Eli’s shoulders were slumped. His face like ash, his eyes huge. He nodded.
Maya reached for his wrist. His hand slipped out of his sweatshirt pocket, fingers lacing into hers. Clammy with sweat.
“It’s probably obvious, but don’t touch anything,” Pearson added, starting up the steps. “We’ll be dusting for prints.”
They entered a small kitchen: salmon-pink linoleum floor that matched the counter tiles, a white oven with those old electric burner coils, pearl-white table edged in chrome, a tiny plastic microwave, avocado-colored refrigerator, a picture of a religious woman—Mary, maybe?—over the stove.
“Just like Grandma left it,” said Pearson. She ran a gloved finger over the table, making a streak in the thick layer of dust. “Does this look familiar?”
Eli shook his head. “He always brought me straight to my room.”
They moved to the living room. Two detectives were photographing everything. Another room right out of a time warp, with white-and-gold couches, a glass coffee table, and beige carpeting. There were all these glossy statues of Dalmatians cluttering the side tables. You could imagine a friendly old lady sitting there watching her soap operas.
Pearson put a hand on Eli’s shoulder and led him over to the mantel. “Is this him?”
Amid a cluttered line of framed photos, mostly of younger parents and a child—the petite mother, the father with a mustache and tinted sunglasses, the boy all limbs and bones and never smiling—one that seemed to be a high school graduation photo. A skinny teen in a suit with a hairstyle like a rectangle on top of his head, and a somber smile.
Eli nodded stiffly. “That’s him.”
A chill ran through Maya. She tried to imagine that kid, her age, and what he would become. Could you tell? Knowing what they did now, she felt certain she detected a darkness in those blue eyes, something false in that smile, but could anyone have known back then? His friends, classmates?
Pearson turned to the other detectives. “Let’s get this picture aged up and circulated wide.” She motioned for Eli and Maya to follow her down a hallway.
“Aren’t we going upstairs?” said Eli, glancing at the staircase that climbed the far wall.
“You should see this first.”
They passed a bathroom decorated in cheery pinks and frills. A door on the right led into a bedroom with pastel colors and a bed with a white lace blanket.
No light beyond the door to the left. A large padlock hung open on a steel latch.
Pearson pushed the door wide. “We think he kept you in here.”
Maya felt Eli trembling. “You don’t have to go in,” she said.
“Yeah, I do.”
He went first, and Maya followed. The room was bare except for a sagging mattress on a metal bed frame against the wall. A dirty pillow on the bare wood floor. Thick plywood over the window, and the tiniest sliver of light through a gap in the base. A metal bowl, overturned. A twist of light blue blanket snaking across the floor.
Clipped to the bed frame, a gooseneck lamp with a red bulb.
A dried rotten smell, like something long dead. A green plastic pail on its side in a corner.
Eli gripped Maya’s hand tighter. She squeezed back, trying to imagine…but she couldn’t, not even close. Her own room, her world, all of it was so big and so assumed. She just wanted to cry, to hug Eli, and yet this other voice inside her was screaming to get the hell out of here, as if this room could somehow swallow her up. Its purpose, its very existence, that you could be grabbed from a street and locked in a place like this. How could you believe your life had meaning, or a plan, if this could happen? This room didn’t care about your jazz concert, your dreams. She wanted to unsee it, to be as far from it as she could.
But she kept holding his hand.
“I went back over your statements,” said Pearson. “There were some confusing details. You said this room was at the top of a staircase, but also that you heard your sister from upstairs. You also mentioned hearing sounds from the kitchen. But this is the room, isn’t it?”
“This is it,” Eli nearly whispered. He released Maya’s hand and took small steps across the room. Crouched by the wall, by the sliver of light beneath the window. Ran his fingers over rows of scrapes in the floorboards.
“I tried to keep count,” he said. “I’ve always wondered how close I came to being right.”
“There’s more we want you to see,” said Pearson. “Upstairs. When you’re ready.” She walked out, footfalls echoing in the empty room.
Eli and Maya stood in the silence. “I slept there.” He pointed to the spot where the blanket lay on the floor. “Not in the bed. I don’t know why. The floor seemed safer.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Maya.
He shook his head. “It’s just a room.”
“I would never have made it out of here.”
“Yes, you would have.”
Maya tugged his hand. “We should go with the detective.”
“Okay.”
They returned to the living room. Pearson was waiting at the bottom of the staircase.
Eli paused in the middle of the room. He looked into the kitchen. Looked back down the hallway.
“What is it?” said Maya.
Shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You never have to be here again,” said Maya.
“I know. It’s just different, seeing it now. Not as bad. But…” Eli whispered something, barely moving his lips, but Maya couldn’t hear what it was, and didn’t think she should ask.
They followed Pearson up carpeted stairs, the walls angling with the roof. At the top, a small landing and then a single door.
They entered another bedroom, this one bright and fully decorated for a boy. A twin bed with a Star Wars bedspread. A Mariners 1984 team poster on the wall, a couple player posters too. Daylight pouring through two skylights. A desk with neatly arranged art supplies. A toy chest.
