Page 79 of One Step Too Far

Then I do. It’s not the opening. It’s the enormous boulder itself. What appears to be a giant slab protrusion along the side of the rock... isn’t. I can just make out a fine line of cracks all around it. This piece isn’t connected to anything. It’s a free-standing, five-foot-high, four-foot-wide section. In shape and dimensions, it’s a door. A stone door.

I gaze up at Bob, then gesture to what I’ve found, tracing the edges of the slab with my fingertips. I don’t speak a word and neither does he. Because, having found the door, we now have to worry about what’s behind it.

Bob thins his lips. To open or not to open, that is the question. Except it’s not really much of a debate. Both of us are seekers. Of course we have to know what’s on the other side.

He shrugs out of his pack. I follow suit. He digs around in his gear until he emerges with fresh can of bear repellent, holding it up for my attention. It’s as good a weapon for self-defense as any. I have my knife attached to my belt, but I’m not that confident or bloodthirsty, so I retrieve my own canister of high-octane pepper spray.

We nod at each other. Then, as if we’ve been partners forever, I take up position to the right of the opening, where I can pepper spray first, question later, while Bob takes on the door, clutching the edge with both hands and preparing to slide it left.

The slab should be incredibly heavy, nearly impossible to move. Instead, it pops to the side so quickly, Bob nearly tumbles to the ground.

Which is when we make our second discovery. The gateway isn’t chiseled stone after all, but some Styrofoam-like substance, painted and covered with a thin layer of pebbles and sand to make it both look and feel genuine.

Man-made. Placed here with purpose. Hiding this chamber.

We stare at a jagged gap that’s now appeared between the rocks. More cool air wafts out, and with it, a faint odor. Musty. Earthy. Fetid.

The bear spray rattles in my hand.

“I’ll go,” Bob says.

A guy with a good heart, but there’s no way he’s fitting into an opening that at four-feet high, is even tinier than the dimensions of the fake door.

I smile. I once more take out my pen flashlight.

“Tell me there are no snakes.”

“There are no snakes.”

“All right. I can do this.”

I don’t give myself another moment to think about it. I duck my head and go.

CHAPTER 27

Later, this is how I will tell the story: Once, while searching fearlessly for a missing young man, I entered a crawl space underneath a jumble of boulders. It was tough going. No smoothly carved tunnel, but a series of opportunistic gaps that enabled me to work my way forward piece by piece. I forged bravely on for what felt like forever but was probably more like ten minutes.

Until suddenly the space opened up. Enough that I could straighten to my full height with plenty of clearance, and wave my flashlight over the entire room. Which I did, bit by bit, until finally...

Later, this is how I will tell the story. Assuming I survive long enough to speak of it again.

—

By the time I stumble back out into the light of day, I’m no longer shaking. There are no tears on my cheeks, or bile in my throat.

Inside me, there’s a scream building but it can’t come out. To make a sound would be to jar myself back to consciousness. To speak words would be to give voice to something I can’t bear to be real.

Instead, I stare at Bob. I stare and stare and stare. I think of Marty and his silent surrender. I wish it for myself.

“Frankie?” Bob prods with concern.

But I can only shake my head.

“Did... did you find him? Was Tim’s body in there?”

I shrug, because I honestly have no idea.

Bob hands me my water bottle. He forces me to take a drink. Then, when I remain a silent statue, he wraps his huge arms around me. He pulls me into his massive sweaty form and I don’t mind. I focus on the feel of him, solid and warm.

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