Bury Me(22)

My father lost his temper when the men came to work in the basement. I remember so clearly the need to laugh at how resolute he was that no one goes down in the basement. There’s got to be a reason why I dreamt about hearing that conversation. There’s got to be a reason why I itch with excitement to open this door and go down those stairs, why my body practically hums with eager energy, knowing that what lies beyond this door could be the answer to all the secrets I can’t figure out and that no one wants to tell me. Having that dream reminded me of the several times I heard my father arguing with Ike and a few of the other men about the hole in the basement. It’s located in a separate room at the far end and while it gives the tours an additional creepy factor when visitors hear about what happened down in that hole in the 1800’s, it’s also a danger. Located directly over a natural spring, every time it rains the hole fills with water, and my father was growing concerned that keeping it intact was too much of a liability. Why, all of a sudden, was he so adamant that no one goes down there? Why, after weeks and months of complaining about having it filled in, did he suddenly change his mind?

Wrapping my hand around the knob, I quickly turn it and I’m immediately met with resistance. I rattle the knob harder, pulling on the door at the same time, but it doesn’t open. It’s locked. The only doors ever locked in the prison on tour days are the ones upstairs in our living quarters, in case visitors happen to wander where they aren’t supposed to go.

Checking the watch on my wrist, I see that the prison has been open for business for over an hour. Even on days when we don’t have tours booked, people are welcome to come in and check out the gift shop and museum and as long as there aren’t any internal repairs going on, my father will usually allow them to wander through certain areas on their own if they don’t want a guide to explain things to them. No part of the prison should be locked up right now. The fact that the one area I need to explore is closed up tight ticks me off and I slam my palm against the wood, muttering a few colorful curses under my breath.

“I didn’t realize good girls knew that kind of language.”

I whirl around to find Nolan leaning against the banister of the stairs with a smile on his face.

“Well, luckily I’m not a good girl,” I growl, rolling my eyes as I stomp past him.

He jogs to catch up, racing around me to block me from going out the front door.

“What’s got you in a bad mood?” he asks as I shuffle to the side to get around him, but he easily moves with me, continuing to hinder my escape from this frustrating place.

“People who lie to me tend to piss me off. Now get out of my way.”

I shove him roughly aside and even though he’s got a good sixty pounds on me and could have held his ground, he moves to let me pass. Unfortunately, he follows me right outside. My bare feet slap against the wood as I stomp down the steps and make a left, heading to the lake.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks from behind me.

Realizing he’s just going to keep following me, and I did just decide yesterday that I wanted to talk to him, I stop in the middle of the yard under the shade of a large oak tree and turn to face him.

“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk. Tell me how you knew I didn’t know how to swim,” I fire at him.

With my head held high, I try not to think about how dumb I sounded the other day when I had no clue I didn’t know how to swim and the way I freaked out and ran away without saying another word to him. I am not going to let him make me feel silly just because he knows things about me that I don’t remember. I’m going to use it to my advantage and hope that he’s more honest with me than my parents.

“Wow, getting right to the point, I see,” he says with a smile as he slides his hands into the back pocket of his jeans.

I tap my foot against the ground and raise my eyebrow, waiting for him to answer my question. He sighs and leans his shoulder casually against the side of the tree.

“I’ve worked here for two years,” he replies.

“I already knew that. It doesn’t answer my question. How did you know I couldn’t swim?”

He doesn’t look away from me and even though it makes me uncomfortable to be stared at so openly, it also makes me feel like he won’t lie to me. People seem to look away from me when they tell me things I find difficult to believe.

“There aren’t that many of us who work here at the prison,” he begins. “We’re a pretty tight group since we work with each other all day, every day, and a couple of the guys have been here a lot longer than me. People hear things, people talk. Most of it is stupid bullshit gossip. Someone mentioned one time how weird it was that you were so afraid of the water and how you’d never go anywhere near the lake.