Chapter 2 - THE THREE KNOCKS
I stood in the dark kitchen with one hand resting on the cellar door.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Three knocks.
Not pipes.
Not the furnace.
Not an animal.
Someone had knocked from underneath the floor.
I looked toward the hallway.
Vanessa's bedroom door was closed.
The house was silent.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and switched on the flashlight.
The beam landed on the new padlock.
It was heavy, industrial-grade steel.
I touched it.
Still cold.
Someone had installed it recently.
I reached into my jacket for the small multitool I kept on my keychain. I had spent twelve years running a transportation company, and one lesson had followed me everywhere:
When something doesn't make sense, don't make assumptions.
Collect facts.
I worked the lock quietly.
It took less than a minute.
The shackle popped open.
I caught it before it hit the floor.
Then I lifted the cellar door.
A smell rose from below.
Damp concrete.
Old wood.
And something else.
Human.
I lowered myself down the narrow staircase.
"Mom?"
Nothing.
"Dad?"
Silence.
I reached the bottom.
The old storage cellar had changed.
Grandfather's shelves were gone.
The walls had been reinforced.
And at the far end stood a metal security door.
Behind it was a cage.
I stepped closer.
Then I saw them.
My father was sitting against the wall.
His white hair was disheveled.
His shirt was stained.
His wrists were bruised.
Beside him, my mother lay wrapped in an old blanket.
Her face was thinner than I remembered.
For one terrifying second, I thought she was dead.
Then her eyes opened.
"Michael?"
My knees nearly gave out.
"Mom."
I rushed toward the bars.
My father slowly stood.
He looked at me.
And instead of relief, terror crossed his face.
"No," he whispered.
"What?"
"You shouldn't have come home."
I gripped the bars.
"Who did this?"
My mother began crying.
My father looked toward the ceiling.
Then he said something that froze me.
"Vanessa."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
Dad's voice cracked.
"Because she wants this house."
I almost laughed.
"This house?"
"Not the house," he said.
"The land."
I looked around.
"What land?"
Dad swallowed.
"Michael, your grandfather didn't build this place just to store potatoes."
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
My father grabbed my wrist through the bars.
"Go."
"Not without you."
"Michael, listen to me."
His eyes were filled with panic.
"She doesn't know you're down here."
The footsteps stopped.
Above us.
I turned off my flashlight.
We stood in complete darkness.
Then Vanessa's voice drifted through the floorboards.
"Michael?"
My blood went cold.
"I know you're awake."
My mother covered her mouth.
Dad whispered:
"Don't answer."
I heard Vanessa walking across the kitchen.
Then she stopped directly above us.
A pause.
And then—
three knocks.
Exactly three.
Dad closed his eyes.
"That's her signal," he whispered.
"Signal for what?"
He looked at me.
"For the people she's been dealing with."
Then something scraped across the kitchen floor.
Vanessa was moving the pantry cabinet.
She was checking the cellar door.
I crouched beside my parents.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Finally, her footsteps disappeared.
I waited.
Five more minutes.
Then I whispered, "Tell me everything."
Dad shook his head.
"First, get us out."
"I can't break these bars."
"You don't have to."
He pointed toward the back wall.
"There is another exit."
I followed his finger.
Behind a stack of wooden crates was an old stone panel.
I moved the crates.
There was a narrow metal handle.
I pulled.
The wall opened inward.
Cold air rushed through.
A tunnel.
My grandfather had built a tunnel beneath the property.
But where did it lead?
Dad smiled weakly.
"Your grandfather was afraid someone would try to take this land."
I looked at my mother.
"What is so valuable here?"
She whispered:
"Everything."
A noise suddenly echoed through the tunnel.
A car door slammed somewhere aboveground.
Dad's expression changed.
"Too late."
"What?"
He looked toward the tunnel.
"They're here."
"Who?"
My father didn't answer.
Instead, he reached through the bars and pressed something into my hand.
A small brass key.
"Your grandfather left this for you."
"What does it open?"
Dad stared directly into my eyes.
"The truth."
Then the cellar lights suddenly turned on.
Vanessa stood at the top of the stairs.
And behind her were two men I had never seen before.
One carried a briefcase.
The other carried a gun.
Vanessa smiled.
May you like
"Well," she said.
"I suppose Christmas surprises really do work both ways."
