Capturing A Colton. C.J. Miller

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      Once the drywall had been pierced, it was easy to remove the rest, leaving the wood two-by-fours. They were standing in the secret area in the formal dining room. The dining room was empty; curtains and light fixtures had been removed. Jade had recalled the room being flooded with light during one of Livia’s soirees. Now it seemed dim and ugly, the gold floor tile brown with age and grime. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, hanging in limp sections.

      “This room looks terrible,” Jade said.

      “We haven’t done any demo here,” Declan said.

      “It feels empty and cold.” She didn’t want to explore that emotion too deeply. “Let’s keep going.”

      Another ladder led deeper.

      Declan shined the flashlight down. “I don’t see anything. It smells like wet earth.”

      Jade was curious. She checked her hard hat. If she was going to do this, if she wanted to purge her bad memories and overcome her fears, she had to face them head-on. She knelt on the floor and started down the ladder. Her legs quaked and her hands felt weak. When she reached the bottom, she looked around.

      Declan jumped off the ladder and landed next to her. “We can do this together.” He extended his hand to her.

      Jade took his hand and was happy he was beside her. Moving aside a large plywood sheet that was sunk in the mud was a two-person job and then a tunnel was revealed. It was constructed like a mine shaft, wood beams holding out the walls with rocks along the floor. The walls were packed mud and she tried not to think about them caving in.

      Jade let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her mother wasn’t in the small space. Her mother wouldn’t be waiting in the dark on the off chance Jade visited La Bonne Vie and decided to spill a family secret.

      Jade envisioned her mother as two people: the graceful and wonderful woman she pretended to be when someone was watching, and the person she morphed into when she was upset. Though Livia could maintain a cold facade regardless of the circumstances, even a husband’s death, when it came to her children, she was often more cruel than indifferent.

      The tunnel was dark. Declan flipped on his flashlight. “If you want to turn back, let me know. Parts of the tunnel might be caved in. We can see how far we get.” Declan had to bend his knees to enter the space.

      Jade walked behind him, keeping her hand on his back. The strength in his body was a reassurance. The confidence in his steps kept her going. Only the flashlight illuminated the small space. Her boots stuck in the mud and Jade shivered in the cold, damp air.

      “I remember it being light down here,” Jade said. They turned a corner and lost the little light from the entry. Though the walls were two feet apart, claustrophobia began to creep at her. The tunnel could collapse and they could be stuck under the ground. Each step felt like effort.

      When they reached another plywood board, Declan pushed it to the side. They were inside another room. This one was lined with wood on the floor and sides, creating a box, like an unmoving elevator. Declan scaled the ladder and pushed at the top. “I can’t open it.”

      Panic flared, but Jade tamped it down, reminding herself they could go back through the tunnel if they had to get out. But she wanted fresh air. The humid room was musty and stale. Her imagination took flight, thinking of the people and drugs and items that had been moved between the house and barn using this tunnel.

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