Page 37 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)

Blake

“ I swear to god, if there’s a ghost down there, I’m burning this house down.”

I stand at the top of the basement steps, talking to nobody but myself. I’ve been trying to find the courage to go down there for the past half hour. It’s creepy as hell, and it has a weird, damp smell to it that makes me want to gag. Cobwebs cover the wooden steps.

I’m suddenly regretting not having Elain here with me to help.

I gave her the morning off since she’s been helping me like crazy, and she wanted to go see the animals down at the ranch before we go meet my mom.

She seemed a bit tense, and she’d been staying the night with me here and there, so I had no qualms about letting her go out and get some fresh air.

I slowly creep down the steps and nearly fall the rest of the way when the door slams shut behind me.

“Seriously!” I shout. I swear the light at the very top of the staircase flickers in response.

Once I finally make it to the bottom, it’s not nearly as bad as I expected it to be.

It’s empty save for a few large grey totes, a worktable, and some tools scattered around the space.

Light shines in from the small grimy windows, and a clunky hot water tank sits in the corner.

I go to flip the only other light switch down here and nearly groan from not thinking of grabbing a flashlight first when it doesn’t respond.

In my pursuit to find just that, I bump my shin against one of the boxes, and that’s the exact moment something scurries across the ground and crawls right over my foot.

I let out an ear-piercing scream that echoes all around me as I bolt back up the basement steps.

Tripping only once.

I go to rip open the door only to realize there’s no fucking doorknob on the cement slab. I try pulling from the bottom, pushing, kicking, whatever else comes to mind, but nothing works. It won’t budge an inch.

What. The. Fuck. Fuck . Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I pull out my phone from my back jean pocket and text one short help to the only person that comes to mind. I have one bar until my phone dies. And it does just that right as I click the send button. That’s what I get for not charging it.

This is my worst nightmare come to life.

I take a few deep breaths. I can only pray that it sent in time. If not, someone will probably find my corpse down here after a few days.

“Blake?” I hear a shout from upstairs.

“Yes! Yes, I’m down in the basement!” I shout back, hoping he’ll hear me.

“What’s wrong?” He steps down on the first step, letting go of the door behind him, and just as I shout “No!” the door clicks shut behind him.

“What?” Then he turns and tries the door himself, to no avail of course.

“Oh, my god.” I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. “We’re gonna die down here.”

“Why didn’t you say something before I came down?”

“I think the one-worded help was enough information! What if there was a serial killer down here? Would you just come barging down?”

He looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. “Yes.”

***

A couple of hours have passed now. Or maybe it’s a few minutes. I don’t know, but Wesley keeps messing with the door, and it’s driving me crazy.

"Will you give it a rest? We aren’t getting out of here until someone comes looking,” I snap.

Eventually, he gives in and listens. He comes to sit across from me, letting his hands rest on his knees. We just sit there, not saying anything. I’m not sure how much more time passes, but it’s so quiet that I can’t stand it.

“I’m pretty sure this basement is haunted.”

He scoffs. “I’m pretty sure you’ve said that about every old building in town before.”

“Whatever,” I mutter.

More silence.

“We’re friends, right?” I ask, bringing up our previous conversation from the bar.

“We are.”

"Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else.”

He’s silent for a few minutes, thinking of what kind of information to give me, then a slow mischievous grin spreads across his face, causing a dimple to pop up. “I’m the one who stole Mr. Finnigan’s mailbox.”

“Oh my god, I knew it was you! He called the cops on every kid that walked past his house after you did that.”

Our laughter fills the air, so loudly that it echoes against the stone walls in the basement, and tears spring to my eyes.

When our laughter slows, I ask him, “Is my mom seeing the Sheriff?” The pace at which his brows rise is almost comical.

“Why do you ask?”

I shrug, not deigning with a response. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “A lot of us have noticed the way they interact. Wouldn’t hurt for you to ask her yourself.”

I swallow, looking up at the ceiling. “I just…I thought she’d tell me if she was.”

“Did you tell her about Marshall?”

Fair point. Wesley doesn’t prod me any further, letting me think about the question in whatever way I need to.

I can’t expect her to lay everything out on the table when I get home when I haven’t even given her the time of day since I’ve been back.

It’s not like she hasn’t attempted to get me to stick around for a chat.

I know I owe it to her – to let her explain, and to explain myself too.

I consider asking about his relationship with Brittany, too, but creating a tense atmosphere that we could be stuck in for a couple more hours is less than appealing. We continue to play this game of questions for quite some time until I prod deeper, which surprises us both.

“Tell me about the pond tattoo.”

He sits there, contemplating what he wants to say. He's quiet for so long I'm not sure he's going to answer the question at all.

“I got it for you,” he says looking directly at me as he says it, so sure and confident in his answer. Like it’s not a big deal that he’s tattooed a piece of me on his body forever.

“Why?” I ask softly.

“You already got your question. It’s my turn.” He nods his head toward my arm. “How’d you get the scar? I don’t remember it happening when you were here.”

“It did.” I answer truthfully. When silence greets me, I push on. My nerves rising, and my palms sweating. I look into his comforting blue eyes. “Look, Wesley. There’s something I want to tell you –"

Right then, Elain’s voice sounds from the top of the basement steps, and we both jump to our feet. “Downstairs!” Wesley shouts. We both head to the steps where Elain waits with the door swung open. He turns around, pausing halfway on the stairs, and looks down at me. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Um, nothing important.” I shrug.

“You sure?”

“Yup. See you.” I say with a forced smile.

“Right.” He says, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I’ll come by at some point to fix that.” He nods over his shoulder to the basement door. “Holler if you need anything.”

I dip my head in acknowledgment before busying myself with brushing off invisible dust on my clothing. I only look back up when his voice takes on a teasing tone as he says, “And uh, maybe charge your phone before doing anymore ghost hunting, yeah?”

I roll my eyes and stick my middle finger up at his now turned back. “I saw that.” He calls back. I let my laughter flow freely after he’s gone.