Tipping Point by Michelle Cook

Author:Michelle Cook [Cook, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Published: 2020-09-21T22:00:00+00:00

A tomb.

Torch on, I step inside. If anyone’s in the cellar, they already know I’m here, so there’s no reason to hide. I descend the stairs on numb legs, whipping my torch around from left to right, down, then up. It’s gritty underfoot, and the scrape of my boots echoes in the dank, mouldy air.

“Maya?”

Again, nothing.

This might be a trap. Someone could be on their way with a key to lock me down here, or worse.

I spin round, caught again in a horrible dilemma between saving Maya and saving myself. But the seconds stretch on and no one comes, so I choose Maya.

Deeper into the cellar, it smells of old coal and damp. My grinding footsteps are the only sound. On the far wall, my torchlight bounces off what looks like the inside of the coal hatch I fell on last night. A bulky chain entwines the handle of its doors. Below the hatch is a huge trough, built of brick about five-foot high. Presumably, it was used to store the coal in the days when that all seemed like a good idea. You could fit a couple of people in there. A hard nausea forms in the pit of my stomach as I force my legs towards it.

“Maya.” I lean up and peep over the side, torchlight flaring.

It’s empty. Only coal-grimed brick in there.

I collapse against the wall, gasping with relief and heartbreak all at once. Whether she’s dead or alive, they’ve taken her somewhere. My face in my hands, I sob out loud, and all thoughts of safety evaporate from my exhausted mind. There’s nothing to feel but the loss of Maya. I huddle on the floor, weeping, desperate, with no idea what to do next.

To stand and leave feels like giving up on her, but there’s no sense in staying here to get caught. I’ve been tense on this cold, hard floor for so long my legs have seized up, and I scramble to a crouch. As my hand shoots out for balance, I touch something soft and pull it towards me. In the torchlight, I know it immediately. Maya’s scarf. The green chiffon one she wore last night.

There’s dry blood on it.

Breath caught in my throat, I lean over the lip of the trough. Maybe I missed her somehow. Eyes wide and searching, I sweep the torch around the concrete floor, along the walls.

Something catches my eye on the wall inside. Shapes in the coal dust clinging there.

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