Wish You Were Here

22

I walked as quickly and as quietly as I could over to Beth.

"That's not Grant and Will," I whispered. "I don't know who they are. We need to hide, okay?"

"What?" She sat up. "Hide? Where? What about Cal?"

"Hopefully she'll stay hidden out there until they leave. I'm going to help you up, okay?" I whispered, already taking her hand. I looked around the room. Maybe those guys didn't know about this hidden room or even if they did, maybe they wouldn't go down there. But I couldn't risk it. I ran over to the cabinets and opened the doors.

"Can you fit in one of these?" I asked her. I tried to help her bend down but she couldn't get her leg to cooperate. It hurt too much.
She looked like she was about to cry.

"Okay," I told her. "Lie down behind the couch."

I helped her onto the floor. She fit in between the couch and the wall.

"Just stay still and don't make a sound, okay?" I instructed, and covered her up with the old blue tarp.

She shook her head and pulled the tarp from her face. "I'm scared. I can't do this!"

I grabbed the knife out of my pocket and handed it to her.

"Yes, you can." I looked her in the eyes.

I rushed back over to the cabinet, climbed in and shut the doors. I sat in total darkness, my knees up to my chin.

From inside the cabinet, I could hear the voices above me much clearer. They were opening the hidden shelves we had found.

"Where are they?" the first voice yelled. "The knives were in here!"

"I don't know, man. Maybe Wayne grabbed 'em." the second voice replied.

They were stomping around the cabin. Then their footsteps stopped just above my head.

"Did you hear that?" the first voice said. "Outside. You hear it?"

The second voice whispered. "I didn't hear anything, but go check it out. I'll check downstairs. Maybe we left the knives down there."

Oh, please don't come down here!

I heard the cabin door open and footsteps walked outside. I waited as I heard the other pair of footsteps stop, the sound of the hatch lifting open, and then continuing as they walked down the stairs. I held my breath.
My hands were sweating profusely. I could hear him walking around the room.

"What the hell?" he muttered to himself.

I couldn't hear anything then. I pushed the cabinet door about a half inch, just enough for me to peek out with one eye. This guy was short and stocky, with wide shoulders. He was wearing a loose gray tank top and basketball shorts. His hair was a dark, dirty blonde color and cut really short. I could see his scalp had gotten a slight sunburn. The tops of his shoulders were red, too.

He was bending over, lifting up the couch cushions. I knew he wouldn't find anything - knives or otherwise - since we had already swept the room clean. I only hoped that once he finished with the couch, he'd give up and go back upstairs. He sighed loudly with his hands on his hips. Cursing under his breath, he seemed to give up and walked over to the stairs.

Go, go, go! I willed him away.

But then he stopped. Turning around slowly, he crept back over to the couch. I could tell my his movements that he was intentionally trying to be quiet and not make a sound. He peered over the couch and then smiled wickedly. The blue tarp was in his hand and he tossed it over his shoulder onto the floor.