like the heat of the sun shining down on me. The knot in my stomach unwinds, my knees weaken.
The shine of tears in his eyes tears at my heart, and when he reaches out his arms for me, I collapse to my knees in front of him, allowing myself to be taken in by his embrace. A sob rips from my chest, and suddenly I feel everything again. All at once. Relief. Sadness. Joy. Pain.
All of it.
“I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he whispers in a shaky voice. “I really screwed things up.”
“It’s okay, Daddy.”
At a slight nudge against my cheek, I lift away from him, and push to my feet.
“Do you still have the key?” he asks.
“Yes. Of course. But I can’t find the door.”
“You can. You just refuse to see it, is all.” He points to the dark spot in the wall behind him. The one that I noticed before, but didn’t bother to examine closer.
I glance toward him then back to the hole, and take cautious steps toward it. A cold sensation in my chest brings me to a stop, and I rest my hand over my collarbone, where the bumps of the necklace chain poke up beneath my shirt. A sickness churns in my stomach, and for some reason, I don’t want to look.
Don’t look away.
A few more steps take me to the hole in the wall, and I peer inside. On the opposite side is a small room, with a slanted ceiling and a rocking chair. The window adjacent to the chair allows a small sliver of light from the moon to shine in, illuminating the dark hardwood floors and a cubby space.
Exhaling a forced breath, I press my hands flat against the wall, mostly to stabilize my balance against the dizziness that threatens to knock me over. An entire room sits on the other side of the hole.
Zeroing in on the cubby space shows shelves of books.
Sitting on the floor. Sunlight across my neck. Grimm’s Fairytales.
I used to read here.
Backing myself away from the wall, I fall into more memories, of Brie and I playing hide and seek. Running through this very corridor. I turn toward the two, flat walls of paisley at either side, where I’m now certain there are doors behind them.
Swinging my attention back toward the small cavity, I tear away at the surrounding wallpaper to fully expose the layer of drywall beneath. Most of the walls in this house, I’m guessing, are plaster, but not these, and I suspect that was intentional. Fingers poking into the existing pocket, I find the drywall to be thin, perhaps a half inch, or so, and I tug hard. A chunk of it cracks away on a cloud of dust. Another hard tug loosens another small piece. One hard kick of my hunting boot sends a whole section of it flying into the room on the other side. Kick after kick widens the chasm until it’s gaping enough for me to fit through.
On hands and knees, I crouch low enough to slide the lantern through and peek my head inside. A soft glow dances over untouched walls—the only room in this entire house not marred with graffiti. Eyes alight with wonder, I crawl through the breach, and rise to my feet on the other side, only to smack my head on the angled ceiling overhead.
Rubbing the minor ache there, I turn around, taking in the small space. A reading room maybe, given the books and shelves. A dusty rug sits in the center of the room, and I trail my gaze toward the cubby.
A memory of hiding behind those shelves has me running my fingers along the edge of them, searching out a hinge, or crease. One hard wrench, and the shelf clicks away from the wall on a loud, creaking groan, to show a dark hollow inside. I shove open it entirely and reveal a small red door on the other side.
Red. The red door with its black hinges and lock. The imperfections in the wood that were so vivid to me in dreams.
I’ve found it! I’ve found the red door!
Laughter bursts from my chest as I frantically dig into the collar of my shirt for the key, and with a trembling hand I hold it up to the lock and insert it.
It clicks with a twist of my hand. Using the lodged key, I yank the door open and find a spiral stone staircase that disappears into a dark hole. A secret passage.