“If that’s not the reason for the panic with basements, what is?”
I do my best to keep my voice as soft as possible. If I speak too loudly, I worry I’ll startle her like a stray animal. Even though it’s difficult, I think she needs to get this off her chest. Shit like this weighs a person down. I know from experience.
“Mom found out what my uncle was doing. I don’t remember how, but I was twelve.”
Three fucking years this went on?
“Grandma was coming back to Iowa to visit. She’d retired to Reno, and she was supposed to pick me up after school. She had a heart attack and was in the hospital.”
“What?”
Phoebe nods her head on my chest, and I feel the tears seeping through my shirt. “She was okay. I had to walk home when Grandma didn’t show. I walked into the house, and no one answered. I thought maybe Mom and my uncle were at the hospital.”
I don’t really understand where this is going yet. Her grandma didn’t die. I know that. She died when Phoebe was nineteen.
“I knew Mom was going to tell Grandma about what my uncle was doing, and I thought this was a sign that she shouldn’t. But then I saw the note Mom left for Grandma, and I knew they were in the house.”
The image of a young Phoebe left alone while her family fell apart makes me hold her even tighter. Like I can protect the little girl still inside if I hug her enough.
“My uncle did the same thing to Mom. He was ten years older, and he took her to the basement, too.”
Motherfucker. “And your grandparents didn’t know this?”
“No,” she says, letting out a sob. “She never told them. And when I read the note, I knew she was in the basement. I shoved the note in my pocket and ran downstairs to find Mom with my uncle.”
“What were they doing?”
My heart races. He wouldn’t have hurt her mom then, right? She wasn’t his type. He liked kids.
Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with this world?
Her body trembles against me, and I understand her request for darkness. I hate that she’s reliving this again, but she seems to need to get this out of her system. Even if it’s the only time she ever talks about this again.
“They were dead.”
I’m actually kind of pissed. I was hoping for a chance to make that motherfucker suffer. “What?”
“It was my fault. She shot both of them in the head. Blood and brains were splattered on the walls like today. Normally, I keep it locked up, but I couldn’t when I saw that guy… I was back in the basement… The memories didn’t stay locked up. They wouldn’t stop.”
Fuck. It wasn’t that she was terrified of what Capone did. It was the memory of finding her mother after she blew her brains out that broke her.
I pull her closer until she’s lying on top of me. “I’m sorry, Phoebe.”
“I took the gun from Mom’s hand and put it in my uncle’s. I was scared Grandma wouldn’t take me in if she knew the truth. No one else ever read the note.”
If it wasn’t such a tragic story, I’d be impressed and proud that she fucked with a crime scene at only twelve. “The cops thought he did it?”
Sniffling, she nods her head, the hot tears still hitting my chest. “I told them my uncle was sad lately, and he was talking about hurting himself. Then I said I told Mom, and she was going to try to talk to him before Grandma showed up. They put the rest together themselves.”
“You came up with this at twelve?”
She sobs and presses her face against my chest. I just hold her, rubbing her hair until she calms down.
“Yeah. Before I called the police, I laid down next to Mom. I apologized and held her hand. She was still warm. Her eyes were open, and it felt like she was watching me as I walked down to find them. Just lying there, waiting.”
Tears sting my eyes. I lost my mother when I was young, but it wasn’t as tragic as this. The thought of Phoebe laying on the ground with her dead mom breaks me in ways I didn’t know possible.
“That’s what I see when I see a basement. Mom laying on the floor. Dead. I can’t stop the memory when that happens, and I’m losing my brightness, Tucker. The vault door opened, and I can’t shut it. The darkness is grabbing hold, and I don’t know what to do.”
