DEPUTY RAWLINGS WAS OUT IN THE COUNTY THAT NIGHT driving around on patrol. Wasn’t much traffic and there wasn’t much to see. He could see the lights of town glowing against the clouds. Gave himself twenty minutes before he’d throw in the towel and call it a night.
On his way back he passed what looked like an abandoned house except in the driveway was a burgundy Ford Fairlane that looked anything but abandoned. He had no reason to stop but he also had nothing else to do, so he pulled the cruiser off the state route and parked behind the Ford. Rawlings took note of the plates. Snapped on the dome light and wrote it down and then snapped off the lights again and sat there for a moment trying to talk himself out of getting out of the cruiser. He finally took the flashlight from the glove box and put on his hat and stepped out into the rain.
At first it seemed empty and nothing compelled him. Rawlings swung the beam about. First at the car then at the house. For some reason the car looked familiar but he didn’t think anything more of it. The house was boarded up with plywood covering the windows and graffiti all over the siding. The roof was more moss than roof and one end of the gable was collapsing in. It reminded Rawlings of a rotting pumpkin.
The ground was all wet mud. Rawlings walked to the trunk of the car and shined the light at it. Then he dropped it to the mud below and in the light were boot marks. Rawlings knelt and touched their outline. Rain could have softened up an old print, he supposed. But these looked new. Rawlings tilted his head forward and the rain ran off the brim of his hat. He stood and trained the light at the house. Then back down at the prints.
He walked to the house and stepped lightly up the rotting stairs. The wood was spongy. It was like walking on damp grass. He shined the light at the door but the door had a big hasp and a heavy-duty lock. A sign with a court-ordered condemnation bulletin on it. He went to one of the windows and pressed the flashlight to a crack in the plywood and peered in. Inside was completely vacant. More than vacant. As if no one had ever lived there. All manner of nature had taken over. Rawlings stepped back and turned the flashlight back at the Fairlane.
The boot prints led away from the car and around the side of the house. Rawlings was careful not to disturb them. Walked by keeping the prints between himself and the house as if herding them. From time to time he stopped and shined the light behind him to make sure he was still alone.
When he finally caught up to where the boot prints ended he was looking straight down at the doors of a storm cellar. The paint peeling. The wood covered in a black film. The boot prints just disappeared. No meandering. Just straight in. There was no lock on the doors and Rawlings shook his head at what he was going to do next.
The iron handle was rusty and cold against his skin. He hoped the door would not budge but it did. Even through the small opening and even over the strong odor of mud the smell of mildew was overwhelming. He heaved the door open and let it fall. Trained the light down the stairs, cutting the darkness. He stood there a long moment. Not sure he wanted to go any further. Not sure he even wanted to have come this far.
Sheriff’s department, Rawlings called out. Anyone down there?
He waited a moment longer. Waiting for someone or something to come into the yellow light of the beam.
Ain’t in trouble, he said. Just asking is all. This house isn’t safe to be in. Condemned.
Still there was no answer. Rawlings groaned. He unsnapped the leather band on his holster.
With his first step the wooden stair moaned. He tested it. Then took another. He took each step carefully, slowly. Never once did he let the light get out of sight of exactly where he was going. He half watched the step directly below him and half watched the stone floor.
When he got to the bottom he swung the flashlight. Trained it up overhead. Old pipes and black joists. There was a string for a single bulb hanging and he pulled it but nothing happened. He stood there listening for a sound. There was water dripping somewhere but that was it. Rain falling outside the cellar door.
As he was turning to leave the flashlight caught sight of a small wooden chair that stood in the corner. Rawlings studied it a moment. Seemed odd there being a chair in an otherwise empty cellar. Or maybe not odd. Maybe completely normal. Rawlings went to it and tilted it and turned it and stood it back where he had found it. He turned back toward the stairs and a pair of burning eyes were caught in the beam of the flashlight. Startled Rawlings so that he almost dropped the light. The rat went skittering.
Back in his cruiser he turned on the headlights and backed out of the drive and drove off down the road.
When he was certain the deputy was gone Noon came from the only corner of the cellar Rawlings had failed to search, the girl limp in his arms. He went to the breaker panel and switched on the light and the single bulb flared. Then he sat the girl in the chair. He carried her to the center of the cellar and tied her to the compression post. Then he pulled the string and the light snapped off.