Chapter 6
Mark closed the leather-bound journal with a soft thud, sliding it securely into the inside pocket of his dark trousers. He could not stay here waiting for Elena to return; the broken desk lock was a ticking clock. He carried Clara out of the den, his mind racing through every forgotten corner of the property. The exterior bulkhead doors leading to the basement were located on the western side of the house, hidden behind a dense row of overgrown privet hedges that blocked them from the view of any neighbors.
"Hold your rabbit tight, Clara," Mark whispered as he set her down gently in the hallway, crouching to look her straight in the eye. "We need to go outside for just a minute. Are you brave enough to show me where mom keeps the bulkhead key?"
Clara nodded slowly, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. She reached out and grabbed his index finger, tugging him toward the laundry room at the back of the house. The laundry room led out to a small service porch, and hanging on a magnetic hook beside the fuse box was a heavy, old-fashioned iron key that Mark had never noticed before.
They stepped out into the chilly night air. The suburban night was dead silent, broken only by the distant hum of traffic on the highway two miles away. The moon cast long, eerie shadows across the overgrown grass as Mark led Clara around the side of the house toward the dark, recessed stairwell of the basement bulkhead.
The double metal doors were padlocked as well, a heavy brass chain weaving through the iron handles. Mark tried the iron key in the padlock; after a moment of awkward jiggling, the internal mechanism clicked open with a sharp sound that felt deafening in the stillness of the yard.
He pulled the heavy metal doors upward. They groaned on rusted hinges, releasing a thick, stale wave of air that smelled faintly of damp earth, old plastic, and something metallic and sharp. Mark flicked on the flashlight on his phone, casting a bright, piercing beam down the steep, concrete steps into the black abyss below.
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Clara shrank back against his leg, whimpering softly. "That's where she put the box, Daddy."
Mark swallowed hard, his throat dry. He gripped his phone tightly in one hand and reached down to take Clara’s small, cold hand with the other. Together, step by cautious step, they descended into the darkness, completely unaware that Elena’s car had just turned into the driveway, its headlights sweeping across the front windows of the empty house.
