Saturday, 3:36 p.m.
The original ranch house had been torn down for the clubhouse and golf course. Grace once told her how Rocky had maintained the greens those first few years, waiting in vain for an end to his financial struggles, until he’d finally been forced to sell his riding reel mower. But in Leyna’s memory, the fairway had always been as it was now—prickly weeds and dead grass, the cart paths cracked as nature worked to reclaim them. The concrete was strong, but nature was patient. Leyna had long grasped for meaning in that—if she kept pushing, answers would eventually come—but most days she’d felt more like the busted-up concrete.
A chunk of fence was missing and other sections listed, one good kick away from toppling. The fence shuddered in the wind, and Leyna wondered if that was what would finally take it down or if it would wait for the flames.
If they couldn’t make the creek, the golf course might work. A wide-open space and breaks in the tree canopy. There was the pool, too, now an empty basin. A basin constructed of inflammable concrete.
The clubhouse, with its simple gable roof and timber details, had been abandoned halfway through construction. Leyna had expected to find it decaying like everything else, but the wood had been stained in the past few years. She even detected the hum of a generator out back.
Leyna froze and cast a quick look at her sister. Why would a place like this need a generator?
The glass door was locked, but one large pane remained empty, even after all those years. On a dare from Adam, Grace had shattered it with a hammer, and the four of them had used the space as their clubhouse. Plastic sheeting had been stapled to the window frame and a plywood sheet secured over the doorway with screws. Both easy to remove.
The building had originally been intended to include a restaurant and pro shop, but as Grace and Leyna hastily moved through it, they couldn’t tell one space from another. Concrete stretched in every direction, bordered by walls of exposed two-by-sixes.
Deeper in the clubhouse, the construction had been further along. Drywall was marked by graffiti and holes at the height of fists and feet. Though it looked like Rocky had tried to maintain the clubhouse’s facade, less effort had been made inside. Despite the attempt to secure the doorway, small animals had found their way in, piles of pellets and scat left behind.
At the room that might’ve been intended as the pro shop—it was small and closest to the greens—they found their first door. The knob turned freely. In the half-finished building, any attempt at security would’ve been pointless.
Grace insisted on entering first, and she immediately cursed in frustration. But Leyna moved toward a stack of wood piled in the corner. Unlike the planks elsewhere, these were newer. Not yet rotted.
According to Rocky’s blueprints, that was where the entrance to the old wine cellar would’ve been. Where a basement for storage had been planned for the clubhouse.
Leyna pushed the planks aside, and Grace was instantly beside her, yanking open the door that the stacked wood had been hiding. Grace pulled out a flashlight and started down the stairs.
Leyna’s first clue was the stiffening of her sister’s back, then the moan that came from deep in her throat. Leyna didn’t want to see what had caused her sister to make such a horrible sound, but she couldn’t allow herself to look away.
In the beam of Grace’s flashlight, Ellie lay on the floor, wrists and ankles bound with tape, a strip of it covering her mouth. Her shorts were torn and her tank top stained, her hoodie a lump on the ground next to an old, soiled pillow. She was chained to the wall, but the way she winced when she heard their footsteps suggested that the threats and infliction of pain she’d suffered would’ve been enough to keep her there.
The churn of emotions—joy, revulsion, pity, anger—nearly knocked Leyna off her feet.
Grace’s face went ashen as Ellie squinted at their sudden appearance.
“My God…” Her sister swallowed a sob.
When Grace dropped beside her daughter, Ellie curled into herself, a wounded animal bracing for another kick. Grace’s eyes flashed and she cupped Ellie’s cheek. She made small circles on her daughter’s skin with her thumb, then pulled out the bracelet—a simple cuff of gold that had helped lead them there. “I’ll always find you, Ellie Bean,” she said, her gaze landing for a moment on Leyna. “We’ll always find you.”
Through her nose, the girl’s inhalations were desperate whistles. Mucus or swollen nasal passages made it hard for her to breathe. Her chest jerked, each rise and fall growing more desperate as she struggled for air. The spark in Grace’s eyes became an inferno.
Leyna pulled the tape from Ellie’s mouth. The girl’s eyes widened as she filled her lungs with smoky air. Leyna tugged at the tape that bound her limbs, but it was too strong. Grace handed Leyna her flashlight and gingerly slipped the bracelet in her daughter’s pocket. Then Grace began yanking at the chain that secured Ellie to the wall, but the wood here was solid, and the anchoring deep.