Chapter 6 - The Descent into the Cellar
Ethan ran toward the back of the hallway, ignoring the damp dust that coated his expensive suit. He found a low, narrow wooden door set beneath the main staircase, secured by a heavy brass padlock hanging from a steel latch.
"Vance!" Ethan shouted.
Vance stepped up, pulled a pair of heavy bolt cutters from his belt, placed the jaws against the brass shackle, and leaned his full weight into the handles.
SNAP.
The lock sheared in two, clattering against the floorboards. Ethan threw the door open.
A wave of freezing, damp air rushed up from the dark opening, carrying the sharp scent of medicinal alcohol and bleach. A flight of steep, rough-hewn stone steps led down into a pitch-black cellar.
Vance shone his light down the stairs. The beam revealed a concrete floor slick with water, exposed pipes sweating overhead, and a tiny, narrow iron cot pushed against the far stone wall.
Ethan descended the steps three at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
On the narrow cot lay a figure.
She was wrapped in a threadbare, filthy yellow blanket, her body so thin and frail it looked almost skeletal beneath the fabric. Her dark hair was long, matted, and silvered at the temples, spilled across a moldy pillow. Her skin was a ghastly, translucent grey, stretched tight over her cheekbones. An IV line, rigged up to an inverted plastic bottle hanging from a rusty nail in the ceiling beam, snaked down into the back of her bruised left hand.
Ethan dropped to his knees on the cold concrete beside the cot. His hands hovered over her body, shaking violently, terrified that if he touched her, she would disintegrate into dust.
"Olivia..." he choked out, his voice breaking into a dry sob.
The woman’s eyelids fluttered open—heavy, paper-thin eyelids that revealed hazel eyes dimmed by pain and illness, yet still burning with a faint, unmistakable ember of recognition.
She raised a frail, bone-thin hand, her fingers trembling as she reached up to touch Ethan’s face. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, leaving a faint smear of dirt on his pale skin.
"Ethan..." she rasped, her voice a dry, papery whisper that sounded as if it were being dragged over gravel. "You... you found him... Leo found you..."
"I'm here," Ethan wept, taking her freezing hand and pressing it against his warm mouth, kissing her dirt-stained fingers over and over again. "I'm here, live. I've got you. Oh God, I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..."
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"He... he told me... you were dead," she whispered, her chest heaving as she struggled for oxygen. "Nine years... Ethan... he locked me away..."
Before Ethan could ask who, a heavy, deliberate bootstep sounded at the top of the cellar stairs.