A room frozen in time, like a ten-year-old might come in from playing in the backyard and flop on the bed.
Pearson stood by the desk. There was a small television there, the old kind with the curved glass and the thick body. She looked at Eli. “This is disturbing, but I think it will make sense of some of your more difficult memories.”
Pearson switched on the TV. The screen a blank blue. She pressed buttons on the clunky black appliance beneath it. There was a sound of clicking gears and spinning.
The screen flashed: grainy images. And screaming. A woman on her back, naked, her hands tied, and a guy all over her. She was shrieking and gasping, writhing against the ties on her wrists, her neck twisting. The man forcing himself onto her, grunting words and striking her. The TV was wired to big speakers on the floor, making the sound much louder than it normally would have been. Making the furniture rattle.
Maya nearly couldn’t watch.
Pearson turned it off after a few seconds. “Is that what you heard?”
Eli nodded, his face pale.
She picked up a worn cardboard jacket from beside the TV. “It’s called Stolen Property.” She dropped the case on a stack of others. “Six volumes, apparently.”
“I’m so stupid,” Eli said quietly.
“No,” said Pearson, “absolutely not. With what he put you through…there’s no way you could have known.”
Maya rubbed his shoulder. “She’s right.”
Eli nodded. Didn’t seem convinced.
“Any details up here that might match things you remember him saying?”
Eli shook his head. “No.”
“Okay. Then we should go down,” said Pearson. “Time to call in the full team.”
They returned to the living room and entered the kitchen. As Pearson opened the door, Maya felt a flood of relief at the sight of daylight outside—
B
ut Eli paused again. This time in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Peered down the hallway.
“Eli,” said Maya. “What is it?”
He gazed at the floor. Closed his eyes, like he was concentrating. “Something isn’t right.”
October 13
The red dark closed in around him.
The details of the room fresh in his mind. Lying on the floor, curled up, arms around his knees. The rough boards against his hip and aching shoulder. The sounds of Gabriel in the kitchen coming through his pillow. Clanging of pots and pans. Scrape of fork against plate. The whistle of a kettle. The murmur of a TV…
Then the footsteps: the ones that made his heart bolt. Thudding up creaking stairs. The locks clicking, Gabriel’s looming silhouette in the light from a single naked bulb.
Eli opened his eyes. Looked around the sunny kitchen, its frosting and floral colors, its layer of dust. Back to the hallway with its cream carpet.
The footsteps did not come down that hallway.
The kitchen sounds did not come from here.
“Eli, what?” said Maya.
“Everything okay?” Detective Pearson said.
“Something’s missing,” said Eli. Adrenaline surged through him. The word barely whispered from his lips. “Basement?”
Pearson looked at him quizzically. “There isn’t one.”
“Are you sure?” Maya asked.
Pearson looked at the two officers in the living room, but they just shrugged. “We pulled the property records from the city and there was no mention of a basement.” She scrolled on her phone. “Yeah, no. The house is on a cinder block foundation. Just a crawl space beneath the floors, not uncommon in these older places. Why?”
Eli closed his eyes again. Did he have it wrong? He tried to see the room, not in the red dark, but like moments ago. Just a room. Tried to remove the shadows, the pain aching from so many parts of his body. Tried to lie back down on the floor in his mind and see the doorway. Where had Gabriel come from?
The creaking steps, the click of the heavy lock, a zipping sound, like something being pulled aside or rolled up, the groaning of hinges, Gabriel appearing—
And then one other sound. As Gabriel approached, he would bend and grab on to something, and there would be a squeal like metal twisting.
“The closet,” said Eli. “I think there’s a door.”
Pearson just looked at him for a second. Then her eyes tracked down to the kitchen floor. “Everybody out. Now.”
Eli and Maya followed her down the steps into the backyard. Pearson motioned to the other two officers. “Secure the perimeter. I want all vantages covered.” She tapped her phone. “This is Pearson. Move the SWAT unit in immediately. No sirens. Approach by the alley, over.”
“You think he’s here?” Maya whispered, gazing at the house and hugging herself.
Pearson spoke quietly. “We can’t take any chances.” Her phone buzzed. “ETA five minutes.” She slid her phone into her pocket. Pulled out her gun.
Eli looked at it. Wished his fingers were flexing around it, solid in his hands.
They stood in the yard and waited. Frozen. No one spoke. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead.
In Eli’s head: the clinking of dishes from below. Remembered when Gabriel would come into the red dark and put the hood over his head. Being marched downstairs, arms held tight behind his back, then along for a while…“We climbed up to get out. Like a ladder?”
Pearson looked around the yard. “Okay…” Into her phone: “Eyes peeled on the yard as well. It’s possible there’s another exit point.”
Eli wished they could just leave, that he could erase this place from his head, erase himself just to keep from having to think about it.
Maya stared vacantly at the house.
“Sorry.”
“No, just…this is crazy.”
You put her in danger. Again.
Pearson worked busily on her phone, gun still in her hand.
