“Oh, Emily,” she said, tilting her head as if I were a toddler who’d just broken a toy. “Stupid little girl. If you think I’m just some crazy old woman who might kill you in your sleep, you’re wrong. I never sought you out.Youare the one coming down here to see me. You’re free to go. There’s the door. Bye-bye.”
My eyes darted back and forth, from her to the door.
There’d be no arguing with her. No convincing her that what she’d done was wrong. No reaching a woman who talked about monsters and stabbed dogs without blinking.
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “I'd better go before Daniel wakes up and looks for me.”
She ignored me as I walked quickly to the door.
What was I supposed to say now?Bye? See you later?
“Thank you for not locking me out there in the dark,” I mumbled as I passed her, watching her out of the corner of my eye. “And for telling me about the secret door.”
She didn’t look at me, just closed the dishwasher with a soft thud and dried her hands on a towel.
“Look at the bed where he raped them,” she said quietly. “Monsters. All of them.”
I rushed into the dim hallway, my heart thudding. For some reason, she’d left the door open behind me. Maybe she’d done it on purpose. She didn’t follow me or say another word.
The air was colder here, heavier. I flicked on my phone’s flashlight and stopped the recording. Relief hit me hard when I saw the counter still ticking just before I tapped stop. The entire conversation had been saved.
I moved fast, cutting through the tunnel toward the second door on the left—just like she’d said. My beam swept across the room. It was small and damp, its walls lined with forgotten shelves.
There it was.
A wooden shelf, tucked against the far wall. Dust clung to every edge, and the smell of mold was thick in the air. It looked exactly like a hidden doorshouldlook.
But what made my stomach flip wasn’t the shelf.
It was the bed frame beside it.
Rotten. Iron. Barely upright.
The mattress had caved in, and the old sheets had slid halfway to the floor, where they were bunched in a pile. Dark stains—brown and crusted—bloomed across the fabric. I gagged as I stepped closer, my hand clamped over my nose. The scent of old metal and something sharp hit the back of my throat.
Those stains...Were they blood? From the little girls the first Winthrop had raped down here?
I walked to the shelf and pulled. It creaked but moved. Slowly, the whole thing opened like a door. Just like she said.
Behind it was a narrow corridor. I slipped through, my footsteps light, and followed the passage around a tight corner before it opened up to a set of stairs.
The wood groaned under my weight, each step a careful test. At the top, I found a rectangular panel made of solid wood, like the back of a bookshelf. I pushed against it once, then harder. It gave with a loud creak.
And then I was standing in the food pantry. Tara’s kingdom.
The hidden door was a massive built-in shelf. It had clearly been repainted over the years, but it was likely the original from when the house was built. It fit perfectly into the frame of the hidden corridor, blending seamlessly and solidly. No one would have ever guessed a tunnel was behind it.
A few cans had fallen onto the floor, probably from the shelf shifting when I opened it.
I shoved the pantry door shut again just as the kitchen light flicked on.
I spun around, my heart slamming.
Hudson!
“God, Hudson!” I gasped. “You scared me to death.”
“The dogs heard something and started barking,” he said, his voice low and groggy.
