Dipping Into Together

Ch 25

It feels like it takes me hours to reach the house, but when I finally do, the time melts away, and it’s like I’m getting out of the car with Uncle on that one fateful day. I stand in the drive way and stare up at it, wondering what my plan is. Realizing that I’m out in the open, I scurry into the bushes, looking around everywhere for something to use as a weapon. My eyes land on a stack of wood across the street. I sprint over, grab the thinnest one, and sprint back. It’s only about three feet long and an inch wide, so it’s perfect for my use.

I’m about to start going towards the house when I stop to think. Should I call the police? It’s a split-second decision, and I take the risk, knowing that I’ve already wasted too much time already. I need to get in there now. I run up the side of the house and figure that Uncle’s going to hear me coming in one way or another, so I might as well take the fastest way. Raising the piece of wood, I’m about to swing at a window and break it, but then something catches my eye. It’s a small, rectangular window, framed by what looks like rotting wood, set low on the wall. I squint in the darkness, trying to figure out why it looks so weird. And then I realize it: it’s the window to the basement.

It must’ve been here when the house was built, because it really does look quite decayed. I prowl over to it and nudge it with my foot; it wiggles. Getting down on my knees, I set down the piece of wood and grip it with both hands, wiggling it. The right hatch was so rusty, and broke very easily. The left one came soon after, and then I was pulling it out all together, the whole operation silent. I lay it down in the grass and pick up the stick again.

Turning around to lay on my stomach, I slowly inch my feet through the windowless hole. While doing this, a funny thought came to mind. Throughout this whole ordeal, I was always going in and out of holes.

This thought didn’t stay around in my head for even a second, because then I was all the way through the hole and hanging onto the edge of the window, dangling, my feet hitting the wall. I let myself drop without any fear, and landed on the concrete after dropping for less than a second.  I turn around quickly and pull out my flashlight, flicking it on.

The basement is illuminated, and I look around. Nothing’s here but a cement floor and cement walls. Just a whole bunch of cement, almost like someone was trying to create a sound barrier. The light skips around, but when I pass over the floor, my blood runs cold. I move the flashlight back and focus it on a spot on the floor where blood is smeared heavy. Jonah’s blood.

My pulse quickening, I flash the light around, just making sure he’s not down here. When I confirm that he’s not, I look for the stairs. By the time the light shines over them, I’m already running towards them. Turning off the flashlight, I silently creep up the stairs, thankful that I don’t have shoes on. I’ve changed my strategy now. I’m going to use the element of surprise to my advantage. Since Uncle thinks I’m dead, he’ll think he’s seeing a ghost. Not actually, but he won’t suspect that it’s me, because he knows that my mom’s in the hole tied up and I’m dead. So who could it be? Maybe he’ll just think it’s the house creaking.

So many thoughts are rushing through my head. Stupid, meaningless thoughts, but they fill my head and rip through my soul and invade all of the dark corners of my mind. They’re useless and senseless because they’re thoughts consumed by fear, and at the moment, that’s the absolute last thing I need right now. But they keep coming. It’s as if I’ve opened some invisible door and they’ve all come rushing in. My heart beat quickens and I almost trip, catching and yanking myself upright before it turns disastrously loud. But it doesn’t matter that in the physical world I haven’t made any noise, because in my head, the noise is deafening.

Pushing the thoughts away best I can, I place my foot on the last step. I’m here. I’m at the door. Everything lies beyond this point. I can still go back, can still run away and pretend none of this happened. I can go back and get my mom out and we could run away and he’d just think she escaped or died or vanished, but it wouldn’t matter because by then we’d have moved to another town far away from here and changed our names and would have been living new lives, happy lives. If Jonah is dead then I am walking into my own death, because Uncle is strong and I am weak. And he could kill me easier than he could kill a mosquito. I am a nothing to him, yet he holds my everything. If Jonah is alive, then everything was worth it, but if he is not, then I have locked my mother in a hole in the ground and left at the mercy of this merciless lunatic.

