Page 12 of From the Darkness

She rapped her knuckles lightly against the wood, first on one side, then on the other, and finally in the middle. The sound seemed different—more solid in the middle and on the right side—more hollow on the left.

Unsure of how to proceed, she tried pressing on various parts of the panel, disappointed when nothing happened. Exasperated, she put down her flashlight and pressed with two hands, trying different random patterns. When she pushed with one hand near the top of the panel and the other near the middle, there was a soft click. In the next second, the wall swung inward, revealing, a dark, yawning cavern.

She stared into the blackness, wishing the door hadn’t opened. Then, firming her jaw, she picked up the flashlight again and shined it into the opening. A long dark passage stretched before her. The old Bonnie Brennan would probably have shut the door again, gone back to bed, and pulled the covers over her head. The old Bonnie Brennan had been passive and too timid. The new Bree Brennan knew she had to find out where the passage led because there was no safety in her room if someone could sneak in at will.

But the new Bree Brennan was no fool. She wasn’t going to do it dressed in her nightgown. And she wasn’t going to act like the dumb heroine of a gothic novel. She was going to get her gun.

Digging through her suitcase, she began to pull out the separate parts of the weapon—all of which were designed to look innocuous. The barrel was a narrow flashlight. The clip was a waterproof box filled with “medicine capsules.” The stock was a soap dish.

After finding all the components, she sat down on the bed, prepared everything for assembly, and put the gun together.

Carefully, she tested her construction skills, before loading in a clip and getting comfortable again with the feel of the weapon in her hand. Before she’d left Decorah, she’d used this pistol on a firing range. And she felt confident that it would protect her now if she needed it.

Turning back to her suitcase, she found a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. After pulling them on, she got out socks and running shoes. When she was better outfitted for exploring, she picked up her gun and the light and faced the tunnel again.

As she played the beam over the walls, she saw they were made of the same paneling as the back of the closet. The floor, however, was stone.

Spider webs blurred the line where the ceiling met the walls, and she braced for musty air. But it had an unexpected freshness, as though there were some access to the outside. When she licked her finger and held it up, she detected a faint breeze.

Some part of her thought it might not be a dumb idea to turn around and go back. At the same time, another part of her wondered if she was being compelled to sneak down this tunnel by some outside force. The same force that had held her captive in bed when she’d first awakened.

Just to prove she could, she stopped in her tracks and thought about what she was doing. It made sense that the man who’d come to her room was long gone. But if he’d gotten into her bedroom through this tunnel, she wanted to know what lay at the other end.

“Troy?” she called out.

He didn’t answer, and she hadn’t expected one. Still, calling out to him made her pulse beat faster.

Gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, she moved along the passage, feeling the floor slope slightly downward as she went. She stayed close to the right-hand wall, and about ten feet into the tunnel, the walls changed from paneling to stone.

After about twenty paces, the tunnel curved to the right, abruptly turning a corner so that when she swiveled back, she could no longer see the closet where she’d entered.

If she turned off the flashlight, she knew she would be in total darkness. A jolt of claustrophobia grabbed her by the throat then, and she had to pause and press her arm against the rough stone. Closing her eyes, she took several deep, steadying breaths. When she felt more in control, she started moving forward again, still counting the paces.

She had taken perhaps ten more steps when disaster struck, it overtook her so suddenly that she had no preparation. As she turned a corner, the floor of the tunnel seemed to fall away from under her feet.

A scream tore from her throat as she dropped the flashlight and the gun, clawing at the wall with both hands. But there was no way she could stop herself from tumbling into space like a rag doll tossed over the edge of a cliff.

The gun clattered to the stone floor. The flashlight plummeted farther downward, the glass smashing and the light going dark as it hit something solid far below her.

The world seemed to slow, so that she felt trapped in a bubble. She had time to consider her fate. She would follow the flashlight down, her mind screamed, as she braced for the impact of her body striking rock far below.

But it never happened. A man’s strong arms caught her, halting her downward plunge in mid-fall. For a heart-stopping moment, it felt as if she were standing on nothing but air, her legs dangling helplessly as he held her upper body in his grasp.

As she’d catapulted over the edge, rocks had started to fall. They continued to tumble over the precipice into some black, bottomless pit, the impact reverberating in the confined space.

Her breath came hard and fast as she clung to her rescuer. Pressing her face against his chest, she struggled to make sense of what had happened.

It was him, the man who had come to her bed, she thought, leaning into his strength as the scent of soap and spice enveloped her.

Just as in the bedroom, she couldn’t see him, only feel the solid shape of his body and the soft fabric of his flannel shirt as he folded her close.

In the darkness, she let him drag her a few steps back—away from the place where the floor had dropped out from under her feet. For long moments, she was happy to simply nestle in his arms, eyes closed.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for being there when I needed you.”

She felt his head nod, his chin brushing the top of her hair, felt his large hands slide possessively up and down her back, stroking, soothing, keeping her close in the circle of his arms. Clasping her more tightly, he turned his head so that he could press his lips against her hair, while his hands trailed over her back, along her spine.

It was tempting to simply drift, wrapped in his comfort and care. But finally, she roused herself. “Tell me who you are,” she said.

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