A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your reviews! This has been my absolute best fanfiction experience ever 'cuz you guys have all been such amazing readers, and I love interacting with you all and getting your story ideas =) Don't worry; it's not over yet. Just wanted to take this opportunity to say it =) Ella, thanks for the feedback. I'm a tad shy :p but I'm definitely going to think about it =) Here's the next chapter. :) Please enjoy!
It starts pouring the minute Mom goes back into the kitchen, on her way out toward the front door. Mr. Schiller and I sit huddled together under the awning outside, watching the sky turn dark. But after a second, I hear my mom laughing as she runs through the rain toward her car, and I start laughing too. Mr. Schiller even smiles at the sound. I imagine her running, her hair bobbing up and down as she goes and I think my mother must know some secret thing about the rain that makes it glorious, and not just water falling out of the sky. I don't know how she can be so brave. I don't know how she can be so free. After everything that's just happened, I don't know how she can still laugh at the rain.
I look at Mr. Schiller, and he puts his arm around me. "Are you cold?" he asks. "Do you want to go in?"
I shake my head and lean back against his arm. I want to stay out here a little longer. I want to brave and free like my mom. "Mr. Schiller," I say.
He looks at me.
"Do you ever watch TV?" I ask.
He laughs a little. "Why do you ask?" he says.
"It's just something I've been wondering," I say.
He shrugs. "Not often, but sometimes."
"So, but what else do you do?" I ask.
"You mean when I'm here?" he says.
I nod and pick a strawberry off my mother's plate. He cocks his head at me. "Would you like to see?"
I can feel myself smiling. I don't know what he means, but I get the feeling he's about to let me in on a secret. "Okay," I say.
He smiles at me. "Brave girl," he says. He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.
I laugh, like we're going on an adventure. I'm surprised when we just go back into the kitchen. We walk around the table where we had breakfast the other day and go to a door behind it. It's narrow, and it has a tiny doorknob – the kind on old-fashioned doors. The rain lashes the window at our side, coming down in a smooth and steady sheet. Mr. Schiller twists the knob and opens the door.
"Are you ready?" he asks me.
I nod. He reaches past me and flips a light switch on. The lights reveal a long set of wooden steps. It's dizzying. They must go down three flights at least. "What is this?" I ask.
He just looks at me. And I turn back to the stairs in front of us. I take a breath and start walking down them. I hear him laugh and begin to follow me down. For the first twenty or so stairs, we walk in silence. I can't see anything around us; there are walls on either side of us blocking the stairs off from everything else. But the wall drops off halfway down where the handrail is mounted directly to posts on the steps. The stairs are narrow enough that you can hold both handrails at the same time, and I remember how Gabriel used to slide his hands down as far as he could reach and swing himself over five or six stairs at a time. The thought of him doing that on these stairs makes my stomach sink.
Just before we reach the end of the walls, my ears pop, and I look back over my shoulder at Mr. Schiller. He just smiles at me, so I keep on walking. I think how crazy it is that I'm doing this. It's like I'm scaring myself on purpose. I used to love scary movies and haunted houses, but I've been so scared since my father died that I've shied away from anything that could add more fear. I've longed for nothing more than the familiar, the safe – and there hasn't been a drop of familiar in a really long time. But then I think of my mother, driving the boats out in the middle of the ocean at night, doing criminal things she probably doesn't know how to do. I think of her working with Mr. Schiller and all these bad, scary people, and I remember how she can still laugh in the rain. I turn back again and look at Mr. Schiller. I feel breathless thinking about those things.
"Are you doing alright?" Mr. Schiller asks. "Do you want me to go first?" He raises his eyebrows, taking on the English professor look.
And I smile, but I shake my head in return. It's time for me to be strong like my mother. It's time to be brave the way she is. I turn around, and my steps don't falter. I keep walking at the steady pace I started out at.
I consider several times turning us back. This isn't a playground for children, I know. There are dangerous things down here. She might freeze one on thing or another, or worse, she might want to do too much and get hurt. But there's an insatiable desire within me – a curiosity to see if she's really as brave as she seems – to see if she's really as brave as her mother seems. I saw it once – that Petrov look – the one her mother uses so well. Now I want to see how far does it go. How much like her mother is she? How much like me?
As soon as we get past the basement half wall, she stops and takes a look. She stands still in her spot, and her eyes take in everything at once. I wait for one heartbeat, two. I wait with bated breath.
"Whoa," she says. She breathes the word out, and a smile breaks out across her face. She looks up at me, her eyes shining, as if she's never seen anything like it. She turns and starts tearing down the stairs, and I have to reach out and snatch her by the arm. She looks up at me, cheeks flushed.
"Slowly," I say, holding my hand out. "Go slowly until we get to the bottom."