I decide that I don’t care what happens as long as one of us ends up dead, either me or Uncle, it wasn’t all for nothing. Because if he kills me at least I’ll have come back in order to save the boy I love, and ended up dying in his name. I try not to think about the situation I’ve left my mother in, and reach for the door knob, grasping it lightly. I turn it, praying that the door isn’t squeaky.

It’s not.

I step very carefully into the house. It’s dark. There are shadows thrown across the floor, and I feel like they’re dead souls come to take me with them. To make them disappear from my mind, I step on them with my dirty, grimy feet. Then, coming back to reality, I snap my head up and look around, realizing that I’m close to the foyer. I need to get upstairs, that’s always where Uncle is, I think. I move towards where I think I remember the stairs being, and sure enough, there they are, tucked up against the wall. I creep up them slowly, setting the flashlight down on the carpet and gripping the piece of wood with both hands.

My knuckles turn white from my death grip, but I don’t notice that, my eyes are locked on the top of the stairs, almost daring Uncle to come out so that I can just charge at him. I know, though, that he would have the upper hand since I’m lower down, but I’m not thinking straight, anyways.

I continue to stalk up the stairs until I get to the top, and there, I pause, looking around, wondering what to do next. I decide to go to his bedroom, remembering the way from last time I was in his house, running out of it. I go down the hall and stop in front of the bedroom door, breathing hard. Better just get it over with, I tell myself. So I grasp the handle and turn it. I stay in the doorway as the door swings open. There, in the bed, is Uncle.

My blood runs cold and I contain my fear, but then I realize that he’s asleep. Passed out, more like. There are beer bottles on the floor and scattered across his bedside table. Probably drinking from the guilt of killing me, most likely not, though. But good anyways. I close the door silently, and then open it again. Gripping the piece of wood, I go to him. Hate swirls through me so fiercely that it almost knocks me to the floor. It churns and boils inside me like scorching lava. It’s alive and wanting. Wanting death. Wanting Uncle’s death. And what it wants, I want too. I want to kill him. My hands are aching to wrap around his throat. I want to beat his head against the concrete until hot red blood spills out and stains the earth and he feels the torment and agony that he put me through, but I hope it would be multiplied to where he would wish for death. And me, being merciful, would give it to him.

So, acting on my demonic thoughts, I raise the piece of wood and bring it down with as much force I contained against his skull.  His eyes don’t open or anything. A gash appears on the side of his head and his body goes limp, his head lolling over. I almost back away, but it isn’t enough. He didn’t wake up. He didn’t feel any pain. I want him to look at me when I kill him. I want him to see the hate in my eyes as the life drains from his body.

I start when I realize how violent my thoughts are getting. Backing away, I feel panicked. This isn’t me. I’m not a killer. I’m not a murderer. I run out of that room as fast as I can, slamming the door shut. I’m shaking, tears dripping down my face, but I don’t notice. While in my murderous state of mind, I had completely forgotten about finding Jonah. Now it consumed my mind. I run to the closest door and throw it open, no Jonah. I go to the next door, empty. I open every door on the upper floor but I don’t find him.

I’m going to go mad. Running down the stairs, almost tripping from how fast I’m going, I think about what I’m going to do. But it doesn’t matter what I’m thinking in my head or saying in heart because there’s only one word running through my head. Jonah. Jonah. Jonah.

I need to find him. It’s like he’s my oxygen right now. I physically don’t feel like I can survive if I don’t find him, if I don’t have him, alive, with me. I need him. I need him. I need him.

When I get down to the floor, I do trip, and spill across the floor. I lay there for a second, staring ahead, not believing what I’m seeing. Blood is smeared across the floor. The breath escapes my body as I stand up and start following the trail that I didn’t notice before. It turns down a short hall and disappears behind a closed door.

I stand outside it, knowing everything is behind this door. This is what everything is weighing on. My mental stability is balancing on this door.

I take a deep breath, step forward.

And open the door.

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