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Lydia flipped back and forth through the flyers. Her eyes swam in suspended fear. She wasn't ready to panic, Penny could tell. But not knowing Lydia well, Penny had no idea how long the woman's bravery would last.
If Lydia caved to fear, Penny would collapse. Seldom had Penny sat in harm's way without an escape. Normally, even if the situation was doomed, she had the means to flee. The cellar's only door and solitary window nixed her chance at flight. Penny's only hope was that this new acquaintance had enough fight within her to keep Penny from teetering over the edge of sanity. She needed to remain steady to get through this.
Lydia handed the flyers to Penny. She held them but did not inspect them. Instead, she waited for Lydia to instruct her about their importance. Lydia reached for the scrapbook next. She turned pages, but nothing within the book extinguished her dangling dread.
Penny breathed the scent of the oils and focused on her inhale and exhale. She didn't need Lydia worrying over her dead weight yet again. If she hadn't passed out the first time or the second, they might have escaped. Penny was only dragging Lydia down. She had a tendency to do that to all her friends and acquaintances.
Penny's anxiety fluxed through the cellar like an electric current. Lydia could feel it. Sense it. At times it stung, and at others, it energized her. As she looked over the contents of the box, she was able to shut off Penny's unspoken signals.
The scrapbook held details of a family marred by tragic events. A father, son, and daughter all happy and glowing starred on page one. The corners of the plastic page protector were bent, nearly worn thin. It was a page greatly reminisced over, loved on, and revisited time and time again.
The man in the photo was slightly familiar. A name on the tip of Lydia's tongue teased at her memory. Guessing by the clothing the little girl wore, she was probably five to ten years older than Lydia's daughter Joan. The boy beside her was a few years older than that. The threesome grinned from the page as if they hadn't a care in the world. Happy, whole, and homey.
Lydia hated to turn the page. Only sadness waited ahead. Not moving forward wouldn't spare the family in the photo. Life had hit them hard. Lydia holding tight to page one wouldn't save them.
A few pages in, the family, still happy, appeared to be struggling. Lydia wasn’t sure how she knew it. Except that their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes. Their clothes looked a little too small and slightly too old. Life did that to nearly everyone. In between times, hard times, they hit everyone in their own way. The photos felt different, coming up from the scrapbook. Something more was haunting the family. Grief, perhaps.
Lydia felt Penny lift the oil bottle from Flora to her nose. Her sniff and exhale were the only other sounds other than the rain and the windchimes beating against the side of the barn.
Reluctantly, Lydia turned more of the pages. Less than halfway through the book, photos fell around inside their protectors. Someone had given up gluing them in and used the plastic as makeshift folders. Lydia didn't take the photos out. She only shifted them about, unstacking them until she was able to see them. Same family this time without the dad. Lydia guessed he was taking the pictures. "Did that mean the mother had passed away between pictures?" she wondered. "Or was she gone before the book started?"
"What?" Penny asked, shoving the oil bottle back into her pocket.
"Sorry," Lydia said. "I'm just thinking aloud."
Penny leaned forward. "Let me help you if I can."
"Okay." Lydia turned the scrapbook toward Penny. "I'm piecing together what happened to this family." Penny frowned. Lydia continued, "The little girl looks like she's the same age as the lady at the yellow house. This Mac person. See?" Lydia pointed to the first picture and then a few more.
"Okay," Penny said. "And?"
"Maybe it will help us talk our way out of here."
"But that boy and the dad, neither of them have the same scar as the van driver," Penny explained. "If this is the girl, then who is he?"
Lydia shrugged. "I think the real question is, if they were planning on keeping someone down here long enough to need food and water, then why were they keeping a box of personal memories down here too?"
"Maybe they think you or Serene were long lost relatives?"
Lydia's forehead wrinkled. "I don't think so. They could have brought this to 3 Alarm and asked us. It would have been far easier than an elaborate kidnapping plot. There's something else they wanted. If those flyers are any clues to what it was, I don't want to be here when they come back for us."
Penny swallowed hard. She felt the warm trail of her tears before she realized she was crying. Her hands trembled. Lydia reached out and placed her hand on top of Penny's. She took a deep breath and locked eyes with the young girl.
"We're going to figure this out, together." It was a promise Lydia wasn't sure she'd be able to keep.