by Lynn Moon
Standing on the bottom step, Quinton’s eyes flashed through my mind. What would Quinton do? He’d rush the door; that much I knew. Using the railing as a guide, I climbed the dark stairs. Thinking about my grandparents and not paying attention, my head banged into the basement door.
“Ow!” I whispered. Touching the door, I sighed. “Wood.”
“It’s locked,” Charlie said.
“Is Hunter eating?”
“A little,” she called back.
Trying the doorknob, I prayed for a miracle. No miracle for me today. It was locked and refused to turn.
“Crap,” I whispered.
Using my shoulder as a battering ram, I slammed myself against the door. Nothing moved. Stepping down, I ran up the stairs and hit the door again. Again, nothing budged. Going down several more steps, I charged. As my body crashed into the solid wood, the impact sent me failing back down the stairs. With gravity as my only guide, I felt the full impact of my hip and shoulder smacking against the cold, rough floor. For a second I couldn’t breathe.
“Musetta?” Charlie screamed. “What happened?”
“I’m okay,” I whispered. Gasping for air, I pushed myself back up. “Just came down the stairs a little faster than expected.”
“Be more careful, will yah?”
Nursing my new bruises, I allowed my mind to wander aimlessly through the possibilities. At home, my basement was directly under our kitchen. So what’s above us here? I needed a tool. A long, strong tool. As I stood up, my hip protested, sending sharp waves into my spine. Not wanting to upset Charlie, I slapped my hand over my mouth to muffle a scream. That hurts! Testing my legs, I knew that nothing was broken. Just had to ignore the pain.
Feeling in the darkness, the shelves were mostly empty. Inching my way through the maze of old junk that covered the floor, my fingers probed every surface. Several times, I cringed as something sharp pierced a finger. Sucking on the injuries, my mind accepted that giving up was not an option.
“What’re you doing?” Charlie asked.
“Looking for a tool,” I replied. “Did Hunter eat?”
“Half,” she said. “He did drink the soda. Sleeping now.”
“Good, let him rest.”
“What kind of tool?” she asked.
“Something that’ll go through the floor.”
“We’re on concrete,” she argued. “You can’t dig through that.”
“No, silly. The floor above us. Maybe we can break through.”
After a couple seconds, she whispered, “I’ll help.”
For what seemed like hours, we combed every inch of that dark basement. Just before we gave up, my mind raced back to the stairs.
“There’s a railing,” I said, wanting to slap myself. “We can kick it down.”
After banging my knees a few times on what I thought were wooden crates, I finally made it back to the stairs. Sitting on the middle step, I kicked. Each time, the railing moved a little. With each kick, Charlie yanked from below. My head pounded and my energy was fading. I gave it one last good kick. Using all my strength, I heaved my feet at the railing. The wood creaked loudly before crashing to the floor.
“You okay, Charlie?”
“Yeah.”
Scooting down, I felt for the broken railing. Working the wood apart, I smiled when I held a tool in my hand. A nice, long tool.
“We need to move Hunter into the bathroom or onto the stairs,” I said. “I don’t want anything falling on him.
“Sounds smart.”
It was a struggle, but eventually we had Hunter resting comfortably on the stairs. After moving the heavy crates to one side, I wasn’t sure if I had any energy left. Needing a break, I sat next to Hunter and rested my head against his chest. When his hand caressed my cheek, a renewed surge of something exploded from somewhere deep inside me. A new place I kind of liked.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to do this.”
Standing in the middle of the room, holding my new toy, I shoved it straight up. As my tool made contact with the floor above, the impact knocked me to the floor. Not giving up, I jumped back to my feet and tried again. After a few more jabs, my tool broke through the floor. However, instead of a sweet song of freedom, an angry voice soared down through the hole.
“What the Hell are you doing down there?” he yelled after opening the door. The light from above flooded parts of the basement. “Stop it. You’re tearing the place up.”
Ready to fight, I froze when I spotted a large knife in his hand, only inches from Hunter’s throat.
