Slowly making her way back to her room, the stomping sound resonated again. One glance at the front entrance confirmed that Hazel was still pacing. The stomping repeated, followed by a moan. Hazel had said it was the furnace, but no equipment could sound so human, could it? Where was it coming from?
Luckily, there weren’t many doors in the quaint house, and Catriona found the only one that probably led downstairs, and it was locked. More questions entered her mind, and that didn’t help the suspicious feeling blooming inside her chest.
With another glimpse at the front of the house, Catriona hesitated to force the door open, after all, she could be imagining everything, especially with what had pushed her to run from Liam.
Testing the door again, it rattled, and the thumping sound amplified. Could someone be trapped in the basement? The possibility that someone was in distress so close to her was all she needed to act.
The house was old, old enough that the door frame wasn’t as sturdy, and with the dry wood, it only took one hit from her shoulder to pop the lock open. Catriona checked the front door. She probably only had a few minutes before Hazel came back so there wasn’t a minute to lose. If she found nothing but the furnace, she’d look like a fool, but at least, she’d see for herself.
The staircase disappeared into the darkness, the perfect setting for a horror movie. Fiddling to find the flashlight app, a deep moan came from the dark hole. A scream clogged in her throat, and Catriona felt her body fall backward. The only thing that kept her from dropping on the floor was the sudden click of the front door. Adrenaline spiking, her being lurched forward, her fingertips gripped the knob to close the door.
Blood whooshed so loudly in her ears Catriona didn’t know if Hazel had heard her. Had she closed her bedroom door? Time stretched, each second turning into an hour of anguish until her body couldn’t take anymore and calmed down as the door remained closed and Hazel’s footsteps halted. Had she returned to her room, or was she listening for noises?
Slow breathing, sending a quick prayer to keep her head, Catriona braced herself and pointed her flashlight toward the end of the stairs. The beam was bright enough for her to notice the concrete floor. One step at the time, mindful of not making any noise, ears peeled for any sign of Hazel coming, she was tempted to run the other way and not bother to see what was there.
One thing she was sure; despite the fear, she knew that she had to go downstairs and see for herself.
The basement was quite barren, but as she turned, the furnace came into view. Nothing. All the tension accumulated seeped away.
How big of a fool she had been? Berating herself, she turned to go back, trying to find an excuse for the broken door when a form shifted under the staircase. Catriona yelped and dropped her phone, scrambling away until her back hit the wall hard. The moan returned, but the form remained under the stairs.
The phone had fallen exactly in between her and the shadow, pointing straight up. Two eyes shone in the darkness: human eyes.
Tentatively, on her hands and knees, Catriona prayed for courage and started moving forward, never leaving the person fixed on her. As she reached her phone and snatched it, she turned the light toward the stairs.
It was a boy, or more accurately, a teenager chained under the stairs. Seeing the frightened look on his face and his trembling body, she could have wept in misery. Why was he there, trapped like an animal, chained like a beast? And the most frightening question was, who could have done that?
“I’m Catriona. I mean you no harm, I promise. I didn’t know you were there. Did Hazel put you there?”
She thought she’d see fear at the name, but instead, the young man was animated with anger. It was then that she saw a harness covering his mouth.
“I’m gonna help you. I promise on my life, we’re going to escape this place.”
The hesitation was undeniable, but the boy nodded, nonetheless.
Catriona didn’t waver and crawled under the stairs. The harness was unbuckled in less than a second. His first full breath was almost a sob.
“What’s your name?”
“Lucas. Lucas Somersby. I don’t know any Hazel, but if you’re talking about that red-headed psycho, that’s her.”
She tried to pull at the short chains, but apart from it making the noise she’d heard earlier, nothing budged.
“That won’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
A quick look at her phone told her that she didn’t have connectivity, probably due to the thick cement foundation. Beaming the light over their surroundings, it was obvious Lucas was right. Slipping back out, she checked on the opposite side and there wasn’t a toolbox, hammer, or chainsaw, not that she’d know how to use those.
“Come on, angels and saints, I need help, lots of it. Please, please, please.”
As begging was only half of the work, Catriona examined every nook and cranny, hoping she could find something to free Lucas.
The only thing she found was a pipe barely long enough to act as a lever. Better than nothing, she immediately returned to try it out. Only Lucas’s foot was chained, and at the other end, it was bolted into the wood using a U-shaped industrial clamp.
It was apparent that the young man had tried to free himself by pulling at it, but it didn’t move much. However, it may loosen the clamp enough to release him. Catriona gave her phone to Lucas and asked him to light the clamp.
The pipe was too thick to be inserted inside the clamp or into a chain link, so instead, she put the end of the pipe by the clasp, against the wood, and twisted the chain around it as tight as possible. One nod at Lucas made him grip the pipe with both hands, and they started pulling it down, using the pipe as well as their combined brute force. It took no less than a full minute to feel a slight movement. It was working.
Sweat trickled down her back, and she could hear Lucas breathing hard; after all, it was their only chance to escape. If Hazel, or whoever she was, realized what was happening, it could fast become dangerous. There was no way to know what she was capable of.
