by David Gane
Charlie pushes into the musty clothing. “Think we can hide?” he whispers.
“No. We’ve really got to get the hell out of here.”
No sign of a window, but there’s a doorway to yet another room. The closer I get to it, the more the hairs on my neck rise. It’s boarded up from the inside, except for the lowest slat, which hangs loose.
“We’re like rats in a maze, heading toward the trap,” Charlie says, and it feels like he might be right.
An astoundingly rancid smell hangs in the air. I force myself closer still and gag.
“Holy moly, that’s nasty!” Charlie exclaims. “We can’t go in there.”
“We have to,” I insist, swallowing hard. “I’m pretty sure that’s where the window is.”
Charlie takes a deep breath and tries to look through the open hole. “I can’t see anything.”
I give the bottom board a swift, hard kick, and it goes spinning into the darkness of the next room. I try knocking the one above it off but only end up hurting my toe.
Charlie looks beneath the boards again. He’s choking on the atrocious stench, but doesn’t give up. He yanks his shirt up over his mouth and holds it in place with one hand. He studies the boards.
“Whoever put this wood in place meant for it to stay. There’s about half a dozen screws on each side. He looks inside with his light. “I can’t see a window, but there’s a lot in here.”
“Like what?”
“A cot, an old clawfoot tub. There’s another door. Could be a closet, maybe another room—” Charlie pulls back, coughing, then spits on the dusty cement floor. “It’s disgusting in there. Smells like shit and dead people. You sure this is the way?”
I trace my finger in the dust of the floor illuminated by his flashlight and recount our movements. “We came around the porch, along the right side of the house, and through the back. The hallway by the kitchen took us to the stairwell and down, so that puts us somewhere in the middle of the house. We went along the hall, turned left and then double-backed through these rooms. There can’t be that much left of the house. This has to be it. The window has to be in there.”
Charlie shakes his head, resigned to our fate. “Okay, fine, let’s do this.”
He takes another big breath and lunges forward. He shoves his arms in first, twisting his head sideways and pushing with his feet to get a little way into the room. To get completely through requires a lot of wriggling and grunting and struggle, and I hold onto the big stick, watching for anyone coming through from that first storage room while he works his way inside. I’m so intent on protecting our asses, I don’t even notice when his feet disappear beneath the boards.
“Okay, I’m in,” he says in tight, compressed breaths.
“I’m right behind you.”
“Let me look around before you …” His voice falls away.
“Charlie?” I whisper.
Nothing.
I drop down and look through the gap at the bottom.
He’s standing in the corner, staring into the tub. “Charlie?”
His voice rises in panic, and he’s no longer conserving his breath. “Get out of here, Shepherd. Run, hide. Do whatever it takes.”
“What? Why?”
“He’s been killing for years.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bodies, Shepherd. This place is full of bodies.”
chapter 124
I don’t want to leave my friend.
“Can you see the way out?”
“I don’t …” Charlie no longer seems capable of thinking rationally.
I’ve never heard him sound like this, and it’s freaking me out. “Charlie, you need to look for the window.”
He drops back to the ground to look at me. “No, Shepherd, you need to go.”
We’re at an impasse. I want to go further—the window’s got to be there—but he’s flat-out refusing. I’m ready to drag him out of there—he’s so panicked, it won’t be hard—but I don’t know that there’s any other way to escape, except back the way we came, and if Harriet’s got a gun …
“Charlie,” I make my tone firm. “I’m coming in.”
He appears at the opening. “No!”
“We have to—”
I can see his eyes dart back and forth, his mind racing, trying to reason his way back to rationality. “Okay, I’ll look. Let me look. But if anyone comes—”
“I’ll hide,” I say, nodding.
He’s nodding too, as if parroting my action is all he can handle. Then he’s up and gone.
I stay low, looking back to make sure no one’s coming, but constantly glance under the boards, watching his light sweep around the room.
“There’s no way out, Shepherd. Whatever you saw outside—this is a dead end.”
That’s when I see … something behind him: first just a grotesque silhouette, then lit for a brief flash in the light of Charlie’s phone.
A leg—or what was once a leg—dangling over the edge of the bathtub. It’s formless. Some of the skin is gone, some of the muscle. Hints of bone. It’s red and black and white and yellow. Then I see a torso lying in another corner. There’s an arm beside it, not attached to anything, and I have to close my eyes, but my brain holds onto the images and won’t let go.
I realize my mistake. I never should’ve pushed Charlie to keep looking, I should’ve gotten him out of there right away so we could fight this evil together.
But it’s too late now, because someone flips a breaker and the lights go on.
chapter 125
Footsteps thump down the stairs.
“Charlie, get out of there!” I hiss.
“Shepherd, go!” he grunts back.
“Not without you!”
Someone’s at the door at the end of the hall.
The threat seems to focus Charlie’s thinking. “Hide. Get out. Find help. Don’t try to take this guy alone.”