“Drop it,” he yelled. “Drop it or your friend here dies.”
Taking a deep breath, I tossed the wood to one side.
“Now back up. Both of you.” He waved the knife in the air.
Bending over, my uncle picked up Hunter as if he weighed nothing. Standing next to Charlie, I watched as he pulled Hunter up the stairs. Is this it? Are our lives about to end?
“Get over here, Charlie,” he yelled. “Rosetta, you stay put.”
“Rosetta?” Charlie whispered. “Who’s Rosetta?”
I squeezed her hand. Cautiously, Charlie walked toward my uncle. If he left me down here alone, I’d rip this whole place apart. As he pushed Charlie up the stairs, panic filled me. After the door slammed, I stared into the darkness. Still not sure where we were, I prayed he’d allow my friends to live.
“Uncle Berty,” I screamed. “Leave them alone. Kill me. Rape me.”
Again, the door of the basement opened and light separated the darkness. Standing at the top of the stairs, he waved his hand. Am I to go to him? Climbing the stairs, my anger grew with each step. How dare this man do this to me and my friends? When I reached the top step, I stared at him, eye-to-eye. Hate spewed from his gaze, sending ripples of dread directly into my soul. He was not human. He was a demon from Hell.
“What do you want?” I asked.
Grabbing my arm, he jerked me into the kitchen. The bright light blurred my vision. My eyes watered from the intense pain. The fresh aroma of lavender filled the room. Taking a quick glance out the window, I recognized the yard. I was in the Salt Lake City house where Betty had stood on the steps. Where the woman panicked when she saw me. Where I didn’t want to get out of the car.
Only now, I was in danger inside, and not outside where I was safe. Shoving me into a chair, he stood back and glared down at me.
“What do you want?” I asked, again.
“Put you back together,” he whispered. “I must fix things.”
“Fix things? You wacko. There’s nothing to fix.”
“Separate,” he said. “Separate’s not good. Together is better.”
Separate not good? My mind swirled trying to grasp what he was talking about. Separate . . . Together . . . Separate . . . Together. Oh, my God, he was talking about him and my dad.
“Engelbert,” I screamed. “You stop this at once!”
The man’s eyes widened. “We are Nicky. We are one.”
“My dad died, you stupid idiot. You’re Engelbert. You are Berty.”
“We are Nicolaus. We are one.” With his last statement, my head jerked back as his hand lashed out.
Grabbing the table, I pulled myself up. Rubbing a now bruised cheek, I wanted to hurt him.
“You hit me one more time, you . . . you . . . you stupid jerk. I swear. I’ll kill you.”
Several times, he turned his back to me. Each time, he leaned over the kitchen sink as if he was about to be sick. His eyes showed that the person who was once a young kid named Berty was now gone. What was left was just a crazy shell of a very mixed up man. Hate and revulsion consumed me. My life was ruined, and it was all because of him. Him and his evil sickness.
“You stole my dad from me! You stole my childhood from me! Why?” I screamed at him between his moans of misery. “Why?”
He didn’t answer. He just turned around and stared at me. Are we in a face off? Not blinking, I gazed into his eyes, locking onto his soul.
Several times, he blinked. I refused to budge. Not allowing my eyes to wander, I used my peripheral vision to scope out the room. Next to me was a table. To my left an archway that led into what looked like a living room. The sun was shining, maybe noonish. We were standing in the kitchen. He was next to the sink. To my far right—the back door. Can I make it there before he stabs me?
“I made Nicky and me one,” he said, waving the knife in the air. “I made us one. So I can do it for you too, Rosetta.”
“Make me one?” I repeated. “You were the one who stabbed my dad in the back that night. It was your knife that killed him. Wasn’t it?”
“I made us one,” he said again, with his eyes wide and wild. “I’ll make you one too, Rosetta.”
“Rosetta died twelve years ago,” I screamed. “You stupid man! I am Musetta.”
“No, Lavender died!” he shouted back. “It was always Lavender. Always her. She did this. She did this all. She made us one.”
