At the end of the hallway is a kitchen. A candle in a glass jar sits on the windowsill and a plate of food is on the table. The back screen door is propped open with a brick and a dim light shines over the back verandah, dousing the area a foot from the door, but leaving the area beyond that as black as outer space. Nate could be standing ten feet away and I wouldn’t be able to see him.
I blow out the candle on the windowsill and start retracing my steps towards the hall but as I go I hear a sound – a muffled cry. Looking behind the kitchen door I spot another door, this one locked with a rusty bolt.
One hand isn’t enough to wrestle the bolt free and I have to put the gun down on the table so I can use both. The lock flies back with a crash, and I jump and grab for the gun, spinning around with it, aiming it at the door.
I wait a few seconds, and then, unable to wait any longer, I open the door. A quick glance over my shoulder and I see that it’s the way into a cellar or crawl space. There’s a narrow, wooden staircase down – about six steps, but it’s dark as a grave.
Cobwebs stroke my face as I move to the narrow entrance. I inch my way down the stairs, fear digging its talons around my chest, my breathing coming fast and shallow.
I reach the bottom step and have to feel my way, hand groping for the wall until I find a light switch. I flick it.
‘Hannah!’
She’s tied to a chair, her hands and legs bound, a gag in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes. I run towards her and yank the blindfold down. She blinks at me, squinting, tears rolling down her face.
I rip the gag out of her mouth and she starts choking, sucking in air. ‘Mom,’ she sobs. Her eyes are alive with terror, dirt streaks her face and there’s blood on her lip.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, dropping to my knees. ‘Shhh.’
I drop my gun and start pulling frantically at the knots tying her to the chair. I manage to get her hands free and get to work on her feet.
‘Quick,’ she sobs at me.
‘Shhh,’ I say, glancing, terrified, over my shoulder. What’s happening up there? Where are they? What’s Nate doing? Does he plan to kill Calvin and frame him, to keep his own involvement secret?
‘Hurry!’ Hannah cries.
I dig my nails into the final knot and loosen it, and the two of us wrestle together to undo it. Finally it gives, and I help Hannah get stiffly to her feet.
‘Come on,’ I say, putting my arm around her as we move towards the stairs.
We creep into the kitchen and I come to a halt, blocking Hannah who is still on the stairs behind me, pushing to get past. The back screen door is now shut. The porch light is off. My eyes dart to the window. Is Nate out there watching us? Or is he in the house with us? And what about Calvin? Are there two of them or just one? Where did they go?
I pull Hannah towards the hallway. She clings to me, whimpering. In the hallway I pause. The noise of Hannah and the noise of my own breathing almost cancel out the sound of a floorboard creaking. He’s in here. I can’t isolate the sound though. There are two doors – one to the bedroom and another leading I don’t know where. Do we hide? No. My instinct tells me to get outside, into the woods where we won’t be trapped, where we’ll have more of a chance.
I keep heading towards the front room. Hannah stops me with a hand on my shoulder. She points. There’s a shadow moving behind the door, visible in a thin band of light. I turn, pushing Hannah back towards the kitchen again, urging her on, panic clawing at my insides, but the kitchen door flies open just before we reach it. There’s a blur of movement and a man appears in the doorway pointing a gun. Calvin.
I shove Hannah hard against the wall and aim at him a split second before he fires at us.
My gun doesn’t fire and his bullet goes wide and hits the doorjamb, splintering the wood. I shoot again. Nothing happens. And now he’s walking towards me, his finger on the trigger. Desperately I keep pulling the trigger. Nate must have done something to it – disabled it in some way.
I hurl the useless gun at him. He ducks and I charge him. He doesn’t expect it and stumbles backwards as I launch myself on top of him. I grab hold of his gun and we crash onto the kitchen table, which collapses beneath our weight. The gun goes off again – a deafening blast. I don’t know if I’ve been hit. Calvin is still fighting, kicking and punching and trying to wrench the gun from my grip. But I can’t let go. I know this. So I don’t. I hold on for dear life and we struggle, breathless, me on top, locking my legs around him and trying to pin him with my weight. He’s much bigger than me but suddenly he grunts in pain and buckles in on himself and I realize I’ve managed to get my knee into his groin. I grind it even harder into the soft space between his legs and his grip on the gun loosens and he grunts and curses some more. I yank the gun towards me, twist it and, my hands clenched over his, desperately press the trigger.
Calvin falls back with a gasp, blood spilling out of his chest, and I scramble off him in horror. A pair of hands grips my shoulders. I panic and lurch around, but it’s only Hannah, crying
