Chapter 3 - THE DARKNESS BELOW
The impact knocked the wind from my lungs.
My back slammed hard against the cold concrete floor.
Pain flared up my spine.
I gasped for air, coughing in the dusty dark.
Above me, the heavy wooden bookcase scraped shut.
The click of the deadbolt sounded like a gunshot.
"Margaret!" I yelled, scrambling to my feet.
I slammed my fists against the thick oak.
"Open this door right now!"
No answer.
Just the muffled sound of footsteps above.
Heavy.
Hurried.
My chest heaved.
My hands searched the rough wooden surface in the pitch black.
Nothing.
No handle on the inside.
No keypad.
Just solid, reinforced timber.
How did I not know this room existed?
I lived in this house for five years.
Bought it after my wife passed away.
Or so I thought I knew it.
My phone.
I patted my suit jacket frantically.
My fingers brushed against the cool metal of my iPhone.
I pulled it out.
The screen lit up my face in the suffocating dark.
Three percent battery.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath.
I opened the flashlight app.
The sudden beam cut through the thick dust motes dancing in the air.
And what I saw made my blood run instantly cold.
This wasn't a standard cellar.
It was a makeshift nursery.
Or rather, a prison cell disguised as one.
Cribs lined the damp stone walls.
Four empty cribs.
All fitted with heavy leather restraints bolted to the wooden rails.
Bottles filled with a yellowish liquid sat on a rusted metal table.
Medical charts hung from clipboards on the wall.
I walked closer, my shoes crunching on dry powder scattered across the floor.
I grabbed the nearest clipboard.
The light of my phone illuminated neat, clinical handwriting.
*Subject A: Nico. Weight dropping. Fluid intake restricted per protocol B.*
*Subject B: Noah. Resistance to formula increasing. Sedative dosage increased by 0.5ml.*
Sedative?
My hands started shaking.
The papers slipped from my fingers, fluttering to the concrete.
Margaret wasn't just a housekeeper.
She was running a medical experimentation facility right under my feet.
Or worse... a human trafficking holding room.
No.
My boys.
Nico and Noah.
They had been subjected to this.
That was why they were so quiet.
Why they never laughed.
Why they cowered at every loud noise.
And Lena...
Lena had found out.
She wasn't the villain.
She was trying to save them.
A sudden metallic scrape echoed from the far corner of the room.
I whipped my flashlight around.
The beam cut across a heavy iron door set deep into the rear stone wall.
The door was ajar.
Just a fraction of an inch.
A thin streak of fluorescent light bled out from inside.
And then came the sound.
A soft, rhythmic tapping.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
Followed by a faint, muffled sob.
Someone else was down here.
Someone Margaret had locked away long before Lena ever stepped foot in this house.
I gripped my phone tighter.
My battery indicator flickered.
*Two percent.*
"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing off the damp walls.
"Is anyone there?"
The tapping stopped.
The iron door creaked open slowly, pushed by a pale, trembling hand.
A woman stepped out into the dim light.
Her hair was long, tangled, and graying at the roots.
She wore a tattered hospital gown.
Her eyes were wide, sunken, and hollow.
She stared at me as if looking at a ghost.
Her lips parted.
And she whispered a name that shattered my entire reality.
"Ethan... thank God you found us."
I stared at her face, tracing the familiar features beneath the grime.
It was impossible.
My wife died in a car crash three years ago.
May you like
I buried her myself.
Yet standing right in front of me, breathing and weeping, was Sarah.
