Chapter 4 - Into the Drywall
"No!"
I shoved Caroline away, scrambled across the floorboards, and dove headfirst into the wall cavity.
The space between the drywall was tight—barely twenty-four inches wide, framed by old two-by-fours covered in decades of dust, cobwebs, and splintered lath. My shoulders scraped against the rough wood, the air thick with the foul stench of stale sweat, antiseptic chemicals, and rot.
"Daddy! Daddy, help me!"
The girl’s voice echoed down the tunnel. I clicked my flashlight back on. Ten feet ahead, her dirty sneakers were kicking frantically as she was pulled around a sharp bend in the wall where the bedroom joined the back of the house.
"I've got you!" I yelled, pulling myself forward on my elbows, heedless of the nails tearing through my flannel shirt. "Kick him! Bite him!"
I reached the bend. The wall cavity didn't just end; it opened up into an entirely hidden secondary corridor—a false wall system built between the exterior siding and the interior rooms of this massive, hundred-year-old Victorian house. There were dirty foam mattresses laid out on the subfloor, plastic gallon jugs filled with amber liquid, and dozens of empty prescription bottles scattered everywhere.
Ahead of me stood a man.
He was towering, over six-foot-four, emaciated, wearing a stained canvas coat and heavy rubber gloves. His face was obscured by an old industrial respirator, the twin pink filters hissing rhythmically with every breath he took. He held the little girl tucked under his arm like a bag of groceries.
In his other hand, he held a stainless-steel bone saw.
"Put her down!" I roared, pushing myself up onto my knees in the cramped space, swinging the crowbar.
The man didn't speak. Through the cloudy plastic visor of the mask, his dead, milky-gray eyes fixed on me. He didn't look angry; he looked exhausted and clinical. He dropped the saw to his side, reached into his heavy coat, and pulled out an aluminum aerosol canister.
He jammed the valve down.
A thick, blinding white cloud of chemical spray blasted directly into my face.
The pain was immediate and absolute. It felt like someone had poured boiling battery acid directly onto my corneas. My throat constricted shut, suffocating me instantly. I fell forward onto the dirty blankets, retching, clawing at my face, screaming silently as my lungs locked up.
Through the roaring fire in my head, I heard the dull thud of heavy boots retreating down a set of narrow wooden steps deeper inside the wall.
Then, the sound of a heavy steel door slamming shut. A deadbolt slid home with a solid, echoing thunk.
I lay there in the dark, choking on my own vomit, completely blind.
From somewhere back in Lily’s bedroom, I heard Caroline’s footsteps running down the stairs. The front door of the house flew open. A car engine roared to life in the driveway—tires squealing against the frozen asphalt as she sped away, abandoning our daughter alone in the house.
And from beneath the floorboards directly under my chest, a woman’s muffled, broken voice began to sing through the vents:
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"You are my sunshine... my only sunshine... please don't take my sunshine away..."
It was Maya’s voice.