Finally, a deep engine rumble from the alley. The opening and closing of heavy doors. The sound of gear slapping and jangling. The first SWAT officer appeared: thick vest, helmet with the plastic visor pushed up above his head, rifle in his hands.
Pearson pointed to the back door. Spoke quietly: “We think there’s some kind of basement. Access through a door hidden in the closet of that room.” She indicated the curtained window to the left of the kitchen. “Possibly another exit point somewhere in the yard.” Turned to Eli. “Is there anything else you can tell us about the door?”
Eli shook his head. “I never went near it.”
The SWAT commander nodded and motioned to the four officers behind him. They filed past him and moved up the stairs, rifles raised to their shoulders, boots clicking lightly on the boards. As they disappeared into the kitchen, the commander opened a tablet and watched their progress on the screen, which was split four ways to show their body cameras.
Eli and Maya moved closer to watch.
“Maybe this will be it,” said Maya, managing a weak smile.
Eli nodded but couldn’t quite return it.
The cameras bobbed as the officers filed down the hallway, pushing into the dark bedroom. Two officers stood aside as the other two slid into the closet and studied the back wall. Fingers found a seam. “Here’s the door,” the first officer said quietly, his breathing heavy into the mic. “Opens from the other side.”
“Run a camera,” the commander said into his headset. “Everyone stay frosty on the perimeter, in case we flush him out.”
The lead officer produced a drill. It whined, boring into the wood. They made a single hole and fed a fiber-optic camera through, the second officer watching the camera on a tablet of his own. The feed popped up on the commander’s screen.
“Okay, looks clean. Single deadbolt lock. Staircase on the other side. Torch it.”
The officers exchanged the drill for a blowtorch. Its ignition momentarily whited out all the feeds.
Eli looked away from the screen, back to the still house. He pictured the door, the sounds of it opening.
You can’t catch me this easily. I’m too smart. You know it.
“Lock is disabled,” said the officer. “We’re about to breach—”
Wait! Eli thought. “Wait!” he whispered.
“Hold up,” said the commander. “What is it?”
“There’s something else. A weird sound when the door opens.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like something winding up.”
The commander frowned. “Feed that camera in farther. Let’s take another look.”
“Copy,” said the officer. The view of the camera wobbled and then panned around the narrow alcove behind the door, back on the door itself—
“Wait, freeze it,” said the commander. “Holy shit.” He zoomed in on the screen and pointed. “Looks like a trip wire flush with the base of the door. Pan up and left.”
A green canister duct-taped to the wall.
The commander exhaled hard. “Flash grenade. Thanks, kid.”
Pearson patted Eli’s shoulder. Eli didn’t react, couldn’t, his body locked in place.
“Okay, you’re going to need to drill in just above the base of the door to clip that thing.” The commander turned toward the alley. “Everybody behind the truck.”
They filed into the alley, past another officer who was kneeling with his rifle trained on the yard, to the other side of the giant truck. Eli heard the distant sound of the drill….
“Okay, all clear,” the lead officer said. “Opening the door.”
They watched it yawn open.
“Tight formation,” said the commander.
“Here we go.” The first officer’s camera swung to reveal a narrow wooden staircase. His gun out in
front of him, a light on its end spearing into the dark. The other officers following.
Eli looked away, bracing himself.
They won’t take me without a fight.
The cameras swept into a narrow room. Hard to make out what they were seeing in the dipping and darting lights. The sound of boots, some clattering noises.
“Room is secure, sir.”
“Copy that,” said the commander. “We’re on our way in.”
Pearson turned to Eli. “Would be good to get your observations, if you’re up for it.”
No, Eli almost said, but Maya gripped his hand and they followed Pearson back into the house. Down the hall, into the room. Eli tensed as they neared the closet. He’s not here. It’s just a door.
They ducked into the little space and through the doorway. Beyond, a naked bulb illuminated the plain wooden walls. The grenade, the trip wire, clamped to a wall beam. There was that photo Eli remembered catching glimpses of: an old woman, frowning at them. Gabriel’s mother? Grandmother? What would she have thought of her son’s work? Did it run in the family? Movies like House of Slaughter always gave their psychos brutal backstories.
The stairs leaned to the right. Another lightbulb stuck out of the ceiling at the bottom.
They found themselves in a cramped, rectangular space, barely big enough for the five SWAT officers, Pearson, Eli, and Maya. The floor and walls were dirt; the ceiling was the cobwebbed floorboards of the house. The air cool and damp. Pearson, Maya, and the officers had to duck slightly, though Eli could just stand straight. There was a trench around the floor with metal pipe half-concealed by gravel. On one side of the space was a cot, with a white sheet and a green wool blanket folded neatly beside a pillow. A lamp on a child’s bedside table. Nearby, a folding card table with a small old-style TV and a single blue plate, a single cup, a fork and a knife, all clean and neatly arranged. Against the wall, a camp stove on a portable table with a small sink, a green hose running from its faucet up to one of the pipes along the ceiling, and another hose leading from the drain to the crushed gravel border of the space. Orange extension cords ran to outlets hanging from the ceiling rafters.
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