Staring into his vacant and soulless eyes, I couldn’t read what he was thinking, but unfortunately, I knew. It definitely wasn’t anger. More like resentment or . . . no, maybe a longing for something. Something he never had.
He had killed my dad so he could be his own person. But why kill me? Is he thinking that I’m my twin? And if he kills me, then he’d fix that problem too? But why? I was already one person—my twin died at birth.
As we stood locked inside time, the back door was flung open. Without thinking, we both turned. In the doorway was a duplicate of me, standing next to the woman named Betty. My duplicate and I screamed as we stared at each other. The only difference between us was that her hair was lighter than mine. Otherwise, we were identical.
“Rosetta, get to the car, now!” the woman ordered. The girl refused to move.
“Roe?” my uncle whispered, taking a small step toward the open door.
Now was my only chance. Leaping toward him, I yanked on the hand that held the knife and shoved it into his stomach. Betty screamed as my uncle doubled over. Moaning in pain, he yanked the knife out, blood seeping through his shirt and down his leg. With his other hand, he covered his wound.
“Bert!” the woman yelled. “What in the world is going on in here?”
“Daddy?” My duplicate’s voice sounded weak and helpless. “Daddy?”
“Call the police,” Betty ordered. “Roe, go to the car and call the police.”
My duplicate wouldn’t move. She was frozen where she stood. Probably a reflex response from her confusion and fear, just like mine.
“Call the cops,” I screamed out. “This man is crazy.”
“Bert?” the woman said, taking a step toward my uncle. “You’re hurt, sweetheart.”
Glancing down, he watched as the blood slowly pooled around him. Tears filled his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, taking two steps toward me and plunging the knife directly into my stomach.
At first, only numbness and a dull thud moved through me. When my knees hit the floor, my hands cuddled the knife as if it were a life-giving instrument. Then the pain hit. A sharp, slashing pain that started in my stomach and shot out in all directions. Each breath sent agony arcing through me. As the room spun, it also darkened. Just before I hit the floor, soft hands cradled my head. Looking up, I stared into my own eyes. Then the world gently faded away.
CHAPTER 21
FEELING NO PAIN OR FEAR, I stood quietly in a brightly-lit room. It was huge. I couldn’t see any walls or ceiling. They were all too far away. The floor, a crystal-clear pool, reflected everything. Then again, it also reflected nothing. How can that be? Am I standing on water? Of course not. The ground is too hard for water. Taking in a breath, I tasted a sweet . . . everything. So fresh and clean, and such a wonderful delight.
“Musetta?” the voice reverberated through my ears, giving me the sensation of being at home—of being safe.
“Who’s there?”
“Musetta?” the familiar voice asked again.
“Yes.”
Turning around, my heart exploded. Standing only a few feet away, my father smiled at me. His arms opened wide. Not stopping to think, I rushed into them. Surrounded by his familiar aroma, I soaked in the love I once cherished.
“Daddy? Where are we?”
“We’re here, baby girl,” he said, holding me tight.
“Where’s here?” I pulled away. “You’re dead. Am I dead now, too?”
“Almost,” he replied. “I think you’ll be okay, though.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We don’t have much time. Musetta, you need to know a few things.”
“A few things? Like what?”
“First, I had no idea that Berty was hurting you. I didn’t know he even knew about the tunnels. He was never supposed to know about them. I kept the secret doors locked. I even put a lock on the attic door.”
“Why the tunnels?”
“One was already there,” he explained. “I had the other one made. In the winter, they gave me easy access to my parents. I’m so sorry, baby. If I had only known. I would have killed him myself.”
“I’m sorry I punched you in the face at the funeral,” I whispered.
Narrowing his eyes, he frowned. “You punched me?”
“Almost knocked the casket over.”
He sighed glancing toward the ceiling. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“I’m sorry I hated you so much.” Hugging him again, I cried with every emotion I ever held for the man.
