Relieved, and a bit excited, I slosh my way over to it. The door is heavy and swollen with age, but I’m able to unhook the rusted latch.When I pull the door open, it groans in protest, the sound like nails on a chalkboard in the small room.
Water flows in over my feet, cold and thick with dirt, making me shiver.
“Tech,” I call, not even trying to keep the edge from my voice. I shine my light down the narrow hallway that ends in complete darkness. “Tech,” I say again, and then he’s next to me.
“Good find,” he says, patting my shoulder. I hum out my thanks.
We both wait a moment, using our lights to make sure it’s safe. Then, together, we head into the hallway. However, with each step, the water rises, dragging at our legs. Freezing cold. The floor seems to be on a slant, but I’m not sure if it’s meant to be that way or if this part of the building has sunk into the sand.
The water is up to my knees when Tech lets out a sharp gasp, startling me.
“Look,” he says, shining his flashlight on the far wall.
When I follow the light, I can see a rusted set of bars, half covered in grime. The thick vertical lines, the room behind it. “This is a jail,” I murmur. Tech nods his agreement.
As we move closer to investigate, I examine the cell on the other side of the bars, small with metal beds clamped to the wall. There’s a square opening near the ceiling, which appears to have once been a window, but now it’s packed tight with sand, sealed shut.
The room can’t be more than five feet wide, maybe less. Just standing in front if it now makes my skin crawl. I try to imagine someone locked inside, trapped in the cramped darkness with no hope. It’s suffocating. Miserable.
“This isn’t Rum Runner Island,” Tech says, as if he’s finally admitting it to himself.
“It’s not Rum Runner,” I agree, disappointed. I reach out to putmy hand on his arm, and he sighs heavily, rolling his head as he looks at me. It’s been a long day for all of us. “At least we found a creepy jail, right?” I say, offering him a smile. “Maybe we can work this into one of our tours.”
He chuckles a small laugh. “Yes, tourists do love the smell of rotting fish.”
“We’ll have Shawn lead it,” I suggest, turning back to look in the cell again.
Although we didn’t find what we were looking for, this is still interesting. This is still something. It doesn’t help solve any of our actual problems, but a day when we don’t start new ones is also a good thing.
As if curious, Tech steps into the open jail cell, water swirling around his legs. He’s massive in the space, having to keep his head lowered so it doesn’t touch the ceiling. His light bounces around the room, reflecting off the bed frame and illuminating the sand-filled window.
“People were tiny back then,” he says, running his hand along the edge of the bed. His voice echoes strangely in the cell.
“For real,” I say, swinging the door halfway closed with a loud screech that makes me flinch. “Can you imagine being trapped in here foryears?”
Tech comes back over to the bars, gripping them with both hands. “Officer, let me out!” he calls in mock seriousness. “I’m innocent.”
I laugh, and it sounds shaky in the stale air. Tech meets my eyes, a moment of vulnerability there. We’ve been through a lot together; he helped through my mother’s death—held me as I cried. And now I ache for him and his loss.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sliding my hand over his through the bars.
“I really wanted this to be it,” he whispers like a secret. The words break my heart, and I nod in response. I wish this was it too. I really do.
He squeezes my hand once, but just as he goes to back up, Tech’sfoot catches on something under the water. He stumbles, grabbing the bars to steady himself.
There’s a loud click.
For a moment, we both freeze. There is no way. There is no way that—
Tech pushes against the door. It rattles.
Then he pushes again. Harder, but nothing.
His eyes lift to mine, suddenly sharp. “Open the door,” he says, calm. Flat.
“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly, moving to pull it. But the second my fingers wrap around the bar, I feel it—resistance. The cold steel doesn’t give. I yank again, swallowing down my dread. “It’s fine,” I murmur. To myself? To Tech? I’m not sure.
“Noa,” he snaps. “Don’t fuck around. Open it.”
