by Lynn Moon
“What’s so unusual about these passageways is that the walls are all finished,” Sheriff Jim said, flashing his light around. “Someone put a lot of time and money into this place.”
“It was in one of these finished-off passageways where Charlie disappeared,” I replied. “We were all walking together and she just vanished.”
“Then let’s stay close.”
The stairs were not as narrow as the one where Charlie went missing. Nor did we have to turn sideways to walk; it must have been easy for my uncle to get me up here unnoticed. Why did he bring me back here and not to Charlie?
The two deputies entered first, I after them, and Sheriff Jim stayed behind me. After stepping down for a long time, we reached a small landing, with two options. We could either turn left and keep walking, or continue down. We waited as a deputy turned left. I think we waited to give Sheriff Jim time to rest, but the sheriff claimed he didn’t want everyone wasting their time.
“It’s blocked ahead,” the man said. “Dead end.”
“I’ll bet you found my new bathroom wall,” I replied. “These passages must wind all through my house.”
“Mrs. Weavers had part of a passageway removed to ensure Musetta’s safety,” Sheriff Jim explained. The two deputies nodded before continuing down the stairs.
“This looks familiar,” I said as we continued down. “It was a long way to the lower tunnel. They must all be connected. Of course, not now. Not with the remodeling and all.”
“This place is definitely a huge maze,” Sheriff Jim replied behind me.
Worried about the sheriff’s weight, I kept looking back at him. Maybe he’s okay going down, but what about when we have to go back up?
“I’m down,” one of the deputies yelled.
His light bounced around below me. Not really wanting to be in this lower tunnel again, I stepped onto the hard stone floor and shivered. Closing my eyes, I tried to calm myself. So many hiding places for my uncle. Whatever was my father thinking when he built this place that we call home?
“Which way, Musetta?” the sheriff asked.
“When we came down here, we went that way,” I replied, indicating direction with my light.
“You heard the woman,” Sheriff Jim stated. “Let’s get a move on, boys.”
We followed the two deputies down the dark passageway—into what, we had no idea. We walked for what seemed like forever. Pounding against the cold stone floor, my feet ached. With each step, my legs seemed to be getting heavier.
“Where do you think this tunnel goes?” I asked.
“Not sure, but I believe we’re now going up.” Sheriff Jim stopped and flashed his light behind him. “See how the tunnel goes down behind us. I can feel it in my legs.”
“Doesn’t look like we’re going up,” I replied, rubbing my thighs. “But I can feel it too.”
“We’ve been walking for almost an hour now,” Sheriff Jim said. “This tunnel had to cost a small fortune.”
“I don’t believe so,” one of the deputies up front said.
“Say again?” Sheriff Jim said.
“During the Second World War, these tunnels were built by the war department. Just in case,” the deputy explained. “People were afraid of being bombed and wanted a way to escape.”
“Then where do these tunnels go?”
“Other side of the mountain, mostly,” the deputy said.
“Mostly?” Sheriff Jim asked.
“A few lead into natural caves,” the other deputy reported. “Hey, we’re going back down now.”
“If I knew it was this long, I would have brought some lunch,” the sheriff huffed.
We continued to walk and talk before we finally reached the end—or the beginning.
“This one leads to a cave,” a deputy said. His loud, long whistle echoed through the tunnel. “Whoa, wait till you see this, Sheriff.”
Walking into the huge opening, we gasped. The cave was so large that our flashlights couldn’t reach the sides. Before us, hundreds of old bunks spread out in all directions.
“Amazing,” a deputy yelled out from across the massive room. “There are boxes of canned food over here. A lot of it’s no good anymore—rusted through and rotten.”
“How many beds are in here?” I asked, trying to count them all.
“Probably hundreds,” Sheriff Jim answered.
“Why down here?” I asked. “There’s no way to get out, is there?”
“I’m sure there’s other openings somewhere,” Sheriff Jim replied. “We just haven’t found them yet. I’ll bet your uncle could go just about anywhere through these tunnels. An excellent way to get around and not be seen.”
“Then we have no idea where he took my friends.” Dropping onto one of the cots, I couldn’t hold back the waves of anger that washed over me. “These things are full of dirt.”
“You’re in a cave,” Sheriff Jim replied. “Of course there’s dirt.”
My uncle stole my childhood, my father, and now my friends from me. But why? For what purpose? I never did anything to him, except be born. Why does he hate me so much?
“Stay here with Musetta,” Sheriff Jim said to one deputy. “I’m going to see what’s up ahead.”
Sitting there, I watched as the sheriff’s light dimmed. I had no idea where he was going. The cave was just too big to keep track of everyone. The deputy that stayed seemed nervous to be in here and alone with me. With only his one flashlight, the area around us remained dark.
“Johnson!” a voice rang out. “Come here, hurry!”
“Wait,” he yelled back.
“You’d better go,” I said. “I’ll be fine. You’ll be back in a few minutes anyway. Make sure your friend’s okay.”
Without a flashlight, the darkness grew thick around me. When I could no longer see my hands, I wondered if I should have followed him. Every so often, a voice echoed my way, giving me a little comfort. Worrying about my friends, I tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps. I wondered whose flashlight had died now.
