18
Rabbit Hole
Makenna
I listen to Luke’s slow and even breaths as he lies next to me on the cot. It’s the sound of heavy, deep sleep. I’ve been lying here, restless, for at least an hour. Just staring at the rafters.
I feel like I’m outside of myself. There’s probably a number of things I should be dealing with, confronting, feeling. But I’m pleasantly numb. For the first time since I lost Hudson, I feel nothing.
All this is a conversation to have with a therapist. Much later. Once I’m finally free, and had time to process. When I’m secure in my life again, flipping through TV, bored. That’s when we start the self-evaluation. Trying to fix what’s broken, trying to figure out how to be normal.
There’s no such thing, but it’s a good goal.
For now, I look at the ceiling, tracing the rafters to the seam of the wall. Listening to Luke breathe beside me. When I’m confident that he’s in some part of the REM cycle, I dip one leg over the edge of the cot, then the other.
I test my legs as I ease off the mattress. I’m shaky and sore, and as I walk toward Luke’s discarded jeans on the floor, a heavy ache presses at my pelvis. It’s not the bad kind of pain—it’s the kind that let’s you know you’ve been properly fucked.
I keep hold of that thought, pushing any lingering thoughts of Hudson to the far back of my mind. I toe Luke’s jeans, hearing the jangle of his keys in the pocket.
I take the keys and the knife that still rests at the foot of the cot.
I slip my shirt over my head, and shimmy on a pair of shorts. Then I layer jeans over those as I search for…
What?
My jacket? What do I need to take with me?
When I felt the keyhole on the cellar door, while Luke buried himself inside me, there was a moment of elation—that prickly sense of triumph.
I stare at the cellar door now.
I can walk out of here…and go live a different life.
I can leave Luke Easton. Leave Hudson, and this cellar, and my loft apartment that I never finished unpacking, and my tarnished career… I can leave it all behind.
I literally dodged a bullet.
I can leave right now and never look back. Because if I don’t get away from here and the people who want me dead, I won’t have a life to live.
I glance at the board, wondering who is out there this moment trying to track down my whereabouts. Who did Jennifer Myer send to look for me? How long will it take them to find me?
I walk toward the door, my fingers trailing along the wall. Bone and ash, buried within, and the secrets hidden in this cellar. That’s engraved on me now. Wherever I choose to go, the cellar will be there. When I close my eyes, in my dreams. Whenever the lights go out. During a storm.
Truth is inescapable.
I could take my story to the department heads. Tell authorities about Luke and Hudson, and Jennifer Myer. But, I’ve already been labeled as crazy. My file holds a psych eval that will haunt me longer than the ghosts lingering in this cellar.
How long would it take them to put me in a straightjacket? Who else could Jennifer Myer have on the inside? I might not even make it through the precinct door before the bullet I dodged finds its mark.
I lift up onto my toes and search for the keyhole. My fingers probe the concrete and welded steel until I find the latch in the door. The metal fastening pushes in and, with a steady hand, I insert the key. It’s easy once you understand the trick.
The door unlocks with a soft click.
I open the door.
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nbsp; And I step through the doorway into the outer chamber.