Chapter 2 - Beneath the KitchenI don’t remember deciding to move.
One second I was kneeling on the kitchen floor.
The next, I was tearing aside the runner rug while Rebecca shouted behind me.
“Stop!”
There was nothing beneath the rug except old pine boards.
I ran my hand along them.
“Dad!”
Nothing.
Then another knock sounded, farther toward the pantry.
I followed it.
Rebecca stepped in front of me.
“There’s nothing down there.”
“You heard him.”
“No, you think you heard him.”
“I heard Dad say my name.”
“You’ve been driving all day. You’re tired.”
I stared at her.
“Move.”
She didn’t.
“Ethan, listen to me. There’s an old crawlspace under this section of the house. Raccoons get in sometimes. Dad complained about them last winter.”
“Raccoons say my name now?”
Her mouth opened.
No answer came.
I moved past her.
The pantry was narrow and crowded with canned vegetables, cleaning supplies, and bags of dog food even though my parents hadn’t owned a dog since I was sixteen.
Against the back wall stood a tall cabinet.
I remembered that cabinet.
Except it used to be on the opposite side.
I grabbed it.
Rebecca caught my wrist.
“Don’t.”
One word.
Not angry.
Afraid.
That scared me more than anything else.
I pulled the cabinet forward.
Behind it was a rectangular seam in the floor.
A trapdoor.
I stared at it.
We’d lived in that house for most of my childhood, and I had never known there was a door beneath the pantry.
A new steel latch had been bolted across it.
There was also a padlock.
I slowly turned toward my sister.
“Why is that locked?”
Her eyes filled with tears so suddenly that, for one dangerous second, I almost felt sorry for her.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She shook her head.
“Please.”
“Are Mom and Dad under there?”
No answer.
I grabbed my phone.
Rebecca lunged.
She knocked it from my hand.
It hit the floor and skidded beneath the kitchen table.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You can’t call anyone!”
That answered more than any confession could have.
I pushed past her and reached for my phone.
She grabbed the back of my coat.
“Ethan, please! I can explain!”
“Then explain while I call 911.”
“You’ll destroy everything.”
I spun around.
“What have you done?”
Her face twisted.
“I didn’t do this!”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
That was when headlights swept across the kitchen window.
Rebecca looked outside.
The fear in her expression changed.
Not relief.
Terror.
A car door slammed.
Then another.
Someone was coming toward the house.
Rebecca whispered, “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
I picked up my phone.
No signal.
I looked at the screen.
Emergency calls only.
Strange. I’d had service outside.
Then I noticed a black device plugged into the outlet near the microwave.
I didn’t know exactly what it was, but my company transported enough electronics for me to recognize a signal jammer when I saw one.
My stomach turned cold.
The back door opened.
A man stepped inside.
He was maybe forty-five, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a black winter jacket.
I had never seen him before.
He stopped when he saw me.
Rebecca said quickly, “Cal, don’t.”
His gaze shifted from me to the open pantry.
Then to the exposed trapdoor.
“What did you do?”
Rebecca stepped backward.
“He showed up without warning.”
The man looked at me.
“So you’re Ethan.”
I stood between him and the pantry.
“And you are?”
“Someone trying to keep this family from making a bigger mistake.”
“That door opens now.”
He almost smiled.
“No.”
I moved toward him.
“Get out of my parents’ house.”
He didn’t move.
Neither did I.
For years, I had spent most of my life in offices and distribution centers, but before that I’d loaded freight twelve hours a day. Cal had size on me, but I had no intention of testing whether intimidation was all he had.
I pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
Instead, he reached into his jacket.
I tensed.
He pulled out a phone.
“Rebecca,” he said calmly, “you told me your brother wouldn’t be here until spring.”
“I didn’t know!”
Spring?
I looked at her.
“What happens in spring?”
Neither answered.
Cal stepped toward the pantry.
I blocked him.
His calm disappeared.
“Move.”
“No.”
He shoved me.
I shoved him back.
A chair fell.
Rebecca screamed.
Cal swung first.
His fist glanced off my cheek, and I drove my shoulder into his chest. We crashed into the kitchen table.
Pain shot through my ribs.
He was stronger than I expected.
He grabbed my collar.
Then three violent knocks thundered beneath the pantry.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
All three of us froze.
A voice followed.
My mother.
“HELP!”
I saw something change in Rebecca.
She covered her mouth.
Cal cursed.
That half-second was enough.
I slammed my forehead into his nose.
He stumbled backward.
I grabbed the heavy ceramic bowl from the counter and smashed it against the signal jammer.
Sparks flashed.
Cal lunged.
My phone immediately displayed two bars.
I hit emergency call.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
Cal stopped.
Rebecca started sobbing.
I kept my eyes on him.
“My elderly parents are being held beneath the floor of their home. Send police and an ambulance.”
Cal ran.
He bolted through the back door before I could stop him.
I gave the dispatcher the address and dropped the phone onto speaker.
Then I opened drawers until I found Dad’s old claw hammer.
The padlock was heavy.
I struck it once.
Twice.
On the fourth blow, the bracket tore from the wood.
I threw open the trapdoor.
A wave of cold, damp air rose from below.
Wooden stairs disappeared into darkness.
“Dad?”
“Ethan?”
His voice broke.
I grabbed a flashlight.
Rebecca stood by the kitchen table, trembling.
I looked at her once.
“If they’re hurt, you’d better start praying the police get here before I find out why.”
Then I went down.
The room beneath the kitchen wasn’t a crawlspace.
It was an old storm cellar.
Dad lay against the concrete wall beneath a blanket.
Mom was beside him, thinner than I remembered, her silver hair tangled around her face.
They were alive.
Barely.
I reached them.
Mom touched my cheek with shaking fingers.
“You came home.”
Those three words almost destroyed me.
I dropped beside her.
“I’m here.”
Dad grabbed my sleeve.
His grip was weak but urgent.
“Listen to me.”
“Save your strength.”
“No.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“Rebecca isn’t the one you should be afraid of.”
I followed his gaze upward.
“What are you talking about?”
He pulled me closer.
“The man upstairs…”
“Cal?”
Dad shook his head.
“No.”
Then we heard another vehicle arrive.
May you like
My father’s face filled with terror.
“That’s him.”
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