I don’t have any time to argue. If he’s got a gun, that’s it.
“Take your stick,” I say, pushing it through the hole in one quick shove, hoping it’ll help if he gets a chance to use it.
I crawl to the back corner with the rack of hanging clothes, edging my way as silently as I can behind the wedding dress and musty long coats. Hopefully, Harriet won’t look too carefully.
I can’t see anything but listen intently to his footsteps cross the first room and pause somewhere close to me—probably in the doorway. I try to slow my breathing so he won’t notice it, but I’m sure he’d hear the pounding of my heart if he paid attention, it’s so loud.
Harriet isn’t moving, probably trying to assess the situation before proceeding. Then he slowly enters the room, shoes scraping against the cement, small pebbles of dirt cracking under his soles.
He stops again.
It feels like he’s standing there for an eternity, and I’m sweating and scared. I’m doing my best to keep my breaths steady but shallow when I realize he’s left the room and is in the hallway, going back up the steps.
I climb out from behind the clothing. “Come on,” I tell Charlie, urgent but quiet. “Let’s get you out of there.”
“And go where? He’s still in the house,” Charlie murmurs from the other side of the boards.
“What do you think he’s doing?” I whisper. “Did you see him?”
“No, I hid,” Charlie says. “But I think he was listening, trying to decide if someone’s in here.”
With the lights on, I can see we’ve left scuff marks in the dust where Charlie crawled under the boards. Harriet can’t have missed it, but I keep this to myself. Telling Charlie isn’t going to help.
Floorboards creak in the hallway upstairs. Harriet’s on his way back down.
“I’m going to work on getting you out,” I whisper at him before hurrying i
nto the first room and ducking behind the couch. I keep as tight and low as I can, but it seems impossible to hide completely, as tall as I am.
Harriet moves past me and I don’t dare look. There’s a tumble of boards striking cement, the metallic clank of a coffee can full of nails, and I suddenly realize he’s fixing the broken board, sealing Charlie in!
Dammit!
If I’d kept the stick, I’d consider rushing him, but even then there’d be no guarantee I’d be able to overpower him.
And if he has a gun, I’d be even worse off.
The best option is to get away, and either get help or come back with something that will do a better job of kicking Harriet’s ass.
When he starts hammering, I sneak out into the hallway. I go up the stairs, my movements quick and stealthy, trying to time my steps with every strike of a nail. There’s only a dozen steps, so I get to the top fast.
Shit! He’s locked the door at the top of the stairs!
I don’t waste time and rush back down the steps, my brain all the while trying to untangle what that locked door means.
Harriet doesn’t know who all is in the house. He suspects someone’s in the back room that he’s nailing shut, but if Charlie’s hidden well enough, he can’t be certain. But he must also suspect that there could be others here too, so he’s being cautious.
Which means I have to remain extra alert.
Back in the hallway, there are three other doors to choose from, all padlocked—except the one closest to the stairs, whose lock hangs open. I pull it off its hasp and slip inside, shutting the door behind me.
The further I am from Harriet, the better.
chapter 126
It’s dark in here. I try the switch—the bulb must be broken, so I pull out my phone and turn on the light. I regret it instantly. In an alcove in the corner of the room is a heavy wooden workbench, tools organized neatly on shelves above. The wood is stained a dark reddish-brown, and I have to quickly look away when I see what’s caught between the jagged teeth of a saw. I back away, knowing what he does here, hands shaking uncontrollably.
Shit! I’m still holding the padlock!
I need to get control of myself. I need to focus. I need to solve the problem.
The rest of the room is filled with shovels, gardening tools, and sledgehammers. There are jerry cans of gas in the back corner and a closet beside the alcove.
Hurrying, I tuck the lock into the shadows behind the tools where it won’t easily be found—it’s the best I can do. Even if he notices it’s missing from the door, I can’t give Harriet the chance to shut me in too.
I think I now understand the basement’s layout and open the closet, shining my light inside.
A large chunk of plaster has been smashed away, leaving lathe and boards exposed. I could probably crawl through to the room beyond. But propped in a corner is a burlap sack tied with a purple ribbon. It sits in a pool of dried blood. Something—it’s way too small to be someone—is inside. I don’t need to—don’t want to—look, but it’s like some sick test subject of what he’s been leaving for Gekas to find.
Oh God. Gekas.
I’ve been so scared, so worried about Charlie, the thought of her possibly trapped somewhere in the depths of this hellhole had escaped my mind. I have to help Charlie but I also have to find Gekas.
That tapping we heard earlier—she must be down here somewhere. We’ve been through one half of the basement, and if Charlie had found Gekas in that … that place, he would have said something. So the tapping has to have come from somewhere on this side. I need to check the other two rooms—the ones with padlocks.
I hear movement in the hall and pray that Harriet doesn’t notice the missing lock as he goes past. He must be done sealing Charlie in, and for a moment I’m hopeful that my friend will be safer locked in there than in the hands of this psycho.