“Deputy?” I asked. “Where’s your light?”
“I don’t need a light.” The deep voice pinged my ears and sliced through my soul.
I screamed.
***
Punching my kidnapper in the face and chest wasn’t doing any good. Even pulling his hair didn’t seem to faze him. Too dark to see, my only option was to yell for help. But he only laughed. He tossed me around like a ragdoll, as if I weighed nothing. He ran, me trapped within his arms. My head banged against the tunnel walls several times. Feeling myself fading into an abyss, I curled into a tiny ball. This, however, only pushed me deeper into his nasty chest. The stench was overwhelming. I had to tilt my head up to breathe. But each time I did, I risked my head smacking into the side of the dark tunnel.
Finally, the man slowed to a quick walk. Every so often, he’d bounce me in his grip. Maybe he’s getting tired? Maybe he’ll drop me soon? I felt him stop and kick something. A loud grinding screeched through my ears. After a few steps, another grinding sound came from behind us. A secret door? Why did my dad build a house with so many secrets?
“Who are you?” I asked now that he was walking and not running.
“You know who I am, child.”
“Berty? Uncle Berty?” My head pounded, set to explode at any moment.
“I carried you everywhere when you were little.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer.
“Where are my friends?”
Again, he didn’t answer.
“If you honestly think this will make me love you or something, then you’re very, very wrong. If anything, I’ll hate you even more.”
Repulsive memories of his violations roared through me. Without thinking, I lashed out. My fingers dug into his face and he dropped me on the floor. As my head smacked against the rocks, stars filled my vision.
“Now see what you’ve done,” he yelled. “Why do you have to do such things? Now I
must punish you.” Although his words were muffled, I understood. Punish me? I don’t think so.
Jumping to my feet, I ran into the darkness, feeling my way along the walls.
“There’s no place for you to hide,” he yelled after me.
As my shoes slapped against the solid floor, I prayed that no stairs were in front of me. I slammed full force into something solid. My body bounced off the hard surface, throwing me to the cold floor. Now I knew what a ragdoll really felt like.
I ached; confusion clogged my mind. Where am I? Footsteps pounded somewhere behind me. Jumping to my feet, I felt ahead. A wall?
It wasn’t a wall—it was a door. Fumbling with the handle, I pushed it open. Bright light blinded me for a few seconds.
“Come back here, child!” my uncle screamed.
The door slammed shut behind me. Swiping the latch closed, I grabbed a small branch from the ground and shoved it into the hasp. Not sure if it would hold or not, and not wanting to wait around to find out, I ran.
The trees covering the path made the hour seem later than it probably was. I was now on the side of a mountain. But which mountain? I can’t be too far from home, can I?
I needed height—it was the only way I could get my bearings, but the trees here in Colorado were not made for climbing. With no other choice, I kept running. Not knowing whether my uncle was behind me, my fear was the only thing that kept me going. Tripping over roots or rocks didn’t matter anymore. I had to keep moving.
Before my lungs exploded, I found myself staring at several large boulders. Struggling to get to the top of one, I slid off several times. Each time, my hands and arms took the brunt of the fall. Blood trickled from my knees and fingers. Finally, I made it to the top. All around me were more trees and mountain. I had no idea where I was, or how far away from home.
In school, they taught us that if we should ever get lost, go downhill—never up. Luckily for me, the path was heading down. But my uncle would use this path too. I had to hide from him. At least until he ran past. If I go down this way, he’ll see me for sure. But if I go higher up where there are more boulders, he just might miss me.
Carefully, I walked up the small ridge and found a perfect hiding spot between two large rocks. From up there, I could clearly see the path below. All I had to do was wait. And wait I did. As the sun rose higher into the sky, my growling stomach reported the time. It was about lunchtime. Still no uncle passed by below. The sun continued slowly overhead. Then it was behind me . . . behind me.
Now I knew which way I had to go. The sun always set behind the hills of my grandparents’ house. I had to be on one of those ridges. At least now I had some idea as to which direction I should walk.
Parts of these slopes were heavily wooded, but mostly they were wide open with low-growing brush. If I didn’t stay hidden, he would easily see me. I couldn’t stay here all night—that was obvious. I had to move. Climbing up higher, my feet refused to grab and kept sliding down. Latching onto anything, my hands bled as I scrambled to the top.
By the time I reached the ridgeline, my body wanted to quit. Streetlights would be coming on soon. None were way up here, but I should be able to see a few. Then I could get a better sense of where I was and walk toward them. As the sun fell behind me, I kept walking. Water—I need water.
Light-headed and exhausted with an empty stomach, I dropped to my knees and rested the best I could. Then I pushed myself to move, struggling to my feet to continue walking. It was dark now, but I couldn’t stop. Finally, the ground sloped downward, and below me were houses.
Half-running and half-limping, I aimed for the first house. It was huge, three stories, and resembled a log cabin, as most of the houses around here did. A white truck and black blazer parked in the driveway gave me a surge of hope.
