by Nicole Young
I unfurled the floor plan I had sketched, and hunkered under a lightbulb with Lloyd. His two cronies wandered over to the area containing the furnace and hot water heater. I pointed at the drawing with one hand and gestured with the other as I described my intentions.
“We’ll make that section the mechanical room, with a door at one end. Next to it, we’ll put a smaller room for storage. The rest will be open. Just drywall, a barely dropped ceiling, and yards of carpet.”
I turned toward the staircase and frowned. In a corner behind the steps, a half circle of fieldstone rose almost five feet from the floor, forming a cistern. In the old days, it had been a reservoir for collecting rainwater. But I had no use for the thing in my new rec room.
I walked over to it and put one hand on the cool stone. “How do you plan to get rid of this baby?”
Lloyd scratched his pure white head of hair and hunched his six-foot-something frame over to the cistern. He kicked at it with his bulky work boot. The reinforced steel toe made a hollow thunk against the stone. A pebble-sized piece of grout bounced to the floor.
He shook his head and looked around the cellar. “You’re already asking for a miracle.” One enormous hand grabbed at the rock outcropping that formed the top edge of the structure. “What you’ve got here is a wall a foot thick. There probably isn’t much of a floor behind there, so you’re looking at having to pour a new one. I’m betting you’ll have to add a bunch of dirt to make it level.” He whistled through his teeth. “You’re looking at five, maybe six thousand dollars between the demo and finish. And all you’ve gained is about eighty square feet. I say just leave it there and cover it with drywall.”
I gave a half smile. “What would I do with a leftover nine-by-nine corner behind the stairs? The design only works if the cistern’s gone. I need the full space.”
“I’m just saying you’d be better off walling the thing up and putting folding doors over the rest of the back end. Make it more storage. People can always use storage.”
I could feel a stubbornness settle in the little dip at the front of my neck. My star contractor was quickly becoming a no-man. I only worked with yes-men. I’d hired him because he was already familiar with the house. He’d done the work on the second bathroom and had spearheaded the waterproofing project. Lloyd & Sons had also gotten stellar reviews from owners of other historic properties in the area.
He was the best. I couldn’t afford to lose him. I’d simply have to help him change his mind.
With a breath to boost my self-control, I plastered on a smile. “If we turned it into a closet, we’d be blocking a light source. But I’m sure we could use that window’s handy location to remove the stones once we knocked them all down.”
Lloyd gave me a look. He folded up his reading glasses and tucked them in the pocket of his flannel shirt. “There’s no way these stones’re going through that little window. You’ll have to haul them out by hand.”
I turned at the brush of air behind me. Tweedledum and Tweedledee stood with hands tucked in the pockets of their tight blue jeans. They stared slack-jawed at the cistern.
“I’m not carrying that thing out of here,” the youngest said, a look of disbelief sending his myriad of freckles into disarray. “Come on, Dad. You’re only paying minimum wage. I’ll end up on my back and miss finals. No way.”
“Can it,” Lloyd said with a slash of his hand. I could have sworn sparks flew out of his eyes as he looked at his carrot-topped son. Lloyd moved his gaze, softer now, back to me. “It’ll take a permit, but what you need to do is separate the cistern from the rest of the foundation, so you don’t damage any supporting walls when you knock the thing down. You might be able to dump some of the stones in the center and just level out the floor with concrete. A quick look should tell you.”
Lloyd dug into his utility belt and pulled out a flashlight. He turned it on and shone it into the cistern, then stuck his head in after it.
“Well, well. Would you look at that?” Lloyd gave another whistle.
“What?” I could hardly stand it. The look on Lloyd’s face told me he’d found something very interesting.
“Take a look,” he said.
I threw my arms across the ledge and scrambled up the stones, scraping my elbow raw and knocking my knee hard against the sharp corner of a rock. I pulled myself up for a full view of the inside.
The beam of the flashlight bounced around and it took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at.
I gasped.
A faint ringing sounded in my ears and the acute pain in my knee throbbed in time with my racing heart. My fingers, frozen in curious horror, clutched the edge.