“It’s okay, Musetta,” he said, hugging me back. “You thought it was me hurting you.”
“This is so messed up!” I screamed.
“Yes, it is.”
“Why did they hide Uncle Berty?”
“They thought he killed that little girl,” he said.
We were walking now. But no matter how far we walked, nothing changed. A bright light surrounded us. Enclosed us. As if we were in a bubble.
“You mean Lavender?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Where are we? I can’t see anything.”
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “I have to explain.”
“Lavender isn’t dead,” I said. Holding his hand felt wonderful, and sent waves of security all through me. I never wanted to let go. I never wanted to leave him.
“I know,” he said. “I tried to explain everything to my parents, but they refused to believe me. They were convinced that Berty had raped and killed that little girl. When we moved away to protect Berty, my parents secluded us from everything and everyone. No newspapers, no TV. They even homeschooled us for many years. Finally, when I was in my teens, they bought the old farmhouse. It was then I went back to public school. Berty, however, remained hidden. It wasn’t until I became a judge and ran into Lavender on the street one day that I learned the whole story. The true story.”
“It wasn’t him. It was a man who escaped from jail.”
“I know that,” he said. “I showed my parents the paperwork, the proof. They refused to listen to reason. It had already been too long. They convinced themselves that it was Berty. As a child, Berty had such a bad temper. When something angered or frustrated him, he’d explode in a terrible rage. Broke up furniture, hit people, or screamed for hours. His anger terrified my parents.”
“Something’s very wrong with your brother. He’s totally nuts.”
My father laughed. “Unfortunately, I believe you are correct. He lived as a shadow of me for as long as we can remember. Our parents convinced Berty that he had died and what remained was a part of me. They called us both Nicky.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yes. What they did to my brother was unconscionable,” he said. “Maybe it was their guilt that made them unable to accept the truth. Whatever it was that hooked them to the lie, I was unable to undo. I worked with my family to try and fix thing. But nothing I did seemed to help.”
“Guilt can do terrible things to a person,
” I said, reciting my shrink’s words.
“I tried to help Berty. Paid for his counseling. Bought him a house, found him a job. When he fell in love with Betty, I paid for the wedding. For a while, he seemed fine. When he discovered that Betty couldn’t have children, he went wild. It seemed to destroy him even more.”
“Why couldn’t they have kids?”
“Something to do with Betty,” he explained. “Anyway, when your mother became pregnant with twins, Berty went nuts. He wanted a child of his own so much. Demanded that since he was me, he could take one of my girls to live with them as their own.”
“What?”
“Of course, I refused. Argued for hours with my parents and brother.”
“But you agreed?”
“Eventually,” he said. “I feared for the safety of you and your sister if I refused.”
“Is that how he ended up with my twin?”
“It was a very difficult decision.” He stopped walking and knelt down. “Sit.” He pulled me into the warm water. Instead of sinking, I floated in a sea of love and warmth. How could this happen?
“This place is weird, Dad.”
“Listen to me, Musetta,” he begged. “This is important. You have to remember what I’m about to tell you.”
“Okay.” Looking into his eyes, I saw a fear that he never wore before. As a judge, he was always so powerful and strong. Now, he looked so frail and afraid.
“Your grandparents felt it unfair for me to have a child and for my brother not to have one as well. They threatened to kidnap a different child if I didn’t agree to their terms.”
“Their terms?” How did my grandparents have so much power over my father? “This is crazy.”
He nodded. “If I didn’t agree, they were going to expose me. I would lose my job and my family. I reluctantly agreed to their demands. Stupid, I know. I was desperate.”
Fear hit my stomach almost as hard as my uncle’s knife did. “Dad, what did you do?”
“I was the one that ordered the changes to our birth records. A very illegal action.”
“But Rosetta died?”
“When your mother was in labor, I paid the doctors to put her under so she wouldn’t remember. Later, I explained to her that your sister didn’t make it. I even paid for a funeral. I buried a child that wasn’t dead. In other words, I gave my living daughter to my brother.”