to some reservoir of information that would help Lauren now?
She looked around the bedroom. Aside from the bed, there was a bureau with a big mirror. A stack of religious texts sat on top. A few more magazines lay by the bed.
But otherwise…nothing.
Lauren got down on her hands and knees. She lifted the skirt of the bed and glanced under. It seemed even darker under there.
Should she turn on a light?
Someone might see it and wonder who was inside. Lauren doubted news of Sister Donovan’s death had reached many people in the neighborhood, but she didn’t want to chance someone calling the police.
Her eyes had adjusted pretty well anyway. And the streetlight in front of the house sent some of its light into the house. Not much, but enough to make out things.
Lauren went back to the kitchen and found a flashlight in one of the drawers. She headed back to the bedroom and opened the closet door.
She switched the flashlight on and instantly a beam of yellow cut into the swath of dark. Mounds of books met Lauren’s eyes. Clothes on hangers draped over the stacks.
It must be here, she thought.
Again she got down on her knees and began going through the piles. Most of it was a substantial collection of science fiction novels. Apparently, Sister Donovan had been quite a fan. Lauren smiled. It made her feel closer to the old nun knowing that she’d been human as well as divine.
Behind her, at the entrance of the closet, a pile of books began to form a mound. Lauren kept passing the books out over her shoulder. The closet seemed much deeper than she’d originally estimated. The more books she got through, the more stacks appeared before her.
Until at last, she saw wall.
How many books did she have time to read, thought Lauren. There must be at least two thousand here.
Her hands touched cool plaster. The back of the closet. She shone the flashlight at the side walls and pressed into them trying to find some sort of cubbyhole or secret panel.
Nothing.
She leaned back on her haunches and sighed. Where would it be?
She shivered, feeling the cold of the house. She hoped Steve and Dr. Kwon had their eyes on that Darius fellow. The last thing she wanted to think about was him showing up here right now.
Put it out of your mind!
A creak from somewhere else in the house startled her. She jumped and the flashlight dropped, hitting the floor of the closet with a bang. The light vanished.
Darkness swallowed the closet again.
Lauren sat very still. Her ears strained against the heavy silence, probing, trying to find another sound.
Was someone there with her?
Steve?
She frowned. No. He’d be busy with Kwon.
Lauren drew the small gun he’d given her earlier. Ever so quietly, she pulled back on the top of the gun, chambering a round. Each tiny click and clack made her hold her breath.
Off came the safety.
She aimed the gun at the closet opening.
Listening.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe he’d eluded Steve and Kwon.
Gotten away.
And had only one thing on his mind.
Lauren.
Her thighs burned from squatting. The gun, small though it was, began to feel heavy in her hands. She wanted to put it down. She wanted to slump against the cool wall and rest for a moment.
But fear wouldn’t let her.
The closet grew colder.
Lauren began praying. In her head she began reciting every prayer she’d ever known. Over and over again.
The silence hung heavy.
Suffocating.
She wanted to draw a deep breath. She wanted to stand. To move. Adrenaline had flooded her system and she felt jumpy.
Stay still!
A thought occurred to her then. The sound the flashlight had made when it struck the wooden floor.
Bang.
Not a dull thud.
Not the sound she would have expected.
Bang.
Almost as if -
Her eyebrows jumped. Maybe?
There seemed to be no noise coming from the house. Maybe the old home was settling. Noises in old homes were common, even if for no real reason.
She smiled. No one was there.
She lowered the gun.
Slid the safety back on.
And set it down to her left.
Lauren turned back around to face the rear of the closet. Her fingers found the flashlight. She tried the switch.
Yellow light bit back into the dark. She sighed. Good, the bulb hadn’t broken at all. The switch must have simply gotten hit when it fell.
Lauren shone the light on the floor.
There!
She saw a cut in the floorboards. It made a square almost a foot and a half long by a foot wide. She took out her penknife and opened the blade.
It fit into the tiny opening and Lauren pried it back.
The floorboard came up.
And she saw them.
A series of black leather journals shrouded in plastic wrap to protect them. She removed the package; there must have been ten of them in total.
There were no marks on the cover. Lauren carefully slid them out of the plastic and then unfolded her legs, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the closet.
For some reason, she felt better about reading them in there than out in the open.
Did she feel safer there with the clothes tickling her head? Almost like being a little kid and hiding in the clothes racks at the department store again, she decided.
She took up the flashlight and opened the first journal. The light showed old yellowed paper, crinkling at the edges. On the pages, deep black ink flowed in cursive writing.
On the first page, she read:
Lauren flipped through the pages. His writing was tough to read until she’d accustomed her eyes to its massive loops and swirls. She could tell he’d been artistic as well judging from how he wrote.
