Nicole Young: Love Me If You Must

“Can it,” Lloyd said with a slash of his hand. I could have sworn sparks flew out of his eyes as he looked at his carrot-topped son. Lloyd moved his gaze, softer now, back to me. “It’ll take a permit, but what you need to do is separate the cistern from the rest of the foundation, so you don’t damage any supporting walls when you knock the thing down. You might be able to dump some of the stones in the center and just level out the floor with concrete. A quick look should tell you.”

Lloyd dug into his utility belt and pulled out a flashlight. He turned it on and shone it into the cistern, then stuck his head in after it.

“Well, well. Would you look at that?” Lloyd gave another whistle.

“What?” I could hardly stand it. The look on Lloyd’s face told me he’d found something very interesting.

“Take a look,” he said.

I threw my arms across the ledge and scrambled up the stones, scraping my elbow raw and knocking my knee hard against the sharp corner of a rock. I pulled myself up for a full view of the inside.

The beam of the flashlight bounced around and it took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at.

I gasped.

A faint ringing sounded in my ears and the acute pain in my knee throbbed in time with my racing heart. My fingers, frozen in curious horror, clutched the edge.

Someone had already filled the bottom of the cistern with cement. And lying beneath it, with a silent scream etched in stone, was the outline of a body. Splayed fingers pressed frantically alongside the face, as if a living person had been trapped under ice and now tried in vain to smash through. A ridge of toes formed one foot, the rounded tip of a shoe, the other.

I couldn’t rip my gaze away. An uncontrollable shiver coursed through me. I ground my fingers into the ledge, but nothing could stop the scream from coming. The piercing noise bounced against rock and concrete as I gave voice to the stifled cries of the body so long forgotten.

The scream came to a stop. I felt the blood drain from my head. I loosened my death grip and slid slowly down the rock wall. My cheek scraped along, soaking in whatever coolness it could gather from the stones as I fought back the darkness.

I crouched against the wall of the cistern in a near fetal position.

“You okay?” Lloyd shook my shoulder. My temple bounced against the same sharp rock that had nailed my knee.

I swatted at his hand. “How can I be okay? There’s a corpse in my cistern.”

I breathed. In. Out. In. Out.

Why my basement? Why couldn’t they have buried the body in somebody else’s basement? No wonder I’d gotten such a deal on the home. I was living on top of a cemetery.

Lloyd scratched his head. “I kind of figured you bumped your knee when you let out that scream. I didn’t realize you’d hit your head.” He turned to the gaping men beside him. “Dial 9-1-1, Josh. I think she’s got a concussion.”

His red-haired assistant flipped open his phone and dialed.

I lifted my arm to wave off the call, but the kid was already giving the address.

“I don’t have a concussion,” I said. “Just tell them to bring a jackhammer and a body bag.”

I leaned my forehead against the knee that wasn’t throbbing. Like I really needed to start my life in Rawlings exhuming someone’s cast-off relative from the nether regions of my home. If wind of this got around, I’d have a devil of a time trying to sell the place.

Whiner, I chastised. Go ahead and fling a body at me. I’d handle it, and even make it to my advantage somehow.

I looked up. The kid had ended the call. The trio stared down at me. The looks on their faces reflected the same shock and outrage that I’d felt moments earlier. As well they should. Rick Hershel had a bunch of explaining to do. How dare he not mention the body on the seller’s disclosure?

I slapped a hand to my mouth. “Oh, my word.”

The men lunged back as if afraid I’d vomit.

Could the body be Jan’s? Would Rick have buried his own wife in the basement? Jan hadn’t been available for the closing, after all. And the concrete at the bottom of the cistern was of fairly recent vintage. Probably poured when the rest of the waterproofing had been done a year ago, or maybe even after. Who knew how long Jan had been missing?

Rick had certainly had the opportunity.

I hated to think about it. The guy had seemed scruffy, but nice. And so lost without his wife. The split had definitely been her idea, not his.

Perhaps theirs had been, like Heathcliff and Cathy’s, a case of obsessive love. That would qualify as a common enough motive for murder, even in this modern day and age.

I dusted grime from the floor off my hands. You just couldn’t tell by looking at people if the heart of a killer beat in their breast.

Poor Jan.

I held out an arm to the contractor. “Would you mind? My knee feels like its ready to burst.”

He reached down and pulled me to my feet.

“What a mess.” I shook my head and leaned against the wall of the cistern. Even through the stones, I could feel the pull of the soul resting there. Thank goodness Lloyd and sons were standing in the vicinity. Otherwise, I’d be catatonic from fear. I rubbed my forehead. Where would I sleep until they got this thing out from under me?

A pounding came from upstairs. The kitchen door squeaked as someone entered.

“Hello?” A male voice dropped down the open stairwell.

Seconds later, the stairs shook with the weight of uniformed figures coming to my rescue.

The first to descend was Officer Brad Walters.

I brushed my bangs to one side. He was definitely within fifty feet of me.

No biggie. I was an expert at eating crow. “I guess since we dialed 9-1-1, I can’t threaten you with that restraining order, huh?”

Brad’s eyes settled on me. Behind his mask of professionalism peeped a flicker of concern. “What seems to be the problem?”

Lloyd the Elder piped up. “She was poking around in the cistern and must have bumped her head or something. She’s all . . . ,” he held one hand suspended while he searched for the word, “. . . delusional.”

“Delusional?” My voice arced up an octave. “Wouldn’t you scream if you had a body in your cellar?”

I gulped for air. Stay calm, Tish. I didn’t need another scene with Officer Walters present.

I wilted. My already bad day had taken a turn for the worse.

Brad glanced at the woman carrying a metal case. “Let’s get some help here.”

The paramedic flipped open the lid and dug around inside. She pulled out a blood pressure cuff. The ripping of Velcro filled the uncomfortable silence.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I think you’re a little too late for the person who really needs you.” I jerked my head toward the cistern.

The woman continued, undeterred. She pumped the bulb, and the cuff tightened around my upper arm. Brad stood next to Lloyd. They whispered together. Lloyd did a lot of pointing. Then he got out his flashlight and the two men, tall enough to avoid a climb, peered over the ledge into the cistern.

I strained to hear their voices over the hissing of air as the cuff loosened. Brad’s face was expressionless. No clues there. I had to hand it to him. He had a heart of stone when it came to murder scenes. Of course, Lloyd had been unaffected by the incident as well.

The paramedic flashed a blinding light into my pupils. I winced. Just because the men could remain calm in the face of dead bodies did not mean that my reaction had been unwarranted. Any normal person would have screamed her head off.

I remembered the image in the concrete, the mouth open in that eerie cry for help, the hands pushing away an attacker. One missing shoe.