Into the Dark

63

Big Bear Lake, California

The screen door whacked against the cabin as Claire shot through it.

Nothing made sense.

Grappling with her rage, she followed the path that twisted and turned to the secluded edge of their property. It led to the lookout and gazebo where she and Robert would go to enjoy the lake view and the mountains.

By the time she reached the scenic spot, she was in tears.

How could you do this? How could you? We spent part of our honeymoon here. We planned our life here. We dreamed here.

Bile rose in the back of her throat and she felt sick to her stomach.

God, she hoped she was not pregnant. Her world had been turned upside down. Not long ago she’d ached to have a baby-had planned to have a baby with Robert and now-now this.

How did it come to this?

Everything was crashing down around her.

Claire gripped the railing to steady herself.

I am the dumbest person on earth. How could I have been so stupid and so blind to all the signs?

There was Robert’s brooding at the time Dr. LaRoy said they’d be able to have a family. And Robert’s solo trips to the cabin; and the way he’d let her know that he’d lived in Canada with Cynthia; and the way he’d run his hands over those young women at the banquet; and the fact Julie was uncovering more about his past.

Why haven’t I heard from her? Why hasn’t she called or texted me?

As Claire cast around for answers she saw a planter box near the gazebo, one of the new ones Robert had built, mocking her like a monument to his betrayal.

Still, Claire was drawn to it.

I thought he’d made them for me. Maybe he made them for her.

The box was about six feet long, two feet wide, stood about two feet tall. Looking upon it, tears rolling down her cheeks, Claire saw how he’d filled it to capacity with her favorites, wild roses, fireweed and lilies. Bits of petals had fallen to the ground, like confetti.

Confetti, how fitting.

Claire glanced at it, then started to turn away when one small petal caught her eye, a shiny one. At first she thought it was like others on the ground surrounding the planter.

But it was different.

It was the size of a small postage stamp, bright red with tiny bright pink stripes.

With gloss.

She picked it up.

It was a fingernail. Amber’s fingernail!

Claire’s stomach spasmed.

She searched around the planter and froze.

On the opposite side of the box, halfway down, poking through the latticework, Claire saw fingers in a desperate futile escape posture.

“Amber!”

Claire touched them.

They’re warm! She’s alive. Oh, God please let her be alive!

With her bare hands, Claire began ripping out the flowers, stopping when she’d discovered a rubber hose that surfaced from somewhere deeper in the box. A breathing tube? Claire continued attacking the soil, clawing at it, then her fingers hit something solid-wood a sheet of plywood.

The hose continued down through a circular hole in the plywood.

“Amber, it’s Claire! Can you hear me? I’m going to get you out! Tap if you can hear me.”

In the stillness, Claire heard a soft knock on the wood.

“Oh, thank you! Good, good!”

Claire ran her hands along the wood that served as a coffin lid, looking for a way to remove it, but it was no use. Screws held it down tight. She’d need a tool, something to pry it off.

I walked by a shovel and wheelbarrow leaning against a tree near the back of the cabin.

Claire ran back and grabbed the shovel.

Her heart racing, pulse thudding in her ears, she rushed back to the gazebo, never hearing or seeing the SUV stop in the front of the cabin.

She returned to the box.

“Amber, I’m going to get you out now!”

Gripping the shovel, Claire began smashing at the latticework on one side. Then she attempted to work the shovel’s tip between the one-inch plywood lid and the lower body of the box. She made several attempts to force the blade tip into position, either missing or finding that the seam was just too tight.

Grunting and cursing, Claire refused to give up.

Finally, she found a spot that yielded enough play for her to thrust the blade tip in with enough purchase to leverage the area.

The seam cracked, surrendering a few more critical inches.

Claire pulled out the shovel and as she steadied herself to make a second punch, she stopped.

What was that? A footfall or a twig snap?

As Claire turned to face the cabin, the last thing she saw was a silhouetted figure before the sky exploded with a million constellations, propelling her into darkness.