Abby leads the way into the house one wary step at a time, taking care to scope out the corners and entryways before giving Zandra the all-clear to follow. There's no sign of Gene, Kendra or anyone else inside. The emptiness amplifies a commotion off in some random nook of the house. It hangs in the air like distressed wind chimes.
Zandra pauses when she spots the Incan relic, the aclla, still holding a frozen watch over the front door. The sight reminds her of losing her child years ago. The pain never goes away. It just gets better at hiding.
"Come on," Abby says in a whisper. She motions with urgent hands for Zandra to follow.
They wind up in the towering library Zandra toured before with Gene. She can already guess Abby will lead her to the black bookshelf sitting conspicuously by itself on the far side.
"This is the only safe place to talk," Abby says. She pries the bookshelf open from the wall, revealing the free-floating staircase leading into the basement.
Zandra recalls Gene's warning from before. Wherever those stairs lead is in dire need of a spiritual "cleansing." The wobbly treads don't look as intimidating now that he's not standing next to them. Maybe that's all the cleansing it needed.
Abby insists Zandra go down first. Something to do with needing to shut the bookshelf in the right way. The request lights something up in Zandra gut. It's the way Abby says it. Something's out of place.
Eye contact. That's it. Abby's pupils won't rest on Zandra's face.
"Why are you waiting? Get down there," Abby says, keeping her focus on the darkness below.
On a different day, Zandra would've said the hell with this and left the room. But the commotion is growing louder and closer. She stuffs the simmering dread into the same bruised chamber of her mind as that aclla, then takes a step onto the first tread with her good foot.
The stairway wobbles under Zandra's mismatched balance, swinging entire inches left and right. With no handrail to steady herself, Zandra turns her body 180 degrees and gets down on all fours. Backing down the stairs on hands and knees is the only way she won't fall off the side.
The descent only gets worse when Abby shuts the bookshelf, smoldering any light from the library above. Zandra stops in place on the fifth tread, convinced a fall is imminent.
"You can't seriously tell me there isn't a light switch or something in here," Zandra says from her crouched position. She breathes deep as her hands dig into the sides of the stairs. The musk of the damp basement below overwhelms her nose with mildew and sulfur.
"Most people say it's harder to go up than down. Their eyes have a hard time adjusting to the dark," Abby says.
Most people?
"That's great, but I still can't see where I'm going," Zandra says. The sheathed lawnmower knife up her sleeve pinches the skin of her arm. "You got a light or not?"
The bright screen of a cell phone illuminates the stairs, turning Abby's face a brilliant blue. It's enough to navigate the rest of the way without falling off.
After what seems like two stories of steps, Zandra's feet reach the security of a cement slab. She stands and takes in what little the light reveals. The basement isn't anything special until Abby finally finds a light switch on the wall.
Zandra's eyes fall to the far corner of the surprisingly tiny basement. A piece of plywood serves as a makeshift table atop an ancient laundry dryer. Resting on the wood is something that sucks the air from her lungs: a single, pink shoe. A muddy rust color crusts the part over the toes. She recognizes it right away.
Elle's shoe.