She gives me a radiant smile, and sets out for the bottom of the stairs at a pace just shy of a run.
If I had to pick a word, I'd say the Bat Cave, but it's actually much more than that. There's a show called Cribs on MTV, where you get to see what celebrities and really rich people do with their houses. The craziest ones always belong to single guys. Mr. Schiller's basement, or basements I guess, could put all those away.
The ceiling goes as high as a warehouse, and there's a rock-climbing wall the length of the entire gym. There are suspension cords criss-crossing the ceiling, maybe for you to climb or swing yourself across. There's a giant trampoline the size of our swimming pool enclosed in a black mesh net. There's a padded floor, like a gymnastics mat, with springboards holding it up. I can see parallel bars and a balance beam – the kind they use on the Olympics. There's a full size boxing ring set in the middle of the gym. And there are heavy weight bags of different shapes and sizes scattered around the perimeter of the room. It reminds me of the kind of thing you'd see in a superhero movie where the heroes go to learn to harness their powers.
I look over my shoulder at Mr. Schiller. He is standing behind me with his hands on his hips. "What do you want to try first?" he asks.
"Everything," I admit.
Mr. Schiller walks up behind me and squeezes my shoulders.
"Can we do the rock climbing wall?" I ask.
"Sure," he says. He gestures for me to lead the way, and I take off for the far end of the room. "Is this as big as the entire house?" I ask. I call the words over my shoulder as I run.
"Bigger," Mr. Schiller says. "The footprint of the gym is almost three times as large as the house."
"Gabe would love this," I say.
I'm nearly breathless by the time I get to the base of the wall, and I'm already sweating through my clothes. I pull my sweatshirt off and wind my hair back behind me, tying it with the elastic band on my wrist. "Does it matter which colors I use?" I ask. I reach over my head and grab a green rock in my left hand and a red rock in my right. I place my right foot on a blue rock and test it out. My left foot has barely left the floor when I feel Mr. Schiller grab me from behind and pull me tight up against him.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
Mr. Schiller laughs. "You have to be tied in first," he says. He doesn't let go of me when he speaks, just keeps his arms looped around me as if he's afraid that if he lets go, I'll spring for the rock wall again.
"I know. I was just trying it out," I say.
Mr. Schiller smiles at me. Then he lets go and bends down to open a steel case at the base of the wall. "This one should fit you," he says. He takes out a red harness and holds it on the floor, showing me where to put my feet to step into it. I steady myself by holding onto his shoulders while he pulls the harness up and loosens it a little. He takes a rope hanging from a pulley overhead and snaps the carabineer through the ring on the front of my harness. Then he puts on a harness and hooks himself to the other end of the rope. "Does it feel alright?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say. I smile.
"Alright, now, Natalie," Mr. Schiller says. He puts his hands on both my shoulders and pulls me a little closer to him. He leans down and looks right into my face. "This is very important, okay? You can't ever do this unless I'm here. I need to be here in case you fall."
"I know," I say. I turn toward the wall, but Mr. Schiller catches my cheek against his curled finger.
"It can't be just anyone. Do you understand?" he says.
"Yes," I say. I look up at him.
His hands linger on my shoulders, not letting go. He cocks his head and keeps his eyes on mine. "Do you trust me, Natalie?" he asks. His words slow down, and I feel like he's asking me something else.
I look up at him, my brows knitted together. I'm trying to figure out what he's asking me. "Yes," I say. I say it softly but clearly. "Yes," I say. "I trust you."
She climbs up the wall like she weighs nothing, and I have to let out rope so fast it makes my palms burn. She is nearly to the top of the open wall, and I realize now I should have shown her the rest. I should have shined the flashlight up so that she could have seen it all before she started. But I never thought she would make it that far. I have sorely underestimated her. When she reaches for the handholds above her head, I have to call out to her to slow down.
"You're getting close to where the space narrows," I say. "You shouldn't go up much farther than that."
"But I'm doing okay," she calls back.
I can't help but smile. "Natalie, the wall behind you is getting closer, and the handholds get farther apart the higher you climb. You'll be more likely to get injured if you fall because you might hit the wall at your back."
Natalie glances over her shoulder at the wall closing in behind her. "I'm okay. I still have a couple of feet."
I grin despite myself and shake my head. She is intrepid – just what I thought.
She gets stuck before she can turn sideways and begin chimneying. I can let her down now, tell her to jump. I've got enough tension on the rope. But I have the urge to give her a pull. I just want to see if she can do it.
"Mr. Schiller?" Her voice comes down to me, a bit uncertain, but not scared. "I can't reach the next one."
"Try the one to your right," I say.
She reaches for it and nearly slips. "I don't think I can get it," she says.
