bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter thirty-four, part one.

Case began to climb. The bookshelf teetered, wobbling at the counter-balance. He went slow, easing himself upward. Careful. Determined. He made it to the top, stretching out to touch the ceiling. His fingers pried into the crack, tearing it open. Plaster and dust fell on his face. Tremors shook through the arm carrying his weight. He kept going, until the crack was a hole. The dark underbelly of the house stared back at Case, summoning him into the unknown.

Case reached into the darkness. Blind, he felt around the cavity until he found something rough, solid, secure. A wooden beam. Let's go. He gripped hold of the beam, psyching himself up for a lunge of faith. Half-a-second. Less than half-a-second. That's how long he had to move. No room for error. The arm supporting his weight and balance trembled under the pressure.

Case moved, grabbing for a second handhold inside the crawlspace.

The bookshelf rocked. Tipping. Threatening to fall.

No.

Survival instincts took over: Case latched onto whatever he could grab, lifted himself headfirst into the opening. Light may have crept through the crack, but the crawlspace was dark. Shadows and black shapes, his eyes taking time to adjust.

He didn't have time. He was losing his grip. Slipping. Weighed down, as if a demon had grabbed him by the legs and was dragging him back into Hell.

No.

Adrenaline surged through him. He kicked off from the bookshelf, pedaling midair, trying to propel himself upward. He clambered for something sturdy to anchor himself.

The bookshelf smashed beneath him. The impact was thunderous, reverberating from the concrete and into the ceiling.

"Fuck." Case grit his teeth, forcing his muscles into gear. He latched onto a wooden structural beam. Both hands. Biceps straining. C'mon. He hauled himself up, up, up—

He landed flat on his belly. The plasterboards bowed under his weight. Panting, he took a moment to catch his breath, to collect his thoughts. The basement was soundproof—but there was a good chance Sir had heard the bookshelf break. A good chance he'd come down to investigate.

Don't stop. Keep moving.

Case scanned his surroundings. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark as if he were something nocturnal. He realized what little room he had to move in the tight, narrow space. Recognized the black silhouettes of pipes, the reflective flash of ventilation tubing. Found diamonds of sunlight in the distance, guiding him like stars in the night sky. Yes—his plan had worked. So far, so good. Now, it was time to crawl. Time to drag himself toward freedom, to drag himself toward the light.

Cobwebs hung from the subflooring, catching in Case's hair as he shimmied through the crawlspace. The adrenaline was waning, pain in his palms and upper-body starting to sing. He must've scraped or bruised himself on the climb. Dust particles swirled in the air, floating into his eyes. He squinted, not pausing to clear his vision.

Later. He couldn't stop, not now. He was determined to get out, to make it home. To apologize to Mile's family for getting their son killed. To find the families of Sir's other victims, give them some kind of answers for what happened to their son and daughters. To find the police, get justice not just for himself, but for the others. For Miles, for Toby, for Sophie.

A cool breeze kissed his face. The smell of fresh air and petrichor cut through the dust. Case grinned, hurrying, pulled toward the sound of voices and laughter. The end of the crawlspace was an arm's length away. This is it, he thought, the realization bringing him to the brink of happy-tears:

Outside. Freedom. Escape.

Case poked his fingers through the lattice foundation. A blade of grass touched his skin, like a cool and tickly welcome back. Across the yard, children were riding their bikes in the street. People. The first signs of life, other than Sir, Case had seen almost a year. Instinctively, he drew breath, about to call for help.

Footsteps thumped through the subflooring. Dust fell from the beams and foam insulation as someone—Sir—walked overhead.

Case went still, his body locking up with fear.

Sir was home.