Someone had already filled the bottom of the cistern with cement. And lying beneath it, with a silent scream etched in stone, was the outline of a body. Splayed fingers pressed frantically alongside the face, as if a living person had been trapped under ice and now tried in vain to smash through. A ridge of toes formed one foot, the rounded tip of a shoe, the other.
I couldn’t rip my gaze away. An uncontrollable shiver coursed through me. I ground my fingers into the ledge, but nothing could stop the scream from coming. The piercing noise bounced against rock and concrete as I gave voice to the stifled cries of the body so long forgotten.
The scream came to a stop. I felt the blood drain from my head. I loosened my death grip and slid slowly down the rock wall. My cheek scraped along, soaking in whatever coolness it could gather from the stones as I fought back the darkness.
5
I crouched against the wall of the cistern in a near fetal position.
“You okay?” Lloyd shook my shoulder. My temple bounced against the same sharp rock that had nailed my knee.
I swatted at his hand. “How can I be okay? There’s a corpse in my cistern.”
I breathed. In. Out. In. Out.
Why my basement? Why couldn’t they have buried the body in somebody else’s basement? No wonder I’d gotten such a deal on the home. I was living on top of a cemetery.
Lloyd scratched his head. “I kind of figured you bumped your knee when you let out that scream. I didn’t realize you’d hit your head.” He turned to the gaping men beside him. “Dial 9-1-1, Josh. I think she’s got a concussion.”
His red-haired assistant flipped open his phone and dialed.
I lifted my arm to wave off the call, but the kid was already giving the address.
“I don’t have a concussion,” I said. “Just tell them to bring a jackhammer and a body bag.”
I leaned my forehead against the knee that wasn’t throbbing. Like I really needed to start my life in Rawlings exhuming someone’s cast-off relative from the nether regions of my home. If wind of this got around, I’d have a devil of a time trying to sell the place.
Whiner, I chastised. Go ahead and fling a body at me. I’d handle it, and even make it to my advantage somehow.
I looked up. The kid had ended the call. The trio stared down at me. The looks on their faces reflected the same shock and outrage that I’d felt moments earlier. As well they should. Rick Hershel had a bunch of explaining to do. How dare he not mention the body on the seller’s disclosure?
I slapped a hand to my mouth. “Oh, my word.”
The men lunged back as if afraid I’d vomit.
Could the body be Jan’s? Would Rick have buried his own wife in the basement? Jan hadn’t been available for the closing, after all. And the concrete at the bottom of the cistern was of fairly recent vintage. Probably poured when the rest of the waterproofing had been done a year ago, or maybe even after. Who knew how long Jan had been missing?
Rick had certainly had the opportunity.
I hated to think about it. The guy had seemed scruffy, but nice. And so lost without his wife. The split had definitely been her idea, not his.
Perhaps theirs had been, like Heathcliff and Cathy’s, a case of obsessive love. That would qualify as a common enough motive for murder, even in this modern day and age.
/> I dusted grime from the floor off my hands. You just couldn’t tell by looking at people if the heart of a killer beat in their breast.
Poor Jan.
I held out an arm to the contractor. “Would you mind? My knee feels like its ready to burst.”
He reached down and pulled me to my feet.
“What a mess.” I shook my head and leaned against the wall of the cistern. Even through the stones, I could feel the pull of the soul resting there. Thank goodness Lloyd and sons were standing in the vicinity. Otherwise, I’d be catatonic from fear. I rubbed my forehead. Where would I sleep until they got this thing out from under me?
A pounding came from upstairs. The kitchen door squeaked as someone entered.
“Hello?” A male voice dropped down the open stairwell.
Seconds later, the stairs shook with the weight of uniformed figures coming to my rescue.
The first to descend was Officer Brad Walters.
I brushed my bangs to one side. He was definitely within fifty feet of me.
No biggie. I was an expert at eating crow. “I guess since we dialed 9-1-1, I can’t threaten you with that restraining order, huh?”
Brad’s eyes settled on me. Behind his mask of professionalism peeped a flicker of concern. “What seems to be the problem?”