Crawling up the steps, I barely made it to the top. Why do they always put the front door on the second floor of the houses around here? It’s terrible for people in need of help. Sitting on the stoop, I banged the door with my foot.
“Darrell! Oh my, Darrell!” The woman’s voice caressed my soul.
“Call the sheriff, Nancy,” the man said as he helped me to my feet.
***
Sitting at the hospital, I wished that Charlie were here with me. Even if she’d been hurt, having her here and knowing where she was would be better than not knowing.
“Nothing’s broken,” my mother said. Her eyes darted from me to the curtains. “They want you on antibiotics for a few days. All those cuts. Don’t want them getting infected.”
I nodded.
“Sheriff’s upset with you,” she said, playing with a thin blanket.
“I didn’t run off. I was taken.”
“So are your aunts,” she added.
“My uncle grabbed me,” I yelled.
“That is just about enough, young lady!”
“Charlie’s been missing for days now,” I argued. “And now’s Hunter’s missing, too. Don’t you care?”
“The deputies are all over those mountains looking for them,” my mom stated. “You don’t have to.”
“I was in those mountains and I didn’t see even one deputy. I was hiding and praying I’d see Sheriff Jim. But, no. Nobody’s out there except for my uncle.”
“What uncle?” she screamed again. “Damn, Musetta. What’s wrong with you? You don’t have an uncle. Your grandmother—”
“Yes, I do! Who grabbed me in that tunnel? Who do you think’s been raping me?”
“We don’t know. But your father’s brother died. Your grandmother told you that!”
“You are double clueless, Mom. My grandmother is lying to you. She told me all about him.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but this has got to stop. You’re driving me and your family crazy with your wild stories.”
“They even talked about Uncle Berty in front of Quinton and Hunter. Just ask them.”
“I’m not going to ask your friends anything,” she replied, tugging on the curtains. “There’s been enough drama around here.”
“Mom, was I a twin?” I asked.
The look on her face answered for her—wide eyes, mouth open, and a face as pale as snow.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
Her stuttering provided the answer to that question.
“Sit down, Mom.” I pointed to the small bed I was sitting on, waiting to be discharged from the nasty hospital. “Talk to me.”
She sat, but didn’t say anything.
“Mom, I don’t know what’s going on. But it’s time I know everything that you know.”
Mom’s eyes now carried the weight of the world within them. Dark circles darkened her otherwise brightened face.
“Fine,” she said. “Fine.”
She glanced around the bed and adjusted the blanket. Grabbing her hand, I smiled. “It’s okay. It’s about me. You can tell me about it.”
“When I was pregnant with twins,” she said, staring at our hands, “we were so excited . . . your father and I. Then I lost your sister.”
“How do you lose a baby?” I asked. “Did you leave her in a store or something?”
“She died during birth.”
I sighed.
“It’s the truth,” she added.
“Mom, I need you to see something. Something that’s in the attic.”
A nurse pushed the curtains aside and smiled at me. “You may leave, Musetta.” She handed my mother some papers. “Here. Your prescription is ready to be picked up.”
***
“I haven’t been up here in so long,” my mom said as we walked across the attic.
“Maybe you should have snooped up here more often,” I replied, opening the closet. The portrait of the twin babies still sat against the far wall. Right where Charlie had left it. Thinking of my missing friend, I wanted to scream and cry, but knew better. “Ready?”
“Show me what it is that you believe is so important.”
As she c
rossed her arms, I pulled out the color portrait and turned it toward her. Her face flushed and her eyes closed.
“That’s impossible!” she stated. “Rosetta died at birth. Your father and I buried her. There was a funeral and everything.” Mom grabbed the portrait and held it. Not taking her eyes off the two babies, her tears fell. “This is a fake.”
“Mom, this color portrait is about eleven years old. There’s another one just like it in the library downstairs. But that one only has me in it. I look the same. Exactly the same. The same dress, same hair, same stupid look on my face. Only, in this one, my twin is sitting right next to me. If Rosetta died twelve years ago, then who is this baby? I do not have any girl cousin close to my age. And . . . there’s more.”
“More?” Mom wiped her eyes.
“In this box are a lot of pictures of me with my sister. And there are photos of me with my make-believe uncle. Not to mention . . .” I walked over to the hidden door and opened it. Now that I knew where it was it was easy to find. “Come see what’s in here.”
Still hugging the portrait close to her chest, she followed me into the hidden room. Holding back her sobs, she whispered, “What is this place?”
“Over here,” I said, walking around the old dresser and ignoring her question.
The bottom drawer filled with old photos sent a chill down my back. Grabbing a handful of photos, I handed them to her. With one arm clutching the babies’ portrait, she used her free hand to take the photos. Spreading them out across the dirty table, her tears fell.
“Looks like Dad kept some pretty hefty secrets from you, too,” I said, sitting down on the old bed.
CHAPTER 19
STARING INTO THE YARD from my balcony, I wondered if my missing friends were okay—or if they were even alive. As Quinton helped his father in their front yard, my fear boiled. I knew Quinton was hurting just as much as me, and that he felt just as helpless.
