'This is quite the set-up,” Harriet said as she entered the room. Carla followed her.
'Why didn't they fix up the outside?” Carla wondered. “I mean, the inside is really cool, but the outside looks like it's falling down.'
'I don't know, but sometimes when property or zoning laws change, especially if there's an environmental impact, you're only allowed to repair existing structures, not rebuild or replace. People leave old boards to try to prove they haven't really built something new. Maybe something like that happened.'
'Seems like it wouldn't be very safe to have that old siding and roof on a building this big.'
'Oh, I'd be willing to bet that between in here and the ramshackle outside is a bunch of engineering.'
Carla had come to stand beside her. She tilted her head and looked at the open-beam ceiling. A loud click sounded behind them.
Carla grabbed Harriet's arm. “What was that?” she whispered.
'I don't know.” Harriet went back to the connecting door. She twisted and pulled on the knob. “It's locked.” she said.
'Are you sure it isn't just stuck?'
Harriet pushed, pulled, twisted and rattled, but the knob didn't budge. She turned around and noticed two doors at the back of the kitchen. The one in the left-hand wall led to a screened porch. She went onto the porch, crossed and tried its door.
'Locked,” she reported.
The door in the right wall opened onto a dark stairway that led downward. She shut it again quickly.
'I'm not going down there. We're going to find another way out of here that doesn't involve a dark, damp stairwell into the unknown.'
Carla took a thin spatula from the dish rack and went back to the door between the kitchen and the sewing room. She slid the flexible blade between the door and the jamb. It clicked as the blade hit metal.
'Someone's turned the deadbolt,” she said, her eyes round.
'Don't panic.” Harriet looked around for other possible ways out. She turned a full circle, noting the high clerestory windows. Her eyes came back to the door Carla was standing at.
'Oh, jeez,” she said. A thin curl of smoke was seeping under the door. “Get away from the door.'
She went to the counter and started pulling drawers open. When she found dishtowels, she pulled a handful out and threw them into the sink. She turned the faucet on and soaked the towels then rolled them lengthwise and carried them back to the door, pressing them along the bottom crack.
'See if you can get anything to open on the porch,” she called, but Carla was already there, rattling the storm windows and pulling on the door. Harriet heard a crash. She found Carla banging a ceramic flowerpot she'd found on the floor into the window. A fine pattern of cracks spread across the glass from the point of impact, but the window didn't give.
'There's wire or something in the glass,” she cried, panic clear in her voice.
Harriet took a closer look. “It looks like its some kind of safety glass.'
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She dialed Aiden's number, and his phone went directly into his voicemail.
'We need help,” she said, and her phone went dead.
'What happened,” Carla asked, her voice rising. “Why did you stop talking?'
'I lost the signal. And his phone went straight to his voicemail anyway.'
Carla pulled a drawer open on a hutch standing against the back wall of the building. She found a small common head screwdriver.
'We can unscrew the hinges,” she suggested, but Harriet could see the screwdriver wasn't going to be up to the task.
She looked back to the connecting door and could see smoke starting to once again curl into the room, this time around the edges of the rolled towels.
'There has to be another way out of here,” she said. “We don't know what's in that basement. What if there's a body?'
'Why would you think that?” Carla's eyes went wide.
'No reason.” Harriet tried to mentally take herself to a peaceful place. She imagined a grassy meadow and herself riding bareback on a large white horse.
She'd come home late one night after a movie with her girlfriends and crawled into bed in her dark bedroom beside her cold, dead husband, who had passed away in her absence. It had taken her several years of therapy, during which her counselor had taught her to imagine herself in a safe place, before she could sleep in a bed again. Even though Steve had died five years ago, she still hadn't conquered the dark-room thing.
Carla looked at Harriet and straightened her spine. She went over to the cabinet drawers and dug around until she found a small penlight, a couple birthday candles and a book of matches. She clicked the penlight on and was rewarded with a wavering yellow beam that indicated a used-up battery. She flicked it off quickly. It would probably only be good for one quick flash before it died completely.
'Come on.” She took Harriet by the hand and led her down the stairs, not mentioning the penlight's condition.
She rhythmically swiped her toe across the next step before putting her weight on it, pulling Harriet along with her. Every two steps she reached up and felt for a low overhead, warning Harriet to duck when they reached one.
Harriet stumbled, jamming her toe on the last step.
'Ouch!” she cried.
'Are you okay?” Carla whispered.
Harriet assured her she was fine but limped when she tried to walk.
'This way, I think,” Carla told her and led her slowly to the right, again feeling with her toe and sweeping every now and then with her hand, stopping when they came to a large sheet-metal box.
'I think this is the furnace,” she said, and carefully felt her way around it, continuing around the perimeter of the room.
'How is it you're so good at this?'
'I've spent a lot of time in the dark,” Carla admitted with a sigh.
They were silent for a few minutes as they continued their exploration.
'My momma was very young when she had me. She's spent a lot of time trying to find a man who would make her troubles go away. My daddy took off when I was born. He said he was too young to be a father.
'Then my momma took up with Danny. She said he beat us; I don't really remember that, though. After that, she was with Bobby Jo, and he liked little girls more than he liked my momma, so she started locking me in the basement or closet or toolshed or wherever she could to keep me away from Bobby Jo until she could get away from there. After that, I guess the closet turned out to be a good babysitter.'
Harriet was glad for once that it was dark; she knew she had to have a look of horror on her face. Carla was very matter-of-fact in her recitation. A thousand questions came to Harriet's mind, but she didn't want to upset the girl.
'What did you do to pass the time?” she finally asked.
'I pretended I was a princess. My dolly was my attendant. We were in the kingdom of dark and needed to search to find the prince and set him free.'
'And did you ever find him?'
'No. I'm still looking. But I've met a lot of interesting creatures along the way.'
'You're a stronger woman than I am,” Harriet admitted. “I still sleep with a nightlight.” She knew if she could see Carla, the young woman would be blushing.
