Chapter 2 - The Basement Door
Mark stared at his son as if the room had tilted beneath him.
"Grandma June?"
Noah nodded.
Linda spoke too fast. "He's confused. My mother is in a care facility. You know that."
"Which one?" Officer Ruiz asked.
Linda turned toward her. "Excuse me?"
"Which facility?"
"Lakeshore Memory Center."
Mark frowned. "You told me it was Pine Ridge."
For half a second, Linda said nothing.
That half second was enough.
Ruiz touched her radio. "I need another unit at this address. Possible unlawful restraint."
"This is insane," Linda snapped. "You can't just tear through my house because a child tells a story."
Noah flinched at the word story.
Mark saw it.
He crouched in front of him. "Show me."
Noah's eyes darted to Linda.
"Dad--"
"I'm here."
"You always leave."
The words hit harder than anything Linda had said.
Mark swallowed. "Not tonight. Show me."
Noah led them down a narrow hall to the basement door. Linda moved to block it.
"My lawyer will have all of your badges."
Ruiz stepped between her and the stairs. "Then he can call the department tomorrow. Move."
The basement smelled like cold concrete, laundry soap, and something sour. Noah descended slowly, one hand on the rail.
Mark noticed scratches on the wall beside the last step.
Five lines. Then five more.
"What's that?" he asked.
Noah didn't answer.
At the far end of the basement stood a painted white door with a new brass deadbolt on the outside.
Mark stopped.
"Why is there a lock on the outside?"
Linda shouted from upstairs. "Storage! It's just storage!"
Noah pointed to a coffee mug on the floor.
"Grandma slides it back when she's done."
Mark's face went pale.
Ruiz tested the door. Locked.
"Key?"
Linda said nothing.
Ruiz raised her voice. "Mrs. Carter, where is the key?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Noah reached behind the water heater and pulled out a small brass key taped to the pipe.
"She hides the spare here."
Ruiz took it.
Mark pressed a hand to the wall.
"Mom?" he called through the door. "June? It's Mark."
At first, nothing.
Then a faint voice.
"Mark?"
His knees almost gave out.
"Oh, God."
Ruiz unlocked the deadbolt.
The door opened into a small finished room with a cot, a lamp, stacks of old magazines, and no phone. June Ellis sat beneath a blanket, thinner than Mark remembered, her silver hair pulled into a loose braid.
She blinked at the light.
"You came."
Mark crossed the room and knelt beside her.
"They told me you were in a facility."
June's eyes slid past him toward the stairs.
"Linda told everyone a lot of things."
Noah stood in the doorway, trembling.
June reached for him.
"Come here, brave boy."
He ran to her.
Mark looked around the room. On the wall beside the cot were the same groups of five scratches.
"How long?"
June's voice cracked. "Four months."
Mark closed his eyes.
Upstairs, Linda began yelling that June was confused, that everyone was making a terrible mistake.
June gripped Mark's sleeve.
"Don't let her talk her way out of this."
"She won't."
June shook her head.
"You don't understand. This isn't about the boy. It isn't even about me."
She reached beneath the mattress and pulled out a small silver key on a red string.
"Your father knew what she was capable of."
Mark stared at the key.
His father had been dead for eleven years.
June pushed it into his palm.
"Go to locker 214 at Westfield Storage."
Mark looked up.
"What's in it?"
May you like
June's eyes filled with fear.
"The reason your father died afraid of your mother."
