Chapter 3 - MY DEAD WIFE WAS BREATHING UNDER THE HOUSE
I didn’t remember crossing the room.
One second I was beside the coffin.
The next, I was moving toward the kitchen.
“Daniel.”
Elena followed.
Caleb stepped in front of me.
I shoved him aside.
“Where’s the basement?”
“We don’t have one.”
I stopped.
Turned.
“What?”
“This house doesn’t have a basement.”
I stared at him.
We grew up here.
He was right.
Or at least we had been told he was right.
The house had a crawlspace.
No basement.
No cellar.
No underground room.
My mother had just said otherwise.
“Elena.”
She was already scanning the walls.
“House renovations?”
Caleb shook his head.
“Not that I know.”
“When was the kitchen remodeled?”
“Three years ago.”
“By who?”
“Mom hired people.”
“What company?”
“No idea.”
My son cried softly.
Elena looked at Thomas.
“We need him away from this.”
I hated the thought of letting him go.
But she was right.
“Who do you trust?”
“You.”
“Not helpful.”
“My investigator is almost here.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Reed.”
“I remember him.”
Former Army investigator.
Built like a refrigerator.
Patient enough to wait six hours for a suspect to contradict himself.
“Three minutes.”
I handed Thomas to Elena reluctantly.
She took him with surprising ease.
“Go.”
Caleb and I searched.
Pantry.
Laundry room.
Storage closet.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the pantry shelves.
The floor beneath them had scratches.
Recent.
I pulled.
The entire shelving unit shifted.
Caleb stared.
“What the hell?”
Behind it was a narrow door.
Painted the same color as the wall.
No handle.
Electronic lock.
My mother had built a concealed entrance beneath the house where we grew up.
I hit the door with my shoulder.
It didn’t move.
“Elena!”
She entered carrying Thomas.
“Back up.”
She examined the lock.
“No exposed mechanism.”
Caleb stared at the keypad.
“Four digits.”
I tried Mom’s birthday.
Red.
Dad’s birthday.
Red.
My birthday.
Red.
Caleb’s.
Red.
Emily’s.
Red.
Thomas’s date of birth.
Red.
Then I thought of my father.
The year he supposedly died.
Green.
The lock clicked.
Nobody spoke.
I opened the door.
Concrete stairs descended into darkness.
Cold air rose from below.
Bleach.
Antiseptic.
Damp concrete.
Medical.
Elena’s entire posture changed.
“This is a crime scene.”
“My wife is down there.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“My mother said her name.”
“I know.”
I took my phone flashlight.
Caleb reached for my arm.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“What if you don’t want to see what’s down there?”
I looked at him.
“That stopped being an option when I saw the coffin.”
I descended.
The stairs turned once.
Then ended at a heavy steel door.
Keypad.
No handle on my side.
I tried 2019 again.
Nothing.
“Elena?”
She remained above with Thomas.
“Find secondary power or control panel.”
I swept the wall.
Nothing.
Caleb came down.
“I can break it.”
“No.”
“It’s steel.”
“Exactly.”
Then I noticed four worn numbers on the keypad.
Finger grease.
Repeated use.
Four-digit code.
Caleb stared.
“1479?”
Red.
“1974?”
Red.
I looked at him.
“What year was Dad born?”
“1968.”
Red.
“What year did he marry Mom?”
“1991.”
Green.
The lock clicked.
My stomach turned.
I opened the door.
The smell became stronger.
The room was maybe twenty feet long.
Concrete walls.
Portable medical monitors.
IV pole.
Packages of syringes.
A table.
A chair bolted to the floor.
Leather restraints attached to the arms.
My breathing slowed.
Military training again.
Notice.
Catalog.
Do not react before understanding.
A camera in the corner.
Mattress near the far wall.
Blanket.
Food containers.
Someone had been held here.
Not temporarily.
Then my flashlight found hair.
Brown.
A woman lay curled near the mattress.
For a second, I couldn’t move.
“Emily?”
No response.
I crossed the room.
Dropped beside her.
Her skin was warm.
Warm.
My hands began shaking.
“Emily.”
Nothing.
I touched her neck.
Pulse.
Weak.
But there.
“Emily!”
Her eyelids moved.
I leaned closer.
“Baby, open your eyes.”
Caleb stood behind me.
“Oh my God.”
Emily’s eyes opened.
Unfocused.
She stared through me.
Then slowly at me.
Recognition took several seconds.
When it came, her entire face broke.
“Daniel?”
My throat closed.
“Yeah.”
Her hand lifted.
Weak.
Trembling.
She touched my cheek.
“You’re real.”
“I’m real.”
“You came.”
“I came.”
She started crying.
Not loudly.
She didn’t have the strength.
I pulled her against my chest.
She felt too light.
Bone beneath skin.
Her hair smelled like antiseptic.
“I thought…”
She swallowed.
“I thought you wouldn’t make it.”
“I’m here.”
“They told me you knew.”
My body went cold.
“Knew what?”
“That you didn’t want us.”
I pulled back.
“Who told you that?”
She looked toward Caleb.
He raised both hands.
“Not me.”
Emily flinched away from him.
“Get him out.”
Caleb froze.
“Emily.”
“GET HIM OUT.”
Her voice cracked into panic.
I stood between them.
“Caleb, upstairs.”
“I didn’t do this.”
