“It would be a shame,” I added, giving her a playful glance, “if I miss out on your world-famous homemade tortellini. I heard that might be a crime around here.”
That finally earned a laugh. Tara nodded. “All right. I’ll be right back. Do you need anything?”
“Benadryl,” I said.
She nodded. “Benadryl. Got it. Text me if you think of anything else.”
“I will. Thanks.”
After washing her hands, she grabbed her coat and phone, then headed out.
Through the window, I watched her car grow smaller along the long road that led to the mainland. The ocean down below was calm, its waves folding against the giant boulders with a rhythmic hush.
The moment she was gone, the house felt still.
My head, on the other hand, was a tornado.
Something wasn’t right here.
That night, when I saw the woman, I told myself it wasn’t real. A flash. A dream. A trick of the half-woken mind. But then Mochi kept repeating it.Woman in the basement.And not just once. He said it again. Clearly. Right in front of Tara.
She didn’t think anything of it. Brushed it off as a silly phrase from a talking bird.
But to me, it made everything feel real again. Too real.
And then there was the fact that Daniel was acting weird.
“Woman,” Mochi said, snapping me out of my spiral. “Woman in the basement.”
I turned and looked at him in his cage.
We were alone. Just Mochi and me. At the Breakers.
The thought settled over me with an odd weight. It should have felt eerie, but it didn’t. Not really. Not spooky. Not wrong. Just strange.
There wasn’t much time, so I didn’t waste any.
Moving quickly, I crossed the kitchen and yanked open drawers until I found a large kitchen knife, clean and sharp. I took it. Tara was the kind of woman who knew where to keep a flashlight too. I found one in the junk drawer.
My phone was already in my back pocket.
“I’ll be right back, Mochi,” I said over my shoulder.
“Be right back,” he repeated in that clueless tone. “Be right back.”
Down the hall, I slowed.
The yellow door would probably be locked.
I stepped through the connector door and found myself face-to-face with the closed yellow door. My fingers landed on the handle. I pressed down and pushed.
Yup. Locked.
The door was solid wood. Heavy. It must’ve been here since the house was built. The old wood had been sloppily painted over in yellow, like a warning.
I didn’t have a key, and my DIY skills were… limited.
But this wasn’t the old world. These days, the greatest weapon on Earth wasn’t a hammer, a sword, or even a key. It was in my pocket.
