Chapter 17
The stairs stretched longer than any basement stairs I’d ever seen. Too long. And clean. Unnervingly clean. No thick dust blanketing the treads, no spider webs or grime clinging to the railing. It looked like someone had wiped it all down recently, leaving not a smudge in sight.
Halfway down, a wooden step cracked beneath me with a loud snap.
I flinched and threw myself toward the railing, catching my balance just in time but almost cutting my hand with the knife.
The flashlight flew from my grip, bounced twice, and rolled all the way to the bottom.
Its beam landed sideways on a dark stone wall, casting the basement in a weird, angled glow.
It was a good thing I hadn’t put my full weight on that step.
I’d been creeping cautiously along the edge, hugging the wall.
That had probably saved me from tumbling straight down.
But still, Hudson and Daniel hadn’t been kidding when they’d made these stairs sound like death traps.
No wonder they locked the door and warned people to stay out.
That made me wonder: what was I doing here? Maybe I was overthinking it, and there was nothing suspicious about this place. It was just an old basement. That’s all.
I hurried down the remaining steps. My shoes tapped quickly against the wooden surface.
The basement opened into a broad space. Even in the limited light, I could see several tunnels stretching out in different directions. It was as if the entire house sat on top of an underground maze.
When I bent down to grab the flashlight, I noticed its beam had landed on a light switch. Weird place for one, but I went straight to it and flipped it, not expecting anything.
But it worked.
As if waiting for the command, a string of bare bulbs flickered to life.
They were strung along the wall of the largest tunnel.
A thick red electrical cord connected each light.
The setup looked improvised, temporary. The lights buzzed faintly, emitting a sickly, industrial glow, like something from a mine shaft.
I followed them. The tunnel curved left, leading deeper underground. On either side, a few doorways branched off, revealing tiny rooms. I swept my flashlight across them. Most were empty. Some were filled with sagging furniture.
I kept going.
Then the lights stopped—a dead end, visually at least. Darkness swallowed the tunnel ahead.
I lifted the flashlight. Its narrow beam cut through the black. The path ended in a split—two choices.
Left: nothing but a thick stone wall, sealing off that route like it had never existed.
Right: looked the same at first, but a few feet in, barely out of reach of the flashlight beam, something glowed. It was a soft orange flicker.
I followed the orange flicker down the tunnel. The light grew stronger with each step.
There, framed by rough rock, was what appeared to be a doorway. The light came from within, glowing warm and steady like a hearth just out of sight.
A few feet from the opening, I froze.
A sound echoed into the tunnel. It was subtle but unmistakable.
Metal tapping against porcelain, like someone stirring a spoon in a teacup.
My fingers clamped around the knife. The flashlight clicked off in my other hand. Darkness pressed in, thick and calm, like it was waiting for something.
I listened but nothing happened. Not a single peep, breath, or creak. The stillness stretched like it might never end.
“It’s rude to spy on people like that,” a woman said. My breath caught and my heart hammered against my chest like it wanted out. The voice was clear, calm, a little annoyed. It was the woman’s voice from the day I fainted.
I waited for a few more seconds. Then I took a couple steps forward, careful and slow, right through the stone-framed opening. The short tunnel beyond it led to a heavy steel door. It looked like something from a vault: reinforced and bolted in all directions.
But it stood wide open.
Crossing the threshold, I entered a room that didn’t belong in a basement. It looked . . . lived in. Cozy. A fully furnished living room spread out before me. It had a couch, a large flat-screen TV, and a coffee table stacked with a few magazines.
A kitchen shared the space. It was open-concept, complete with barstools and marble counters. To the side sat a small study area lined with book-stuffed shelves.
A few doors led off the space. One revealed a tidy bedroom, the other a bathroom.
A third door, solid metal and bolted, remained firmly shut.
There were no windows anywhere, but the lighting was warm, spread evenly across the ceiling and walls.
It looked soft and homey, as if someone had tried really hard to make this basement feel that way.
In the far corner next to the bookshelf, the woman from the mirror sat curled in a large armchair, stirring tea as she read. Her long silver hair fell wild over striped pajamas. Her ice-blue eyes snapped toward me, her gaze sharp as glass.
I wanted to run and question every decision that had led to this moment.
But I didn’t move.
“Is . . . is this real?” The words barely came out.
