Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,2
can see the man is too big for Papa Rich. I’m guessing that is why Papa Rich didn’t just drag him to the old mill himself. Maybe it was too far. But I don’t want to go to the acid pits. I had been there before and begged Papa Rich to never make me do it again. He said if I was a good girl, I wouldn’t have to. I was a good girl, but my heart stops in fear that Papa Rich blames me for this man crossing the trespassing line.
His nostrils flare, and the cords in his neck strain. I recognize his hardened emotions and am scared. “Pick up his feet. Help me carry him to the hatch.”
His command ricochets through my body. Although having a direct order makes it easy for me to comply. I take hold of the man’s ankles and lift while I stumble and shuffle my feet as Papa Rich walks backwards.
He directs his gaze to my shaking hands. “Don’t drop him.”
My lungs labor for air, and my muscles burn. The man is heavy, and I don’t understand why we are taking him to the hatch, but I don’t dare question Papa Rich. When he has a plan, we follow it.
I have never seen a dead body up close before and having to touch one makes the taste of vomit linger in the back of my throat.
When we finally reach the hatch, Papa Rich says, “Put him down and rest for a moment.”
The thud of the body hitting the dusty schoolroom floor strikes me with a reality I’m not sure I can face.
Papa slides the antique school desk that conceals the hatch across the planked floor. It’s our secret. Only ours. The hatch opens to an underground tunnel that connects to other tunnels running beneath all the buildings in Hallelujah Junction. The miners of yesteryear built the tunnels, and Papa Rich made them safer by reinforcing and adding battery-operated lighting. It’s how we walk among the tourists undetected. Like mice, Papa Rich used to tell me. I never leave the buildings. I never go outside. I only use the tunnels. It’s the rule.
I don’t move. My gaze is paralyzed on the man’s face. I take in the straight profile of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, and the wayward brown hairs on his head in desperate need of a trim.
“We need to bring him to the house.” Papa’s order is sharp and unkind.
A tremor shivers through my heart. My pulse thrashes in my throat. I open my mouth to refuse, but the hard look in Papa’s eye changes my mind.
He opens the hatch, silently motions for me to pick up the man’s feet again, and I obey. I scan the room for Pine Cone hoping she is near and won’t somehow get out of the schoolhouse. Papa Rich had warned me time and time again that there are vicious wild animals outside that would tear her flesh to bits, and I was to never open the doors or the windows if I valued her life. I would normally carry her through the tunnels but know that is not a possibility right now. I will have to come back for her later.
As we awkwardly push the body down the hatch and stand in the base of the tunnel, Papa Rich twists around, scrutinizing the distance of our journey. “Come on. Let’s get going before he comes to.”
Comes to?
Is he alive?
Not dead?
My stomach cramps, and my heartbeat slams into a rapid staccato at this new piece of information. If he is alive, why are we taking him to our home? We never have guests… well, not really. Papa Rich has a friend named Scarecrow who comes to visit often, but I don’t consider him a guest. He’s not wanted by me. I wish he never comes, and whenever he does, he leaves a stench of onion and sweat that takes days to rid.
Releasing a heavy breath, I do as Papa Rich says and hurry down the tunnel as fast as I physically can. I bite down on my lip to not cry out as my bare feet scrape against the cold and jagged rocks. I don’t have the time to take careful steps as I usually do.
“Come on, we’re almost there. Good girl. You’re doing so good,” he praises as he huffs and puffs with the weight of the unconscious man in his arms.
Tears blur my vision as I stare at the man, hating