It takes us a few more steps to the house. It is still as Anderson claimed it. Two walls still stand strong, perched together by a corner. They’re just naked brick, with a single hole in them that once used to be a window. I’m guessing that it probably had a lovely view, one that whoever watched through, enjoyed. But now, all it shows is obscurity.
“Where is the cellar?” I look around, following Fynn’s flashlight. “Will we be able to find it in the dark?”
“We can’t wait until daytime,” Fynn replies. “If he’s here, and if he’s wounded, he might not have hours to go.”
That thought breaks me. But, I try to focus on the good and remain positive.
“There’s too much rubble on the floor,” Fynn snorts. “It’s impossible to find a door that’s kept hidden even in the daytime.”
“Then try!” I hear myself shout, even though that’s not what I intended.
The flashlight flickers for a moment, as if Fynn’s hand trembled upon hearing me raise my voice.
“Sorry, I – “
But, I’m not allowed to finish. I feel Anderson’s hand around my shoulders and his voice in my ear.
“It’s fine,” he soothes me. “Just let it out if you need to. We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”
My lips quiver, and I bite on my lower lip to calm down.
“This was the main room,” I hear Fynn talk, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself. “The entrance door was there.” The flashlight points in the opposite direction. “The Southern window was there. And, the trap door was just through the fireplace.”
I listen to his words, filled with hope. The flashlight tells his story, and I pray to God that he is right, that his memory serves him well. He runs over to one of the standing walls and gets down to his knees. I only notice the Moonlight at this point, and it seems like it’s starting to burn brighter, as if the Moon itself wants us to find our path, it doesn’t want us to stay lost.
I can see outlines of the men with me, Fynn’s crouching body, as the flashlight points at the floor which he is so frantically trying to clear. I hear commotion, rubble being thrown to the side, the rolling of small pebbles and crackling of dried out branches.
“There!” Fynn shouts victoriously.
Anderson and I run over to help him.
“Help me with this!” Fynn instructs us, pointing the flashlight at a wooden door in the floor, which has something akin to a brass door knocker. I remember those from our old weekend house in the mountains, the one dad had to sell at some point, because it reminded him of mom too much. But, the door was the same.
Anderson grabs the door knocker, and Fynn tries the sides. They both grunt with exasperation, and it takes them three tries to finally open it. The door unfastens with a loud screeching sound, and a huge cloud of dust escapes it, making all of us cough.
“How do we get down?” I dare to look into the hold, but without Fynn’s flashlight, I can’t see anything.
“There should be a ladder or something,” Anderson tells me.
The flashlight reveals exactly that. It looks old and worn out, unsafe to climb, but that won’t stop me. I adjust myself to go inside, but Fynn grabs me by the elbow.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snarls. “Are you crazy? We don’t know what or who’s in there.”
“My dad?”
“I’ll go down, and if I need help, I’ll call for Anderson,” he orders me. “You stay here and don’t move.”
I open my mouth to object, but nothing comes out. Instead, I exhale loudly, and obey. My silly ideas have gotten us here. If I hadn’t made him take a walk with me, they wouldn’t have taken Anderson in the first place. Perhaps it’s best just to do as I’m told this time.
Fynn goes down, and I huddle close to Anderson, as we remain in darkness.
“Are you scared?” he asks me.
“Only that my father might not be here.”
“If he’s not here, we’ll look for him elsewhere. He has to be somewhere. And, we’ll find him. I promise.”
I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. Without anticipating it, I feel his lips on my forehead as he plants a soft kiss on it. My heart flutters like a butterfly’s wings, soft at first, then with a strength to move mountains.
“I need help over here!” Fynn suddenly shouts from inside.
Anderson immediately jumps into the hole, not even looking where exactly he’s stepping. I hear a blaring thud noise as he drops to the ground, then the rushing of footsteps. The resonances of commotion reach me, but no matter how hard I peer into the darkness, I see nothing.
“Did you find him?” I shout into the hole, hearing my own echo.
Instead of a reply, the flashlight appears, shining through the hole, then upward in my direction.
“Can you lower yourself a little into the hole?” Fynn asks. “We need you to grab his hands, then pull as hard as you can!”
My mind goes blank. “You found him!?”
“Just pull him up!” Fynn repeats, and I immediately do as I’m told.
I reach into the hole, and the flashlight illuminates my father’s slumbering face.
“Is he alright!?” I whimper, as I grab his arms, and start pulling up with all my might.
No one replies. We’re all huffing, grunting, moaning, and trying to get my father out of the black hole he was in. It takes us a while, but finally we manage to do it.
I adjust my father’s body onto the dirty floor, and immediately reach for his pulse. I can barely feel it, but it’s still there.
“He’s alive,” I whisper, overwhelmed with joy and relief.
“He needs to go to the hospital,” Fynn neglects what I said. “Now.”
The flashlight points at his stomach. His shirt is stained with caked blood. There is so much of it.
“Let’s get him to the car,” Anderson urges us.
Fynn and Anderson manage to prop my father up on his feet, with his hands over each of their shoulders. We walk back to the car slowly, dragging my father’s unconscious body, as I run around them, feeling like there is nothing I can do but burst out into tears. But, that would only make things worse.
We found him – that’s what matters. Now, we need to focus on getting him to the hospital on time, and saving his life.
Chapter 25
The white lights of the hospital are too bright. My eyes hurt and my whole body is aching for a good night’s rest, but I know that even if I lay down, I won’t be able to fall asleep. Not while my father is lying in a hospital bed, with all those tubes sticking out of his body, tying him up to the machines.
“Want me to go get you another coffee?” I hear Anderson offer, as he gets up from his seat.
Fynn is sitting opposite us, his head buried in his hands. To some passer-by, it looks like he might be sleeping, but I know he’s not.
“Their coffee’s crap,” I mumble. “But, yeah, I want one.”