Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
But if I believe him now, then my own blood has betrayed me.
No. It’s not possible. Uncle David’s been like a father to me since the murders.
Charlie walks to the door. “Cristiano,” he says.
I look up. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I don’t say anything. I just let him walk out the door.
16
Cristiano
My steps are heavy as I make my way below ground. The flashlight illuminates the path ahead of me, but I don’t need it. I know the underground of this house. It’s not only the cells that are down here.
I bring the bottle of whiskey to my mouth and swallow two mouthfuls as thoughts swim in the chaotic sea of my mind.
The voices from that dream. Were they Lenore and Uncle David? I recognize the scent of the aftershave. It’s my uncle’s. Something he has custom made. But was the other voice Lenore’s? What had she said? Why can’t I fucking remember what she said?
I drink more, the liquid sloshing in the bottle.
It’s cold down here. And damp. If I close my eyes and stand very still, I swear I can feel the sea pressing against the rock. No. That’s not true. Not yet. That only happens in the tunnel.
I walk to the farthest cell. The one where Scarlett’s brothers were killed. I shine the light through the bars to see the dark stains in the stone floor. Evidence of their deaths.
If my family had gotten down here the night of the massacre, they’d be alive.
But we’d been ambushed. We’d had no chance.
The heavy door creaks as I push it open. There are two cells down here. I guess it was a fifty-fifty chance my uncle would have put the De La Cruz brothers in this one. Even he doesn’t know about the tunnel.
I walk to the far corner where the carcass of an old mattress rests. That was here before I was. I don’t know why I know that. Don’t know if it’s true knowledge, some memory I haven’t lost, or my mind playing a trick on me. This part is almost as bad as not remembering them. I don’t trust myself. Don’t trust my own thoughts.
I shove the mattress away. It’s light and something scurries from underneath it. I search the stones behind it and sure enough, I see it. The false stone.
Laying the flashlight down I set my hands on it, feel the smooth surface. Even though it’s made to look like the others, there’s a textural and a temperature difference.
Like I knew of the stone’s existence, I also know how to access the tunnel behind it. Because this false rock is a doorway. A secret way on and off the island.
A memory comes then, sharp as a blade. Blinding as a bolt of lightning. It hurtles into me at once and I hear a crash, feel liquid splash my legs.
Michael, Dante, me and dad. We’re young, I’m eleven which makes Michael twelve and Dante ten. My father is holding Dante’s hand and mine. Michael is too grown up for it, always wanting to show how brave he is. He wants to make Dad proud. We all do.
“Your brothers are too young. This is our secret, just us,” my father says. “Michael, it’ll be your job to look after it one day. To tell your brothers.” Elizabeth wasn’t born yet, I realize. I wonder if her birth was planned or a happy accident.
He pushes the rock out of its place and there, behind it is a black hole.
“And Cristiano, you’ll help him. You’ll be his right hand.” He looks down at us, making a point to stop so we are looking up at him. “You’re blood. Never forget that blood matters, boys.”
Michael and I both nod.
“What about me?” Dante asks.
My father ruffles the hair on his head. “You’ll help them too, but there’s plenty of time for that. You just be a kid a little longer.”
We turn to look into the dark hole. I pull back but he shines his flashlight inside, and I can see that it’s a tunnel. Just a few feet inside is a shelf stocked with flashlights, batteries, even canned food and bottles of water. There is also a pistol and several rounds of ammunition.
“It leads to the mainland. But it’s eight kilometers long so you’d better have on good shoes,” he says, and he lets go of my hand to unpack the bag he brought down with him. Inside it are supplies, food and fresh water to replace the expired bottles. New batteries to replace the old in the flashlights even though they still work. “Go on, boys. Not too far though. Dante you stay and help me.”
I hear my brother whine about not being allowed to come with us as Michael and I take one of the flashlights and go exploring. It’s a single long, deep tunnel, and it’d be pitch black if we didn’t have the flashlight.