Chapter 3 - Three Days Without a Name
The cold came up first through the stone. I felt it in my back where my cardigan had gone damp, and I tried to shift without making noise because every scrape echoed. Above me the hatch was still cracked open just enough for a line of white hall light to cut across my hands. I stared at the rope around my wrists. The fibers had softened where I'd pulled at them for three days, but not enough to give.
His shoes didn't move. The man in the black suit stayed crouched right at the edge, breathing steady, like he didn't want to scare me by coming down too fast. I could hear Mia close to him. The little catch in her throat when she tried not to cry. Her fingers on his sleeve.
It pulled me back whether I wanted it or not.
Three mornings ago the kitchen had been bright. I remembered because Mia had spilled apple juice on the counter and I'd wiped it with a dish towel while the coffee was still brewing. She was in her pajamas, hair tangled, asking if she could wear the beige dress because it twirled. I told her not yet, save it for after school. That was the last normal minute I had.
Nathan came in through the side door like he owned the place. He didn't raise his voice. He never needed to. He said Mia's teacher had called, that she needed to be picked up for some paperwork, and that I should come downstairs first to grab the old car seat from storage. I knew the storage was under the hall. I knew it made no sense. But when I hesitated, he looked toward Mia.
He didn't threaten her out loud. He just said her name softly. Mia. And nodded toward the hallway. That was enough. I understood what he meant. If I made a scene in front of her, she would carry it. If I went quietly, maybe she wouldn't.
I followed him to that light wood panel in the floor. I thought I would just hand him something and go back to the juice on the counter.
The air changed when he lifted it. Damp and cool rose up around my ankles. He went down first, then told me to come hold the flashlight while he moved a box. I stepped onto the stone. I'm still angry at myself for how easy it was. One step, then another. The smell of old concrete and dust.
He moved faster than I expected. His hand closed around my wrist and pulled me off balance. Before I could get my footing he had the rope out, already looped. He'd planned it. The thickness of it surprised me, how it bit even when he wasn't pulling hard. I said Mia's name. That was my mistake. He used it.
He told me to stay quiet for her sake. If I yelled, he said, she would come running, and she would see me like this. He said it would be better if she just thought I'd left for a few days. He tied the last knot and stood up. I asked him why. He didn't answer. He just lowered the hatch.
I heard the latch settle. Then his footsteps walking away across the marble.
The first day I tried to be reasonable. I thought someone would notice the car still in the driveway, the coffee still on. I called out until my throat went raw. The second day I conserved my voice and listened for school pickup times, for the front door. The third morning I stopped calling and started knocking. Three short hits with my knuckles against the stone wall that shared the pipes with the upstairs hall. I did it whenever I heard steps. I didn't know if anyone could hear it at all.
Now the light cut across my hands again and I heard that small breathing above me. Mia clutching his sleeve.
She'd heard it. Out of everyone in that bright house with its staircase and mirrors, the barefoot five-year-old in the twirling dress had heard three knocks through a floor.
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My eyes burned. I didn't let myself sob. I needed to stay clear enough to tell him this much, that Nathan hadn't grabbed me in anger. He'd used Mia to walk me down there. He'd used my fear of frightening her to keep me quiet.
The hatch creaked a fraction wider. Dust fell into the light. I looked up, blinded for a second, and held my bound hands where he could see them.
