The Hiding Place(53)

“Is that why you sent me the email?”

She frowns. “What email?”

“The one about my sister—it’s happening again.”

“I never sent you any email. Today’s the first time I’ve set sight on you since we were kids.”

“I know you sent the text.” I pick up the Nokia from the table. “It came from this phone. I’m guessing it’s an old one of yours that Marcus borrowed.”

“I never sent you any bloody text neither. And that’s not my phone.”

The confusion on her face looks genuine. My head throbs harder. Right on cue, the front door slams. Marcus shuffles into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mum.” Then he spots me. “What’s he doing here?”

“I brought your phone back,” I say, holding up the Nokia.

His face falls.

“Where did you get it?” I ask.

“I’ve had it ages.”

“Really? So, does this mean anything to you—Suffocate the little children. Fuck them. Rest in Pieces?”

Guilt radiates off him like body heat.

“Marcus?” Ruth prompts.

“It was just a joke. A prank.”

“All your idea then?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“Did someone make you send the text?”

“It wasn’t like that. No one made me do anything.” He juts out his chin defiantly.

“Fine.” I tuck the phone into my pocket. “I think I should let the police deal with this.”

I take a step toward the door.

“Wait!”

I turn. “What, Marcus?”

He looks at me desperately. “She won’t lose her job, will she?”





22





1992


More steps. Different from the first. These were carved out of the rock and they curved gradually downward, like a staircase. A slippery, treacherous staircase. Some of the steps crumbled a bit when you stood on them, sending bits of rock skittering down below. It sounded a long way down.

The walls on either side were jagged, the roof above me low. I had to crouch a bit. I’d adjusted the battery on my helmet but, because of the curve, the light only illuminated one or two steps at a time, so sometimes it seemed like the third step was straight out into darkness. Ahead of me, I could see the other two flashlights bobbing up and down, but they only provided odd, abstract patches of illumination. However, they did at least confirm that nobody had fallen off the edge of a precipice and broken their neck. Yet.

Occasionally, I heard one of the others curse, usually Marie. I had no idea how she was managing in stiletto heels. Beneath my miner’s overalls I was coated in sweat. It slid down my brow and trickled around my eyebrows. My heart hammered and my breath was growing more ragged. Not just because of tension and exertion. My dad once told me there’s less oxygen in the air the deeper down you go.

“How much fucking further?” Fletch grumbled, because, if I was finding it hard going, Fletch—with his ten-smokes-a-day habit—must really be struggling.

I expected Hurst to reply, but Chris got there first. “We’re close,” he said calmly, and I could swear he didn’t sound breathless at all, didn’t sound as if he was even breaking a sweat.

We resumed our unsteady, stumbling progress. After a few more minutes I realized something. I wasn’t bending over quite so much. I could stand upright. The roof was getting higher. The quality of the light seemed to be changing too. Even the air felt a little more breathable, as if there was more of it around us.

Getting close, I thought. But to what?

“Be careful,” Chris called back now. “There’s a drop.”

He was right. We rounded the next corner and the narrow passageway opened out into a much larger cavern. It was big. Really big. I looked up. The ceiling rose high above us in a rough dome shape. Thick wooden beams formed supports. They crossed and curved in a way that reminded me of the vaulted roofs in barns or churches. Similar but more rudimentary. The steps continued but there was no wall to our left anymore. Just a straight plummet down.

“Shit!” Marie suddenly yelped. Glass shattered, brittle and abrupt in the darkness. “The cider.”

I jumped. My concentration wavered. The foot I was poised to place on the next step slipped. My ankle buckled beneath me. I yelped in pain and grabbed for the wall but, of course, it was gone. No wall, just air.

Fear snatched the scream from my throat. I tried to grab hold of something—anything—but it was too late. I was falling. I closed my eyes, prepared for the long drop…

…and I hit the ground almost immediately with a sudden, spine-cracking thump.

“Owwww. Shiiit.”

“Joe?” Chris’s voice called down. “Are you okay?”

I attempted to sit up. My back hurt a bit. It felt bruised, but it could have been worse—a lot worse. I looked up. I could see flashlights and vague silhouettes. Only a few feet above me.

We had found it, I realized. We were here.

I pushed myself to my feet. My ankle twinged again.

“Shit.”

I clutched at it. It already felt a bit swollen. I hoped I’d just twisted it and not broken anything. I still had to climb back up those frigging steps.