I was met with silence. It hung in the air for a second too long before her gaze flicked to the knife in my hand.
“What did you bring that for?” she asked flatly. “Not very smart if you wanted to come down here looking harmless and friendly.”
“Oh, God.” I stepped toward the counter and set the blade down carefully. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
She snapped her book shut with a clap. “Now that’s even dumber,” she said. “You don’t know me. What if I’d wanted to hurt you? That knife might’ve been the only thing keeping you alive.”
I glanced between her and the knife. I was tempted to snatch it back. Though, if she wanted me dead, she’d already had the chance when I’d passed out in front of her. And she hadn’t taken it.
“Who are you?” The question slipped out as I took a small step back.
She didn’t answer right away, just studied me like a specimen. Then she set the book on the side table.
“The better question is, who are you?” Her voice didn’t soften. “You’re the one who broke into my home.”
I tried to wrap my head around it. Any of it.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” I said, shaking off the fog in my brain. “I’m Emily Winthrop. Daniel’s wife.”
A slow smile tugged at her mouth. Then she laughed—low and dry. “You’re his wife. You married him.”
“You know Daniel?”
She waved the question away like it bored her. “Pfff.”
Of course she knew him. This was his house. How could someone live beneath it without him knowing?
But then, what if he had no idea? Daniel hadn’t spent time here in years. But Hudson, he lived here. Maybe this was Hudson’s doing.
My eyes swept the room again. It was comfortable and warm, but there were no windows, just stone walls, locks, and soft lighting. Like a prison. As if someone had tried to turn captivity into something that resembled home.
“Are you locked in here?” I asked.
“When I want to be.”
That didn’t make sense.
“Who put you down here?”
She stared at me for a moment, her expression unreadable, her eyes sharp and calculating.
“I can help you.” My words came fast, almost desperate. “Get you out of here.”
“You can’t,” she said, and in one sudden movement, she stood.
My feet moved on their own, stumbling back a few steps.
“Of course I can.” I pointed toward the open tunnel. “The door’s right there. We can just leave.”
“No, I can’t.” Her tone had shifted. It was harder now, like I was doing something wrong by offering.
“Why not?” I kept my voice calm and careful. She was getting worked up, and I didn’t want to push too far. “Come with me.”
“I said I can’t.”
None of it added up. I walked backward so I could keep an eye on her.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Come on. Quick.”
Her face twisted. “I said no!”
She lunged.
I jerked back fast, but the wall was right there.
My spine hit hard, knocking the air out of me.
Before I could push off or shift to the side, she was in front of me.
Her body pinned me, arms on either side, breath hot and sour in the narrow gap between us.
Her eyes locked onto mine. They were wide, unblinking, full of something unhinged.
“Because the monster,” she muttered frantically. “He hurts women like us.”
I swallowed, my lips barely moving. “What monster? Daniel?”
“No, not him!” Her voice cracked as she grabbed both my arms and yanked me forward. “I said the monster,” she hissed. “The monster! He hurts us!”
Her spit hit my cheeks.
I tried to pull back, but her grip didn’t budge. Her fingers were locked around my arms like metal clamps.
“The monster!” she now screamed. “He hurts us!”
That was when I shoved her—hard. Her body reeled just enough for me to break free.
I ran like the devil was after me.
I wasn’t sure if she was following, but I didn’t stop to look. My feet pounded the floor, and the tunnel blurred. The air felt colder somehow.
“Don’t come back here!” she yelled from behind me. “The monster!”
Her voice got smaller as I turned the corner.
“He hurts us!”
The words barely reached me. Then nothing. Stone and silence swallowed her whole.
I made it to the stairs, glancing back once.
No one was there.
My hand caught the railing, and I started up.
The first step groaned under my weight. I paused, then noticed something strange. Every second step looked cleaner. Almost new. No cracks, no splinters, no signs of wear.
I tested one of them. Solid.
Then the next.
I moved fast, landing only on every second step. One after another, they held firm, carrying me safely back toward the light.
I slammed the yellow door shut behind me, hard enough to rattle the frame.
“Tara!” I called out.
No answer.
Of course, I didn’t call for Hudson. The woman said Daniel had nothing to do with it. But what about Hudson? What if he was the monster?
I pulled out my phone. My fingers shook so badly, I could hardly unlock the screen. I leaned into the door with my back.