Lloyd the Elder piped up. “She was poking around in the cistern and must have bumped her head or something. She’s all . . . ,” he held one hand suspended while he searched for the word, “. . . delusional.”
“Delusional?” My voice arced up an octave. “Wouldn’t you scream if you had a body in your cellar?”
I gulped for air. Stay calm, Tish. I didn’t need another scene with Officer Walters present.
I wilted. My already bad day had taken a turn for the worse.
Brad glanced at the woman carrying a metal case. “Let’s get some help here.”
The paramedic flipped open the lid and dug around inside. She pulled out a blood pressure cuff. The ripping of Velcro filled the uncomfortable silence.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I think you’re a little too late for the person who really needs you.” I jerked my head toward the cistern.
The woman continued, undeterred. She pumped the bulb, and the cuff tightened around my upper arm. Brad stood next to Lloyd. They whispered together. Lloyd did a lot of pointing. Then he got out his flashlight and the two men, tall enough to avoid a climb, peered over the ledge into the cistern.
I strained to hear their voices over the hissing of air as the cuff loosened. Brad’s face was expressionless. No clues there. I had to hand it to him. He had a heart of stone when it came to murder scenes. Of course, Lloyd had been unaffected by the incident as well.
The paramedic flashed a blinding light into my pupils. I winced. Just because the men could remain calm in the face of dead bodies did not mean that my reaction had been unwarranted. Any normal person would have screamed her head off.
I remembered the image in the concrete, the mouth open in that eerie cry for help, the hands pushing away an attacker. One missing shoe.
Another shiver struck. The poor dear hadn’t died graciously. But then, when was death pretty?
I tuned in on the conversation at the cistern.
“I don’t see any reason to investigate. We haven’t had any missing persons reports. Must have been just a trick of the light.” Brad caught my eye at the last statement.
Unable to quash the squeal of outrage begging for release, I at least managed to downgrade it to a huff of indignation. “Not investigate? You’re just going to let a killer run free?”
Brad placed his hands gently on my shoulders. “Miss Amble, there’s no evidence of foul play. I don’t know what you think you saw, but at this point, I’m going to decline investigating for lack of concrete evidence.”
I searched his face. He was serious. He planned to drop the whole thing. I flicked his hands away. “The concrete is the evidence. Don’t you see the outline of the body? It’s so clear . . .”
I snatched the flashlight out of Lloyd’s hand and climbed my way up the wall, not caring what appendage suffered for it. I shone the light on the lumpy white floor. Whoever had filled the cistern had done a poor job smoothing the surface, considering what lay beneath. I angled the flashlight, searching for the pattern that had so distinctly emerged when last I looked.
“It was here,” I said in a half whisper. “The mouth and hands, and the feet. I’m just looking at it wrong.” I scooted along the wall to my previous observation point. “There. Right there.”
I pointed to a series of dips and ridges that now only somewhat resembled a mouth and hands. I shifted the flashlight again. The pattern completely disappeared. Had it really been just a trick of the light?
“You know, my wife’s like that,” Lloyd said. “She can look at the clouds and see just about anything. She can even make sense out of all those Greek constellations. She’d probably look in there and see two or three bodies.” He chuckled.
I clicked off the flashlight and set my feet back on the ancient basement floor. I slumped one shoulder against the cistern.
No body. That was good. I didn’t have to find alternate lodging. I could go forward with the project without delay. I wouldn’t have to contend with crime stories when I went to sell the house. One less thing to clutter my mind.
I watched Brad scribble a report in his notebook. Even the police officer wasn’t concerned about a body.
I passed the flashlight back to Lloyd. “I think there’s something wrong with this thing. Time for a new bulb.” I turned to the paramedic. “Sorry to trouble you. I’m fine. Really.”
Before leaving, the woman gave me a rundown of symptoms that would prompt a visit to the emergency room. “And it wouldn’t hurt to see your doctor. You don’t want to mess with head injuries.”
I didn’t bother to correct her. I turned to Brad.