Harriet must be preoccupied because he climbs the stairs; I listen hard for the sound of the basement door. It opens and closes and there’s the distant click click of the lock.
For the time being, we’re alone.
I get down on my hands and knees, and shine my light through the hole in the closet wall. I can see broken black and white tiles and realize it’s an old bathroom. There’s a sink with a grimy mirror beside the door, and a nasty looking toilet on the opposite side, its tank lid shattered on the floor next to it. I’ve already decided not to look in either of them. The room once held a bathtub, but it’s been pulled out: pipes stick out of the walls. It must be the one in the room where Charlie’s hiding. I can’t imagine what he’s going through in that nightmare of a place.
Focus. Keep looking.
Finally, I spot something. The plaster has chipped away where the tub’s plumbing disappears into the wall, and I think I see a small opening. If someone’s in the last room on this side, I might be able to at least talk to them.
I pull myself halfway into the bathroom, and the hem of my shirt catches on an old, rusty nail, but I don’t care and let it rip. I just need to get through. I drag myself across the floor, chunks of plaster scraping the tile beneath me. I have to lift myself higher so that I can move more quietly.
Next to the pipes now, I squat low and lean over, trying to peer through the small chink in the wall.
It’s pitch black. I can’t see a thing.
“Hello?” I whisper tentatively.
“Who’s there?” croaks a voice in the darkness.
“Shh …,” I caution. “He’ll hear you.”
“Who are you?”
“Detective Gekas—?”
“Who …?”
I’m confused. “Who are you?”
“Tom Harriet.”
chapter 127
I fall silent and drop back from the hole. I’m sure I heard Harriet going up the stairs—I’m positive. My head spins, trying to piece things together.
“Hello? Are you there?” the voice calls out. “Who are you?”
Is he messing with me? Is this a trick?
I don’t say anything.
“Hello?” Harriet asks.
What’s going on? It’s his house; he’s got all the keys. So what’s with the mind games?
“Why don’t you come get me?” I say, trying to keep my voice as even as possible.
A low, pitiful sob emits from the hole, and I want him to shut up. Maybe he’s trying to confuse me—or Charlie and I have misread everything. And if he’s not the guy we thought he was, then he’s going to draw attention to whoever’s upstairs.
“Quiet!” I hiss at the hole in the wall.
“We’re going to die.”
“No, we’re not. But you need to shut up.”
“We’re going to—”
“Stop.”
Harriet quits wailing, but I can still hear him sniffling.
I don’t trust him, but I need information—whether he’s telling the truth or not. If he’s lying, he might reveal himself. If not, then I need to find out what’s really going on.
“How long have you been here?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“If you had to guess?”
It seems his mind is a shattered, jumbled pinwheel of thoughts. “There was— He put me in a cage in my— And then—”
I consider the situation. The basement is pitch black; he has no sense of day or night. He’d sleep when he was exhausted, wake, and sleep again. Even a few days would probably disorient a person. Add to that the isolation and lack of sensory input. On any average day, I need distraction, whether from an electronic device or the world around me. Down here, he’s had nothing. He’s been stuck alone in his head with only his thoughts for company, his dire situation playing over and over in a loop. It would drive anyone insane.
“Who put you in here?” I ask.
I hear a cackle, but it
seems to draw clarity rather than crack his sanity further. “My brother.”
Brother?
Charlie and I never knew Harriet had a sibling.
He repeats, “Who are you, again? Maybe you told me— My memory— I don’t … I can’t …” He’s quiet again.
I’m starting to believe he is who he says he is—I can’t figure out what he’d be scheming at otherwise—but if I’m wrong, he’ll recognize me, and I need to protect myself.
So I think fast. “Tony Wolfe,” I say.
He doesn’t pause or even question it. He only asks, “Tony, can you get me out of here?”
“I’m going to do my best.”
chapter 128
I need answers and I need them now. The sooner I know what I’m dealing with, the sooner I can get us all out of here.
“Mr. Harriet, who’s your brother?” I ask.
Again, that clear, cynical laugh. “Ha. ‘Mister!’ I haven’t been called that in—”
“Who’s your brother?” I interrupt.
“Jack—Jack Harriet.”
I don’t recognize the name at all.“Why’s he doing this to you?”
“I think, Tony—I can call you Tony, right?”
“Yes.” I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t, so I repeat the question. “Why is he—?”
“I don’t know, Tony. He’s— If I had to guess … I’d say he’s jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Parents, Tony. Our parents.”
Every time he repeats my name, he seems to find focus. I think my name has become a lifeline out of the darkness toward sanity.
“Didn’t they love him?”
“Of course they did. What parent wouldn’t?”
Charlie could probably name a few.
“The trouble, Tony, is that he wanted all of it.”
“He didn’t want your parents to love you?”