“Upstairs.”
“Daniel.”
“NOW.”
He stared at Emily.
Then left.
She watched until the door closed.
Her breathing remained fast.
“It’s okay.”
“No.”
She gripped my shirt.
“It’s not okay.”
“Thomas is upstairs.”
Her eyes widened.
“You found him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I held him.”
Emily began sobbing.
I held her.
“He’s safe.”
“No.”
The word came against my chest.
“He’s not safe here.”
“Elena is with him.”
“Who?”
“Elena Vasquez.”
Recognition.
Relief.
Only a little.
“You trust her?”
“With my life.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“Good.”
“What happened?”
“You have to leave.”
“Not without you.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m starting to.”
“No.”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“Your mother isn’t the worst part.”
I stared.
“Who is?”
Her face tightened.
Before she answered, heavy pounding sounded upstairs.
Three knocks.
Then a male voice.
“Sheriff’s department!”
Emily’s entire body went rigid.
I felt it happen.
“No.”
She looked terrified.
“Emily.”
“No.”
“Who is it?”
“Mercer.”
I knew Sheriff William Mercer.
He had been sheriff since I was fifteen.
He had attended my high school graduation.
He had hugged me the day I enlisted.
He sent my unit care packages at Christmas.
He gave a speech at my father’s funeral.
“Why are you afraid of Mercer?”
Emily grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t let him come down here.”
“What did he do?”
“He brought me here.”
I stared at her.
“He what?”
“The night I tried to leave.”
She swallowed.
“I got to the highway.”
“My contractions had started.”
“I flagged down a deputy.”
“Mercer came instead.”
She began trembling.
“He said he would take me to the hospital.”
“He brought me back here.”
My vision narrowed.
“What happened next?”
“He gave me something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“I woke up down here.”
She looked toward the IV stand.
“They kept me sedated.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
My jaw tightened.
“Mercer.”
She hesitated.
“And a woman named Laura.”
“Who is Laura?”
“I don’t know.”
Footsteps came down the stairs.
Emily gripped me harder.
“Daniel.”
The steel door opened.
Sheriff Mercer stood there.
Gray hair.
Tan uniform.
Badge shining.
Two decades of public respect worn like armor.
He looked at Emily.
Then at me.
His expression didn’t show surprise.
It showed disappointment.
“You weren’t supposed to find this room.”
I stood.
Placed myself between him and Emily.
“Funny.”
My voice went flat.
“She said the same thing about you.”
Mercer’s hand drifted toward his holster.
I watched it.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Daniel, you’ve been through a great deal.”
“Take your hand away from the weapon.”
“You need to understand—”
“Take your hand away from the weapon.”
Slowly, he lifted both hands.
Then Elena appeared behind him.
Her handgun was aimed directly between his shoulder blades.
“That would be the smartest decision you’ve made tonight.”
Mercer looked back.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Elena Vasquez.”
Recognition flickered.
He knew the name.
Interesting.
“This is county jurisdiction.”
Elena smiled without humor.
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean you have an illegally detained woman in a hidden medical room beneath a private residence.”
Mercer looked at Emily.
“She was not detained.”
Emily laughed weakly.
“You drugged me.”
“You were unstable.”
“You chained me to that chair.”
“For your protection.”
I looked at the restraints.
Then at him.
“Say that again.”
He met my eyes.
“Your wife experienced a psychiatric crisis.”
“While giving birth?”
“Before.”
“Where are her medical records?”
“Private facility.”
“Name it.”
Mercer didn’t answer.
“Doctor?”
Nothing.
Elena stepped closer.
“Who is the woman upstairs?”
Mercer’s face changed.
That question landed.
I saw it.
“The body.”
Elena continued.
“She isn’t Emily Hale.”
Mercer stared at her.
“Who is she?”
“No idea.”
Emily whispered behind me.
“Rachel.”
Mercer’s face became completely still.
I turned.
“You know her?”
Emily nodded.
“Who is Rachel?”
She looked directly at Mercer.
“His daughter.”
Mercer didn’t move.
Elena’s eyes sharpened.
“Your daughter is dead upstairs?”
Mercer’s jaw flexed.
“That is not my daughter.”
Emily frowned.
“You told Margaret she was.”
Mercer looked at her.
“You were sedated.”
“I heard you.”
“You heard things that weren’t there.”
Emily shook her head.
“You said Rachel ruined everything.”
Mercer stepped toward her.
I blocked him.
He smiled.
“You don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“But you do.”
A long silence followed.
Then Mercer glanced toward the wall.
Not at me.
Not at Elena.
At a small red panel near the door.
I saw the movement.
So did Elena.
“Don’t.”
Mercer lunged.
His palm hit the red switch.
The room went black.
Emily screamed.
I heard Elena curse.
Then a gunshot.
I hit the floor.
Grabbed Emily.
“Down!”
Something struck metal.
Footsteps.
A door slammed.
Emergency lights flickered red.
Mercer was gone.
Elena crouched near the doorway.
Blood ran down her left forearm.
“You hit?”
“Graze.”
The steel door began closing.
I ran.
Too late.
It slammed shut.
Lock engaged.
Emily stared at the ceiling.
Then I heard it.
A faint hiss.
Air moving through the vents.
Her face drained.
“What?”
I asked.
May you like
She whispered one word.
“Gas.”
