Linda Castillo - Breaking Silence

“ Tomasetti! ” The panic in my voice shakes me from my momentary stupor. Looking around wildly, I spot the hose coiled on a wood dowel on one of the support beams. I lunge at it, yank it off.

“Kate!” I glance up and see Tomasetti sprinting toward me. “What is it?”

“The kids!” I shout. “They’re in the pit.”

“ What? ” He rushes to the pit, looks down. “Aw, man.”

I loop the end of the hose around the support beam, tie it in a double knot. The same way I did it the night I found Rachael and Solly in that pit. But all I can think is that I’m going to fail these two little boys the same way I failed their parents.

“I’ve got a cable in the Tahoe,” Tomasetti says.

“No time.” When I turn to Tomasetti, he’s already got the other end looped around his hips. “John, you can’t go down there.”

“And you can?” he snarls. “Fuck that. Get on the horn. Now. Get the fire department out here. Open all the doors.”

Hitting my lapel mike, I put out the code. I rush to the door, throw my weight against it, shove it open. I break two windows for a cross breeze. But there’s not enough wind to help.

When I turn my attention to Tomasetti, he’s yanking off his coat. I watch, feeling helpless and terrified as he tosses it to the floor. Next, he rips off his shirt, tears off a sleeve, then takes the scrap of fabric to the trough and wets it.

I rush to him. “You can’t go down there.”

“No choice, Kate.” He ties the wet fabric around his nose and mouth. We both know it’s not going to help. Methane gas displaces oxygen.

“Damn it.” I choke out the words. “If you pass out, I’m not strong enough to pull you out.”

I can tell by his expression that he’s already thought of that. “Tie the hose to the bumper. I’m going down.”

“John…”

“Go!”

Spinning, I lurch into a sprint, burst through the barn door. Then I’m in the rain, running like I’ve never run before in my life. I hear roaring, but I don’t know if it’s my heart or thunder or the hard pound of the rain. I hit the locks from twenty feet away, yank the door open, slide inside. I twist the key, and the engine turns over. Jamming it into gear, I floor the gas pedal. Gravel and mud spew. The Explorer fishtails, then jets toward the barn. I hit the brake. Too hard. My hand shakes as I cut the wheel, grasp the shifter to back it through the open door. Too fast. Going to screw it up if I don’t slow down. I clip the barn door with my bumper as I back through. Wood splinters and cracks, but I don’t slow down.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see Tomasetti standing at the pit, motioning for me to hurry, the hose looped around his hips. I throw the door open, grab up the other end of the hose, scramble back to the Explorer, loop it around the bumper, and tie it off. I know it’s silly at a time like this, but I want to touch him before he goes down there. Of course, he doesn’t wait. Grasping the hose like a rappelling rope, he drops into the pit.

In that moment, I know what it’s like to go crazy. It’s like a current running through my body, causing every emotional circuit to overload, until I can’t form a single coherent thought. It takes every bit of concentration I have, but I make myself go to the pit and look down.

He descends quickly, reaches the bottom within seconds. His feet disappear into the tarlike muck. He grasps the closest child by the coat, drags him through the muck and up onto his lap. So far so good.

“Bring me up!” he shouts.

I run to the Explorer, put it in gear, and ease the gas pedal down. I have to resist pulling too fast; I don’t want to topple him from the hose. I move forward ten feet, fifteen feet. Tomasetti emerges over the top of the pit. Jamming the Explorer into reverse, I back up to feed him a few feet of hose. Then I shove the shifter into park, get out, and run back to him.

He’s breathing hard. Above the fabric tied around his nose and mouth, his complexion is deathly pale. He shoves the unconscious child at me. “He’s breathing,” he croaks. “Get him outside.”

I take Samuel into my arms. His body feels cold and wet and utterly lifeless. I want to make sure Tomasetti is all right before he goes back down, but when I look back at him, he’s already dropping into the pit.

Choking out sobs, I carry Samuel through the barn door and outside to the fresh air. I stop on the sidewalk and place him on his side, in case he ingested some of the liquid into his lungs. The rain is coming down in earnest, so I remove my coat and drape it over him.

“Samuel?” I pick up his hand and rub it between mine. “Are you okay, kiddo? Can you open your eyes for me?”

Relief sweeps through me when I notice him shivering. That’s a good sign. Bending, I put my ear to his nose. His breathing is elevated but strong.

I don’t want to leave him like this—in the rain and all alone. But I have no choice. I’ve got to pull Tomasetti out of that pit. “Hang tight, baby. I’ll be back.” Giving his hand a final squeeze, I rush back to the barn, push myself through the rails, look down into the pit. Adrenaline punches me when I see Tomasetti struggling to lift Ike. Ike weighs less than Samuel. That tells me the lack of oxygen is already affecting him.

I scream his name. “John! Grab him and get out of there!”

Nodding, he signals for me to pull him up.

In an instant, I’m through the rails, sprinting to the Explorer, sliding behind the wheel. I take it easy pulling him out, thinking, If he loses consciousness he could fall back in the pit.…

I check the rearview mirror. Relief sends a sob to my throat when I see their heads and shoulders emerge. As I pull them out, I notice the way Tomasetti’s clinging to the hose, and I realize he’s struggling. Ramming the Explorer into park, I rush back to the pit. Tomasetti is facedown on the filthy concrete. At some point, the fabric has come off his face. He’s covered with muck and shivering uncontrollably. Next to him, Ike is as still as death.

“Get up! Come on!” Nudging Tomasetti, I grab Ike beneath his arms. “John! Get up! Please!”

Gripping Ike beneath his arms, I drag him toward the door. But I don’t take my eyes off Tomasetti. Midway there, I see him struggle to his hands and knees. Head drooping, he disentangles himself from the hose with one hand, supports himself with the other. I place Ike on the sidewalk next to his brother, pull my coat partially over both boys. They’re shivering and wet. But they’re alive. Tomasetti’s alive. Right now, that’s all that matters.

I’m on my way back inside to help Tomasetti when I see him crawling toward me. Somehow he made it through the pen rails, and he’s trying to reach the door and fresh air.

Rushing to him, I kneel at his side. “Can you stand?”

“Just need some air,” he says.

“Come on.” Bending, I slip his arm over my shoulder, help him to his feet, and we stumble through the door. “Ambulance is on the way,” I tell him.

Tomasetti goes to his hands and knees, gulping air.

“Hang on.” Rising, I go back to the Explorer, pull a thermal blanket from the trunk. When I get back, Tomasetti is sitting beside the two boys. He’s conscious and aware, but his eyes are glazed. He’s looking down at the boys. Samuel is crying. Next to him, Ike is moaning, beginning to stir.

I kneel next to the children, reposition my coat so that both of them are covered. “You’re going to be okay,” I say.

Ike reaches for me, clings to my leg. “I’m scared.”

“Honey, can you tell me who did this to you?”

Sobbing, the boy presses his face against me. “He was going to come back and get us out.”