bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter thirty-four, part two.

Shit. Fuck. Sir was home. Sir could come into the basement at any moment, see Case was gone. Sir could hear or see Case trying to escape. Sir could realize he'd made a mistake, that the only option now was to kill Case.

Don't stop, the voice of clarity told him, helping him focus. Keep moving. Quick.

Case swallowed his call for help. Quiet. Quick and quiet.

He yanked the lattice, searching for the rattle of hinges. There had to be an entrance, a doorway somewhere. How else would Sir have gotten in to clear the dead rat? Case followed the perimeter, feeling around for some part of the foundation that would yield under pressure. He kept going, until he came to the concrete slab holding up the rest of the house. Dead end.

Shit. "Okay," he muttered to himself, thinking. Keeping calm.

Well, if he couldn't find a way out, he'd just have to make one. Case backtracked, finding a spot where the wood was weak with rot. On the other side, an untended garden bed made the soil loose and soft. He pushed at the slats of wood, trying to jiggle them loose.

Footsteps echoed through the floorboard above him, wandering the house. Case kept the movement on his radar, continuing to work. He pushed both hands, full force against the wooden grid, nails popping free. The air was thick with dirt and cobwebs, getting into his lungs. A strip of planking snapped; Case fell forward, almost faceplanting. Quick reflexes, he shot out his arm and saved himself. Then—another reflex—he coughed.

Case clamped his hand over his mouth.

The footsteps stopped, the floorboards creaking under Sir's weight.

No, no, no. Case's pulse raced, his heart beating in his ears. The footsteps started again, crossing the room, heading toward him. He bit his cheek, not daring to breathe as Sir stopped directly over him. The crawlspace was insulated, soundproofed. Surely, that meant Sir hadn't heard him—not clearly, anyway? A muffled, background noise maybe—easily dismissible.

The footsteps started again, walking away . . . the pace quick, determined.

Shit. Sir knew. Sir knew something was wrong. Go!

Case went into overdrive. Forget trying to break through the lattice. His only option now was to dig. He clawed at the ground, hands pedaling through the earth, like a fox burrowing in the wild. Dirt piled around him, a shallow groove forming below the lattice. Too shallow for him to squeeze through—yet.

A tumble of thuds, and a shocked yelp, came from the basement. Muttered swearing, then Sir shouting one word: "CASEY!"

Busted.

Case swung around, rearing his legs back and kicking both feet against the wooden slats. "C'mon," he grunted, ignoring the pain as his heels absorbed the impact.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

"C'mon!"

"Casey, you little shit!" Sir's shouted, his voice resounding from the front yard.

Case stopped mid-kick. Through the lattice, he spied the bottom half of Sir's jeans. He tracked Sir as he crossed the front yard and came to a stop, his shoes angled toward the road.

A strained chuckle. "Hello, boys! Weathers turnin' mean. Y'all should head home before the storm hits."

"Alright, Mr Scobie," one of the kids in the street called back, before a trio of bikes rode off together.

Sir turned, boots pointed toward the house. "I know you're out here," he said, audibly straining to hide the anger from his voice. "Come out. I promise I won't hurt you."