Chapter 4

"Mark, I heard back from my friend!" David grabbed my arm as soon as I got to the office, talking loudly. With other coworkers around, I quickly shushed him. He laughed, covering his mouth, then leaned in close. "My friend says she can get that door open!"

Perfect! I was thrilled. Once the nearby coworkers left, I pulled David over and whispered, "David, I need a favor." He raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, we're friends—just say the word!"

I checked the office door to make sure no one was coming, then put my arm around his shoulder and murmured in his ear. He nodded as I spoke. "Leave it to me!" We talked it over for ten minutes, then he took off. I stayed at the office, waiting.

While I waited, I noticed Sarah sneaking glances my way a few times. She was obviously keeping an eye on me, making sure I wasn't planning to sneak home again like before.

At eleven, David texted: Sorry, couldn't get the door open. Felt like someone was inside—right when we almost had it, they locked it again. My stomach dropped. We'd underestimated Sarah!

Now what? Should I call the cops? If I didn't, whatever was in that basement would stay a secret forever. But if I did... what if there was nothing? Our relationship would be totally ruined! What was I supposed to do?

Quitting time came again. I drove Sarah back to the house. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, she lunged at me—scratching my face, yanking my hair. No warning, just attacking me out of nowhere!

"What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled, covering my face. She didn't say a word—just kept hitting me harder and harder. My face and head burned; I was scared she might actually hurt me badly if this kept up.

I fumbled with the seatbelt, unbuckled it, and tried to open the door to get out. She latched onto my arm with one hand to stop me, while the other kept attacking—scratching, punching, hitting my face and body!

The pain was too much, so I started yelling for help. She clamped her hand over my mouth to muffle me. Then I remembered the small scissors in the glove compartment. I fumbled it open, grabbed them, and held them up toward her!

"Ah!" She yelped and finally backed off. I gasped for air, glaring at her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was clutching her left wrist—it was bleeding badly, cut by the scissors!

My face throbbed and my head was spinning. "Why the hell did you attack me?" I shouted.

"You had it coming!" she snapped.

"Had what coming?"

"You know exactly why!"

Then it hit me—she must have found out I tried to get someone to open the basement door!

"You sneaky bastard!" She pointed at me, venom in her voice. "I warned you to stay away from the basement, to leave it alone!"

"This is my house! My parents bought it!" I shot back.

"And I told you to give me six months! That after six months, things would get better! Don't you remember?"

"I don't believe a word you say! With that attitude, in six more months you'll probably kill me!" I'd hit my breaking point. When you can't take it anymore, you just can't.