“Officer Walters.” I crossed my arms.
“Miss Amble.” Brad gave a terse nod.
I loosened my guard. I might not like the man’s invasion into my privacy, but that didn’t mean I had to treat him like mold on my tub.
“Tish,” I said. “Go ahead and call me Tish. We’re neighbors, aren’t we?”
“Tish.” He said my name slowly, as if trying it out for the first time. He nodded his approval.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks for looking in.”
“Anytime you need me.” He tipped his cap and left.
“Well.” I relaxed my arms and turned to Lloyd. “I guess that about covers it for the basement today. Work on getting that permit so we can get rid of that cistern once and for all.”
“Come on, boys.” Lloyd bolted upstairs, cohorts close on his heels.
“See you tomorrow!” I called after them.
I stood alone in the basement. I’d grown accustomed to its dank odor in the past hour, but with all distraction gone, my nose once again detected the smell. And it was colder now that I wasn’t moving around. I rubbed my arms and turned in a slow circle. The plans I’d discussed with the builders flipped through my mind. Mechanical room, clean storage, open area, get rid of the cistern . . .
I stared at the crescent of rock. I hadn’t given it a moment’s notice on my first tour of the place several months ago. I hadn’t even looked inside. It was just a detail to handle.
But now it radiated energy.
A big pile of rocks. That’s all it was, hiding in the black shadows behind the steps. A big, empty pile of rocks.
Look, Tish, look inside me, it called.
I had already looked. And while my imagination had been in overdrive at first, there hadn’t been anything to see the second time. There was no body in my cistern. No ghosts in my house.
Just me. Alone. And it wasn’t likely to change anytime soon, so I might as well adjust.
I dared myself to hold my ground, resisting the urge to run, denying the fear that pulled at me with tangible fingers. The clammy silence crashed in m
y ears.
Behind me, the furnace kicked on.
I screamed and scrambled upstairs.
I slammed the door to the basement and fumbled with the bolt. I wasn’t taking my chances. Body or not, this was one door that would stay locked.
6
I couldn’t bring myself to do anything the rest of the morning except lie on my cot and stare at the ceiling. I traced the lines in the plaster with my eyes. One section had cracked in the shape of my old cat Peanut Butter, who’d shown up at my house when I was a kid. A shadow gave the image a scrawny tail. A jagged ridge made two pointy ears.
Maybe I had received a few too many knocks on the noggin in my life. When you start seeing bodies in the cistern and family pets frolicking overhead, you have to question if you’re really all there.
Was I all there? Not likely. I was scattered far and wide. Pieces of me littered the state. I’d left a big part of myself up north, a decent-sized chunk in Walled Lake, and a generous portion in Pontiac. Everywhere I’d gone, I’d carelessly left a bit of my essence, a fragment of the human named Tish Amble.
With any luck, I’d exit Rawlings with what was left of me still intact.
I shifted my gaze to a sagging section near the windows. A spiderweb of lines radiated from a missing chunk of plaster. It wouldn’t be long before the vibrations from the train spread the stress. Soon the weight would be unbearable and the whole ceiling would come crashing down. And to think, a hundred years ago the thing had been an unblemished surface.
I had been whole once too. It was before Peanut Butter had shown up on the back porch. Before my mother had driven the pickup headlong into Mead Quarry. Before Grandma had gotten sick. Long before I had done the unthinkable.
That would make me about seven years old the last time I had my life together.
Seven. I’d been in second grade. My best friend Anne had fought by my side when Mikey Palmer pelted us with snowballs on the way to school. At least Anne had decent aim.
I smiled at the memory. I turned on my side and stared out the picture window at the maple speckled with a few persistent leaves. Anne’s cable TV had been a big plus too. Where else could I have enjoyed hours of Star Trek reruns and Movie of the Week television premiers? Even so, cable had been my first introduction to fear. Seven was too young to be watching Injun Joe pursuing Tom Sawyer in the caves. Anne had walked me home across the alley that night. I’d been terrified that Crazy Joe was lurking in the garage waiting to leap out at me with that long, curving knife.
