sheriff motioned Roxanne to continue.
“The exterior walls… Brick, stone, or wood?”
“Wood, except this one with, like, real boards, all straight and smooth like that first picture you drew.”
“Clapboard.” She smiled and scribbled notes. “What color was it?”
“It might have been white, but it was hard to tell in the snow and dark. Anyway, the paint was chipped away and faded.”
“What about the mobile home?”
“It was dark. Didn’t look like anyone was in it. I didn’t want to stick around, though, so I kept going on the road.”
“You’re doing awesome, Jaxon. Was this on the same road through the woods?”
“Yeah. It was hard to find the path, but it took me all the way out to the pavement.”
“Great. At the pavement, did you see a mailbox? Sign? Anything?”
Jaxon looked up at the ceiling as he searched his memory. “Yeah, an old mailbox covered in vines. I didn’t know what it was at first because, well, I haven’t seen one since… Anyway, it said US Mail on the door. I don’t remember a number or name or anything like that. It was rusty and didn’t look like it was used any longer.”
“You see any other houses?”
“Two way off the road in their own fields down long gravel driveways. One of them had big floodlights on a barn, I think, but the houses were dark. I was scared to go to them in case they were friends of his. I figured I should get as far away as possible, so I walked down the paved road, toward some light down the way.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know. Probably took me an hour or two to get to the big road.”
Roxanne scribbled in her book. “Okay, so this was all on a two-lane road. Considering you were walking in snow, that may have been four or five miles. Did you see any more mailboxes along the way?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Remember what any of them said? Or numbers?”
A shake of the head.
“You see any other buildings before you got to the highway?”
The boy shrugged. “Mostly just a few more houses and barns until I got to a big building.”
“Like a warehouse?”
“No, like maybe a factory or something. I’m not sure, but it had lights, and you could hear humming and water splashing. I don’t mean a little water—like a whole lot of water. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but it was the middle of the night, and I didn’t see anyone. I tried to get in, but it had a big fence and a gate.”
David looked up and asked, “Water splashing? Was it near a river?”
Jaxon recoiled against the deep voice, shrinking against his brother. Connor wondered at his reaction but hugged him with his one arm to indicate he would keep him safe. Jaxon licked his lips and answered quietly, “Yeah, the river ran beside it.”
David turned to Roxanne. “If it’s the Wattsville exit, that could be the hydroelectric plant up there.” He turned back to Jaxon, “Any signs you remember?”
“‘No trespassing’ and ‘danger,’ but I don’t remember what all they said.”
Roxanne put a hand on David’s knee and took over the questions once more. “It’s okay, Jaxon. You’re doing terrific. What did you do next?”
“I saw a big road on the other side of the river from the building. I followed the road I was on across a bridge and then to that big road.”
“What did you see?”
“There were two big blue signs with red stripes on top shaped like a shield. They said ‘Interstate 40.’ One pointed under the bridge and to the left and said ‘west.’ The other pointed right and said ‘east.’”
“And you went east?”
He nodded.
“Why east?”
He shrugged. “Because it was closer. I mean, I had to go one way or the other and just picked one. But I’m glad I did.”
Startled, Connor turned his attention away from the FBI agent and back to his little brother. “Because you wanted to come home?”
“No. I mean, yeah, I wanted to come home, but I didn’t know where home was.”
“So why are you glad you went east?”
“Because sunrises are to the east. I’ve never seen one.”
Connor felt his breath catch in his throat. He pulled his brother close and whispered, “I’ll take you to see one tomorrow.”
26
David and Roxanne slipped out of the hospital room and huddled near the window. Roxanne asked quietly, “Recognize the place?”
“Sounds like Wattsville for sure, so that narrows things down a great deal. But a falling-down old farmhouse with an abandoned mobile home? There are more of those than you might think.”
“And the old cabin?”
“Before the Great Smoky Mountains National Park was created, that was logging land. Hundreds of cabins were scattered across the mountains with hand-hewn boards for walls. But most of those have long since decayed and collapsed except for a few restored for tourism on park property, and no one could live in those undetected.” David stared out the windows at the mountain ridges between them and Wattsville. “And the cellar is very confusing.”
“I thought lots of houses had stone cellars?”
“Not here. Not the way he described it.” David turned to her. “Most places had what are known as root cellars or some variant—apple cellars, potato cellars. They’re typically outbuildings carved into the side of the mountain that maybe have a small wooden building built above ’em. But that’s not what he described. He talks about a cellar under the main house, dug so deep that the windows are at ceiling height from inside but ground level from outside.”
Roxanne pursed her lips. “So it’s deep, which took a long time to dig.”
“And with windows. Glass was expensive in old Appalachia, and it would only have been used for the main floor if at all. More likely, it was added later, which is an odd thing to do to an old house. Either way, someone went to a lot of time and expense. And that’s not a lumberjack.”
“So a lumber company foreman or even owner?”
David shrugged. “Possible, but I was thinking someone hiding a common crop… moonshine. Scotch-Irish families up here have been making it forever, even though it was illegal to distribute after the civil war because the government wanted the tax-stamp money, and the value skyrocketed further during prohibition. An old farming family could grow corn out in the open fields and look totally legitimate but haul part of the crop back into the woods to manufacture liquor and use the cellar for storage and hiding.”
“Which is why you tensed up in there. You recognized something.”
David looked back out the windows. “Maybe. One of the leads we followed out that way when we were checking up on sex offenders. And he happens to be the descendant of a long-time moonshining family.”
“We should pull his file again.”
“There is no file, at least not on him. Both his father and brother racked up numerous charges—drugs, alcohol, assaults. But this guy has never been arrested for anything.”
Roxanne cocked her head. “But if he was never charged, what made you think of him when you were checking on sex offenders? He wouldn’t be in the registry.”
“Because I went to school with him. He got expelled from high school, and the rumor was it was for touching a little kid. I didn’t really know the details, had only heard the rumors, but it’s not something you forget. I went out and visited him myself.”
“And?”
“He was mad I remembered the story. He confessed it really did happen and told me about it, but he swore it was something stupid he did as a teen
ager. Said he had always regretted it and never did anything like it again.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Wasn’t sure, but he didn’t act like a guy trying to hide something. He told me more than I knew about the thing that happened when we were teens. And he didn’t have any problem with us searching his place for any sign of Jaxon. Didn’t ask for us to get a warrant or anything. Kept saying he didn’t have anything to hide.”
“And you found nothing?”
“Nothing at all. Not a sign Jaxon or any kid had ever been inside his trailer. No porn, not even a computer.”
“His trailer?”
“Yep. A mobile home on his family’s old farm, behind their old farmhouse, which had been destroyed by fire a few years earlier.” David looked up. “A fire started by a meth lab, by the way. It exploded and killed his older brother. I stood outside that house as they pulled the body out, so I know what the house looked like, how it fell in.”
Roxanne stiffened. “Now I understand your reaction. But no old log cabin with a stone cellar?”
“None that I know of, but I wasn’t really looking for one, either. Until today, I’ve never heard of or cared about an old home up that way, but his family has owned that land for a couple hundred years, so there would have been old homes there at some point.” David pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “But I’m going to get the tax department to pull the plats and see if they have record of a house while we’re watching Jaxon get reintroduced to Harold.”
“You still think Harold was involved?”
David paused with his finger above the screen of his phone then shook his head. “No, probably not, but we’re about to find out. The kid’s reaction to him will tell us a lot.”