Page 52 of Buried Roots

I leave the space and run out of the bedroom. I’m racing through the house, frantically studying every nook and cranny to see what memories will come. “I lived here with Nana and Papa. I must’ve thought Bo and Lily were my grandparents.”

I’m trembling, and I’m not sure why. “I remember happiness, but fear, too.” I look at a door, the one that I know leads to the basement. My voice is just above a whisper when I say, “Behind that are cement steps that lead downstairs. That’s where the laundry room is.”

“Slow down.” Owen takes my hand, stopping me. “Take a breath. Tell me what’s going on.”

My body quakes and sweat films my skin. I shake my head, almost frozen in fear. “I have a gross feeling. I think—no, Iknow—something bad happened down there.”

Owen rubs his thumb over my palm. “Let’s call it quits for today. We can get a room. Come back tomorrow.”

Up until this moment, I’ve been so glad Owen insisted he come with me. But right now, I want him gone, and I can’t explain why. Finally, I say, “I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, but I have to do this now, and by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Owen’s eyes fill with worry. “I’ll be right here, okay?”

I’m in a fugue-like state as I walk down the steep, narrow stairs. When I get to the bottom, I reach through the darkness and flip on the switch, but the light doesn’t come on. I used to have to jump to turn it on, which I did as fast as possible because it’s always pitch black down here with no windows.

I turn on my phone light, which does a decent job of lighting up the space. It smells like earth, and dampness hangs thick in the air.

I shudder.

I find the door to the storm shelter, remembering it used to be beside the washer and dryer, which are now gone. There also used to be wire shelves, laundry baskets, and curtains. “I had to hide in there,” I utter to myself. I open the door and step down the creaky ladder, moving the light of my phone through the cement-blocked space. My pulse skyrockets as I take in gulps of dank air, which aren’t enough.

My shoulders shake as my fear reaches fever pitch, my heart hammering in my ears. There’s a dirty jar, and I pick it up. Seeing my old toy princess figurines inside, I drop it. Hitting the cement floor, it smashes into pieces. The scream that’s been trapped inside of me for as long as I can remember finally escapes.

Footsteps thump across the floor then tumble down the ladder. When I swing around, for a split second, I see another man’s face. A bad man, and I let out another bloodcurdling scream.

“Willow!” Owen’s voice brings me back as he rushes toward me.

“It happened here.” I barely recognize my own voice.

Owen touches my face. “What’re you talking about?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!”

He pulls me to his chest, so tight it’s hard to move. “It’s okay.”

Right now, his hug feels claustrophobic, and I take my fists and push Owen away. “Let me out!” I dart up the ladder before sprinting away. “Let me out!” I repeat reflexively before running up the stairs, through the house, then out the front door.

I fight to take in air. “It’s too damn hot!” I tug at my shirt as I jog down the street. I have to get away.

“Willow! Stop!” Owen’s voice is desperate as he chases after me.

I whip around, and he’s right there, and his face is twisted in confusion. “Come on. Let’s get in the car.”

“I can’t. I need air. I need to walk a minute. Alone.”

“You think I’m going to leave you alone in a strange neighborhood?”

I gasp for breaths. “Please, Owen, give me a minute.”

He puts his palms up. “Fine. Take a minute, but I’m waiting here.” His eyes are splintered with hurt.

I feel awful for bringing him into this, but right now, I need space.

But it turns out that’snotwhat I need because I take two steps away before sliding down to my knees, no longer able to stand.

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