Girls of Brackenhill(86)

No. Hannah had loved Julia. Hadn’t she? Oh God. Hannah was a monster. A killer.

Ellie had pushed Ruby, the impulse of a child. Fae had killed Ellie, blinded by grief and rage. Hannah had killed Julia (she could hardly believe it still) out of fear. Alice had killed Fae for revenge. A tragic, violent daisy chain. Brackenhill hadn’t killed anyone: they’d all done it to themselves, consumed and isolated.

Oh God. Hannah was one of them now. Had been the whole time.

Alice stepped forward, her hair wild, her breath coming in gasps, the hunting knife flashing. A graze off Hannah’s shoulder and a slicing pain.

Hannah turned and took two large steps to the door in the back of the storm shelter. She said a silent prayer that the door would be unlocked and pushed with her whole body weight. The door flew open, almost sending her spinning into a dark hallway. The lantern swung wildly in her hand, and she kicked the door shut behind her. In the hallway before her lay a stack of cut wood.

She wedged the first two-by-four between the walls of the hallway, in front of the door. From the other side the door opened violently against the aging beam. She stacked five beams, one on top of the other, wedging them between the walls of the door, just to keep it closed.

The banging against the interior door stopped, and Hannah realized what Alice must have already known: the door to the forest remained unlocked. Alice was free. The beams just bought Hannah time.

How much?

That depended on where she was.

She swung the lantern out in front of her. The tunnel stretched as far as she could see, narrow, the sides packed dirt and shored with rough-hewn beams every few yards. She understood now that the beams she’d used to bar the shelter door had been used in the construction of the original tunnel. By whom?

Hannah took off running, the lantern shaking in her hand and her breath coming in panicked gasps. The tunnel seemed to get smaller and more cramped, until she was hunched over. If she stood, the top of her head touched the dirt. When she passed the wooden braces, she had to duck. Where would she end up? The castle? What was above her? The courtyard? Would she eventually hit the Beaverkill? Would she come out in a manhole in Rockwell?

She had a momentary panic. A sudden flood of water would kill her. There was nowhere to go. It was too far to run back, and she had no idea of her destination.

Hannah pressed forward, the lantern flickering, lasting longer than it probably should have. Who knew how old the propane tank was or when it had been put there?

The tunnel wound around a curve, and Hannah slowed as she followed the sharp right bend.

And came abruptly to yet another wooden door.

Hannah took several calming breaths and pushed on this door the way she had the one at the storm shelter. It didn’t open. She tried the knob—turning one way, then the other. Locked.

Hannah removed the key from her pocket. It was a perfect fit for the lock, and the door clicked open easily. Her hand shook as she pushed it open.

She was in the labyrinth.

Oh God. The basement.





CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Now

The basement was dark; the lights had long ago burned out and the light bulbs not been replaced. Who would have replaced them? Stuart? There was nothing of Fae’s or Stuart’s in the basement anyway, save for the first small room. The rest, well, the rest was for them. For Julia and Hannah.

Hannah’s skin prickled, and blood rushed in her ears. She hadn’t been down in the basement since she was twelve. She remembered dropping cards one after the other. She remembered being stuck in the center room, the walls closing in literally and figuratively, Julia’s breath hot on her cheek, suffocating her, making her feel short on oxygen. They’d screamed until Stuart had come to rescue them, the door popping open easily, and he’d shaken his head, grumbling about their “wild imaginations.”

They followed him out of the maze of rooms, and the cards were numbered in order. Julia poked at one with her toe: Look! Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. In order. Unreal. They weren’t crazy; the rooms, the index cards, had shifted when they were alone. They’d both witnessed it. There were still two or more doors in every room, but Uncle Stuart walked purposefully, in a straight line, and in a heartbeat they’d been climbing the steps back to the kitchen.

Now Hannah hesitated. She hadn’t then, when they were kids, but now she stopped. The first door she came to was ajar, only slightly. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, not knowing what she’d find. The lantern sent strange shadows racing along the walls, and Hannah closed her eyes.

She was an adult now. This nonsense about shifting rooms was just that: nonsense. The first room was dark, empty. Cobwebs gathered in the corners, and strange shapes darted around the walls, thrown off by the swinging lantern and Hannah’s shaky hand. Hannah tried to remember the path, then work backward. When she and Julia had come down as children, they had made sequential rights and ended up at the center. She assumed if she made lefts, she would eventually end up back at the kitchen stairs.

She couldn’t remember the number of rooms, but as she looked around, she noticed a white card on the floor. She flipped it with her toe.





#11


Immediately Hannah’s eyes welled. Tangible evidence of a Brackenhill adventure with Julia. She bent down and picked it up. Instinctively she held it to her nose, hoping for . . .what? Julia’s perfume? Silly.