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Blake, but not Alana. I don’t miss his word choice, which is no accident, but he’s already walking away, and I’m fast on his heels, impatient for the answers I will only find with Alana. We travel through the wide girth of the lobby, and in the process, my mind slips back into the past, to the night when Alana ended up trapped in that wine cellar. I’d quickly ushered her away from my father and out of our house to walk her home. I’m back there now, living it all over, hyperaware of her silence, concerned with how withdrawn she’s become.
She’s silent when she normally chats me up, I think, and when I stretch my arm and wrap it around her, she doesn’t pull away or object, when she’d never allow such an action any other time. We’re “just friends,” after all, and it’s not appropriate.
But she doesn’t just let me hold her. She leans into me, and she is soft and delicate next to me. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted from Alana.
We travel the six steps to her porch and halt at the top. It’s then that she seems to realize the intimacy of our bodies, and she abruptly rotates to face me, a doe in the headlights look in her eyes. Everything about her is in a state of alertness and panic right now, and guilt stabs at me for allowing her to get locked inside the darkness.
I attempt to drive away her panic by just getting back to us. “We never got that pizza.”
“No,” she whispers, “no, we didn’t.” Her eyes flicker with trepidation, and I know then that our little exchange has reminded her of why our evening was abruptly halted. It’s reminded her of being trapped in the pitch-black basement.
I dare to catch her hand and walk her to me. “I never got my kiss. If I’d kissed you when I wanted to, I would have been locked in the cellar with you, and we could have made out until the lights came on.”
Her laughter is soft, and it fills me with relief. She’s not all fear right now. I’m breaking through the darkness now. She even pokes my shoulder. “You know that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Why is that, Alana?”
“You know why,” she chides, but when her hand settles on my chest to push me away, there’s a moment of pressure before her palm settles softly against me, signaling how conflicted she is with her words. “We can’t ruin a good thing,” she whispers.
“What if we make a good thing better?”
It’s right then that the headlights flicker and blast across the driveway as her parents return home. The moment is lost, and this night has officially gone everywhere I didn’t want it to go, and nowhere, I’d hoped.
I blink back to the present and follow Smith down a set of stairs to some kind of utility room. Smith opens a steel door built into the floor. “There’s an elevator down there. You go. I need to keep watch up here.”
Staring into the narrow passage, I’m stunned this path leads anywhere but a crawl space. If I was looking for an illogical hiding place worthy of my father’s version of deception, I’m right there now. The idea of Alana being forced down this hole guts me. I race down the stairs and waste no time stepping onto the smallest elevator I’ve ever seen, which in and of itself, would have freaked her out. Alana hasn’t tolerated small spaces since the wine cellar, and would never talk to me about it, but per all I’ve read on the topic, and I’ve read plenty, darkness feels like a small space to many people with claustrophobia.
The elevator travels at a rate I can only call a snail’s pace, and by the time it hits bottom, I swear it’s all I can do not to yank the slow-cranking door open. I step off the car, but there’s nothing except a wall to my left. I cut right and find Blake in the center of a concrete-lined room, his MacBook open and sitting on top of a stack of boxes. If the guy they captured is here, I don’t see him, and Alana is all that matters to me right now.
Blake motions to a door a few feet in front of me and says, “She’s in there, but—”
Already, I’m stepping in that direction, halting as Blake curses and yells out, “Wait,” with authority.
I grimace and whirl on him. “I do not want to wait, Blake. I’ve waited long enough.”
“I get it, man. You want to see her, but the door was booby-trapped. I’m working to confirm it was a dead wire, but I’m not ready to go in yet.”
I’m reminded of the man tied to a chair somewhere, refusing to aid our efforts. “Is the prisoner holding the code because he’s afraid it will blow?”
“I think he’s holding the code because he’s a dumbass who wants to get on my bad side. Savage is presently holding a gun to his head and laughing like some sort of crazy person, which it’s clear to all that he is, but the guy still isn’t talking.”
“What about Alana?” I press. “Is she freaking out?”
“She was freaking out when we got here. The lights were off. She was in the dark, and I had to fix that before I even tried to get her out. That’s how over-the-top freaked out she was.”
Anger is acid bubbling in my gut, ignited by my certainty that my father did this to torture her. In fact, it was likely his entire plan from the beginning. “And now?”
“She calmed down when the lights came on, and even more so when I told her you were on your way.”
Guilt rages at me, as brutal as a serial killer, stabbing me over and over. I should not have allowed her to visit her mother alone. I should have gone with her. I keep trying to protect her and failing. “The boobie trap?”
“As I said, I’m not ready to open the door. I’m being extra cautious before I open that door. Just tell her the lock is tricky. Leave the rest out.”
I nod and turn toward the door, closing the space between me and it and between me and the woman I love. “Alana!” I call out when I’m there.
“Damion! Oh my God! Damion! Get me out. Please.”
Just hearing her sweet, feminine voice is about as bittersweet as it gets. She’s alive, but she’s not without damage, and I still can’t touch her. I press my hand to the door, and I know she’s doing the same on the other side. “Not much longer, baby,” I promise, my voice gentle and sure. “Blake is just working on the code.”
