Chapter Eight #3
“Impossible.” Her eyes narrowed on small stitches half an inch below the list. Jason’s initials and birth date were listed as though they were a citation from the bible. “This isn’t possible.”
She pressed her fingers against her temples and re-read the embroidery, confirming that Jason had talked in code and directed her to find instructions hidden in plain sight.
Roxana didn’t have to ask what panel and tunnel.
When they were kids, Dylan and Hagan had found the old bootlegger’s tunnel that was connected to their house.
Her brothers had been crazy enough to crawl in and explore without telling anyone.
They were gone for hours. Mom thought they had been abducted and was ready to call the police when Dylan and Hagan had walked in the front door with a crazy adventure to tell.
Dad had tanned their hides and sealed up the tunnel entrance.
With all the trouble her brother routinely found, she hadn’t thought about that incident in years and wasn’t aware that Jason knew it existed.
She turned toward the basement’s outward-facing wall and reached for the metal panel that covered the once-sealed crawl space.
Her heart galloped, and carefully, she lifted the cover from the wall.
A cold, damp draft that smelled of stale water and mud rolled into the bathroom. Roxana crouched and couldn’t see anything except a dark hole. If there was a tunnel, she couldn’t see it, and in no possible way would she crawl in and search for it.
“Absolutely not.” She retreated, bumping against the metal panel. It scraped on the concrete floor. Roxana twisted and caught it, then saw a folded sheet of paper duct-taped to the inside of the panel.
Her stomach lurched.
What the hell kind of James Bond bullshit was this?
She glanced at the ceiling and considered what might happen if she pretended not to have seen the embroidered wall hanging or note. Spiker and Vanka had orders and a gun and scared Roxana to the core. Jason had lied and broken her heart and trust. “Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.”
Roxana propped the panel between the toilet and sink, grabbed the paper, and unfolded it. Jason’s handwriting scrawled a date almost two years ago across the top of a note. “I’m gonna kill him.”
Babe, I’m sorry. More sorry than I know how to say. But more importantly, if you’ve found this note, you’re in danger. Something has gone wrong, and you want to kill me.
“Of course I do,” Roxana whispered.
You’re 100% justified. But deal with me later because time is not on your side.
There’s a flashlight directly inside the opening. Follow the tunnel until it ends. Climb up the metal rungs in the wall and grab the bag. You must remove a manhole cover to exit. If it doesn’t come off easily, use your shoulder and back.
“Use my back?” His helpful tip made her want to yell at him all over again. Perhaps she could embroider her thoughts when this was all said and done. ‘Thou shall not live a double life’ was a top contender, as was, ‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.’
Floorboards creaked overhead. Roxana snapped from her ill-timed crafting fantasy and returned to his words of wisdom.
You have to trust me.
“Ha. Not likely.”
Run, Babe. Don’t wait. Don’t stop. I’ll find you.
I love you.
The last part packed a gut punch. He had no right to drop an “I love you” at the end of a note that she’d found duct-taped in a tunnel. But Roxana reread the line another time before she read his last words.
P.S. In the unlikely event that you stumbled upon this letter and don’t feel as if there are any imminent threats, I’m still sorry. I’ll explain everything.
As if she would’ve stumbled into the basement bathroom’s tunnel. What other notes had he placed around her house when she wasn’t paying attention? That would be something for another day. Her imminent threats had made themselves perfectly clear.
She peeked into the tunnel. If his dated note and mention of a bag were any indication, no human had been in the tunnel for at least two years.
The darkness hid the cobwebs and little bugs that lived below her house.
She couldn’t see them but bet they could see her.
Part of her wasn’t sure if the flashlight was a good idea.
Actually, none of this was a good idea.
But the urgency in Jason’s note was enough that she reached into the darkness. Cobwebs tickled her skin as she reached for the flashlight and found it. In the dim bathroom light, she wiped off the film of grit and flipped the switch. A faint light turned on and flickered off.
“Oh, God.”
She wasn’t really going to do this. Yet, here she was, kneeling on her bathroom floor. She tried the flashlight again and then checked the batteries. They were corroded. Unsalvageable. She tossed the flashlight aside, crumpled his note, and shoved it in her pocket. “I hate him.”
Flashlight-less and more scared than she’d ever admit, Roxana climbed into the musty black hole, certain that she would kill her fiancé the very second he finished explaining himself.