Chapter 8 - THE PLACE UNDER WATER
Renley waited until the adults started arguing.
Vincent accused Daniel.
Daniel accused Marcus.
Marcus accused everyone.
Exactly what Walter had probably expected.
Adults with guns were easy to distract.
Give them one secret and they would build ten theories around it.
Renley slipped out through the side door.
Her bicycle was gone.
So she ran.
Three blocks later, she found a city bus.
She used the emergency money hidden inside her shoe.
Walter had told her to keep it there.
Another thing she had forgotten.
The destination came back piece by piece.
Three bells.
Sleeping lion.
Water underneath.
St. Bartholomew's Church.
Three bells hung in its old tower.
A stone lion slept beside the cemetery entrance.
And beneath the church ran an abandoned storm tunnel built before Renley was born.
Walter had shown her the place when she was six.
Not by accident.
By design.
Rain began falling when Renley reached the church.
The building had been closed for years.
Boards covered the windows.
The lion statue was cracked down the middle.
Renley climbed over the rusted fence.
Behind the lion, beneath weeds, she found an iron ring.
She pulled.
Nothing.
She pulled again.
A small metal hatch lifted from the ground.
Cold air rose from below.
Renley's pulse pounded.
She switched on her phone flashlight and climbed down.
Water covered the tunnel floor.
An inch deep.
Then two.
Her shoes soaked through.
She followed the brick tunnel until she found three white marks painted on the wall.
Walter's marks.
She remembered his hand holding hers.
“Count thirty-seven steps.”
Renley counted.
Thirty-five.
Thirty-six.
Thirty-seven.
She stopped.
Nothing.
Then she looked down.
One brick in the floor was red.
She knelt.
Her fingers dug around it.
The brick came loose.
Beneath it sat a small steel box painted dark red.
Renley stared.
The red box.
For eighteen years, armed men had searched for it.
Walter had hidden it beneath an abandoned church.
Then trusted the location to a six-year-old child.
Renley lifted it.
Heavy.
Locked.
A tiny keypad sat on top.
Four digits.
She tried 0317.
Wrong.
She tried Walter's apartment number.
Wrong.
Then she remembered Thursday.
Every Thursday.
Two years.
Soup and bread.
“Warm food makes an empty apartment feel less lonely.”
Warm food.
Empty apartment.
Lonely.
The first letters.
W.
F.
M.
A.
E.
A.
F.
L.
Meaningless.
Then another memory hit.
Walter tapping four times on the table every Thursday before eating.
One.
Nine.
Four.
Six.
Renley entered 1946.
CLICK.
The box opened.
Inside were documents sealed in plastic.
A cassette tape.
Several photographs.
A silver necklace.
And one envelope.
RENLEY.
She opened it.
Walter's handwriting.
If you're reading this, Claire failed to keep you away from our world.
Renley's eyes filled.
She kept reading.
The massacre was never about territory.
It was about a child who had not yet been born.
Her hands began shaking.
The next line made her sit down in the freezing water.
Your father is not the man your mother told you about.
Renley's heart hammered.
She unfolded the second page.
Before she could read it, footsteps splashed in the tunnel behind her.
Renley turned off the flashlight.
Darkness.
Someone was coming.
Slowly.
Not running.
They knew she had nowhere to go.
Renley stuffed the letter into her coat and closed the box.
A flashlight beam appeared around the corner.
She grabbed the red box and backed away.
A voice echoed through the tunnel.
“Renley.”
Her mother.
“Mom?”
Claire appeared.
Wet.
Bruised.
Alive.
Renley nearly dropped the box.
She ran forward.
Claire grabbed her.
For one second, Renley was twelve again.
Not a clue.
Not a target.
Just a girl hugging her mother.
Then Renley saw the gun in Claire's hand.
Behind Claire came Eleanor.
Renley stopped.
Eleanor smiled.
“Good girl.”
Renley backed away.
“Mom?”
Claire's face crumpled.
“I'm sorry.”
Eleanor held out her hand.
“The box, Renley.”
Renley looked at her mother.
Claire whispered:
“Give it to her.”
Renley's world seemed to stop.
“You're helping her?”
Claire began crying.
“I don't have a choice.”
Eleanor smiled.
“Everyone has a choice.”
A second flashlight appeared farther down the tunnel.
Then Vincent's voice echoed through the darkness.
“She's right.”
Eleanor's smile vanished.
Vincent stepped into view.
Daniel beside him.
Marcus behind them.
Three guns raised.
Water dripping.
No escape.
Eleanor pulled Claire against her and pressed a gun to her neck.
“The box.”
Vincent aimed at Eleanor.
“Let her go.”
Eleanor looked at Renley.
“Tell him what Walter wrote about your father.”
Renley froze.
Vincent slowly looked at her.
“What?”
Eleanor smiled.
Because she already knew.
Renley suddenly understood.
May you like
Whatever was written on that page could destroy everyone standing in the tunnel.
And the page was still inside her coat.
