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She had turned to me when I started speaking and when I stopped, turned to the entrance of the basement.
“So now we are going to the basement they dragged Sully to, so we can try and get some answers. Let’s go,” she urged as she started down the stairs. Usually we kept lights to a minimum but both Brea and I pointed our red tinted flashlights at the steep stairs so we didn’t have broken bones on top of a startling night.
“I’m coming too,” Sully said as Lincoln helped him down the stairs. At this point Ethan and Ryker decided to come as well.
At least the basement was wide enough to fit us all. From what I could make out it had dirt floors and walls. Broken down crates and disintegrating boxes littered the space but Brea being Brea, just went to the middle of the room and plopped down.
“So, we’re listening,” she called out. “What was this all about?”
The wind picked up outside making it whistle through the entrance. Lincoln and Ryker dashed for the door just as it started to shut, catching it barely in time. I could hear them grunt with the effort and they both disappeared outside.
“Well, two down,” I joked. “They’ll likely stay out there so we don’t all get locked down here.”
“Not our smartest move,” Brea agreed with a self-deprecating laugh. “Anyone have a spirit box?”
“It’s funny that you used to hate these,” I joked as Ethan pulled his out of his bag and set it up, attaching our amplifier to it which was the only thing that made it bearable.
“It’s true. I’ve learned,” she agreed. “But in all fairness you had to scream to be heard over those others.”
“Is anyone down here with us?” Ethan called out. The spirit box was all white noise for a few beats before a word finally came through.
“Yes. Many.”
“There are a lot of you?” I clarified.
Yes.
“Why haven’t you crossed over?” Brea questioned next.
Home.
“Were you the lighthouse keeper or his wife?” Ethan asked.
Light is gone.
“It’s still there. But now the Coast Guard takes care of the light,” Brea corrected. “You likely can’t see it from the other side. But it’s being taken care of. You can move on.”
Can’t.
“Why not?” Ethan asked. “Because of your children?”
Not me. Her.
“Your wife?” I asked. “Why didn’t you save them?” My voice came off more accusatory than I meant and the basement dropped about ten degrees in response.
Poison.
We all froze at the new word. Did that mean she poisoned them first? Why? What could have changed to cause that?
“Would she do that to you?” Brea asked. “Or was she a loving mother and doting wife?”
Wrong. Loved.
“Something was wrong?” I asked to clarify again. These one word answers sometimes made it hard to figure out the message they were trying to scream at us.
Yes.
“Why did you bring me down here? I’m not her.” Sully’s question was met by a longer pause.