"Try again," I say.
She reaches. She falls.
The rope makes a whirring sound as it threads its way through my harness. I start to feel scared, but I slow down so fast that I don't really have time to think about it. I hang in the air dangling and pull my arms and legs in, preparing to strike the wall at my back. But Mr. Schiller lets me fall far enough that when I swing backward and hit the wall, it hurts but not enough to knock the wind out me.
"Are you alright?" he calls to me.
"I'm okay," I say. My hand is bleeding from where I scraped it against the wall.
"Do you want me to let you down?" he asks.
The pain in my hand is intense. I don't want to give up, but I don't know if I can keep climbing. But the sound of his voice suggests there's another alternative. "Can you help me get back to the wall?" I ask.
Mr. Schiller doesn't answer right away.
"Mr. Schiller?" I say.
"I could," he says. "I could give you a pull."
"Okay," I say.
"Natalie, are you sure?" he says. "It's an advanced technique. Chimney climbing is very difficult."
I look up over my head at where the light pinches out, where the walls close in so tight I'd be pinned between them. "I just want to see if I can do it," I say.
Mr. Schiller's voice is heavy with something when he answers. "Alright, I'll give you a pull."
The rope creaks as I raise her toward the chimney. Her body stays slack so that she can watch for the walls on both sides. I pull her past the last point where she got stuck, and I stop pulling when she's close enough to reach both walls at the same time. She isn't heavy, especially with her weight levered through the belay, but I find I'm sweating when she reaches the wall. I hold the guide and brake ropes in one hand while I wipe the sweat off my palm.
"Turn sideways," I call to her.
She reaches for the wall behind her.
"Good, now place one foot on the wall to your right and the other on the wall to your left," I say.
I feel her weight come off the rope as she positions herself on the handholds. "Okay," she says. "Now what do I do?"
"You want to alternate using your arms and your legs. When you take the weight off one foot, you want to use both your arms and your other foot to pull yourself upward, but go slowly. Make small movements," I say.
"Okay," she says. She begins to climb. My face hurts from trying not to smile.
The space narrows from four feet to three and a half. Then it narrows further to three. I can feel the walls closing in around me, and I won't be able to stay sideways much longer. I look up. The handholds disappear into the darkness. I pull myself up, working my feet onto the holds that are getting smaller and further apart. I reach a point where my next step will bring both my shoulders into contact with the walls.
"Mr. Schiller?" I call.
"Are you doing alright?" he asks.
It occurs to me that he can no longer see me. I get a chill when I realize that I'm alone in the dark, that anything could happen to me and no one would know. I take a breath. No, I'm connected to Mr. Schiller. Even if no one else knows, he will.
I force my voice to be calm. "I'm running out of space," I say.
I hear a sound like a sigh or a laugh, but I don't look down to see his expression because I'm afraid the height will freeze me in my spot. "Turn toward the wall behind you. Lay your back against the wall you were originally climbing," he says.
It takes me a minute to figure out how to get both my feet and then my hands onto the back wall, but I do it with only a tiny slip. Mr. Schiller pulls up on my harness, and it starts to hurt.
"Okay," I say.
"Can you keep going?" he calls.
I squint my eyes and look up above me. I'm now in near total darkness. "I can't see the handholds," I call.
"Just feel for them," he says.
I run my palms over the smooth wall until I feel a shallow handhold, no deeper than the first two joints of my fingers. These handholds are cut into the wall and not jutting out like the ones below. I inch upward. I feel like a spider.
This climbing is a lot different from climbing below. It's slow instead of fast, inching instead of jumping. It's dark – close. It feels more mental than physical.
Up above me, I start to see a light. At first I think it's from a light bulb, like the ones in the gym ceiling below me, but it's cooler, bluer. It looks like a natural light.
I stand waiting for several minutes on the floor. I can't see her anymore because it's too dark, and sweat runs down my forehead into my eyes. I've never stood down here while someone made it this far. I've never known what it felt like to watch them disappear. It occurs to me that it's easier to be the climber than to wait at the bottom, feeling for tension in the rope that signals a fall.
I want to call out to her but don't. I want her to find her own way.
The slack is coming so slowly now, I wonder if she has stopped climbing all together, but every so often I get an inch or two more. There is no sound down here except the creaking of the rope through the brake, except my breathing, the beating of my heart.
It's silent for what feels like an hour, and then I hear a small gasp, a delighted laugh.
"Mr. Schiller," she says.
I smile through my teeth. "Yes, Natalie," I say.
"I can see the back of the kitchen!" she calls.
I grin. "So you've found out my secret," I say.
"There's a trap door. I can climb through it into the kitchen," she says.
I laugh. "That's good," I say. "But don't."
The chimney narrows on all sides until I'm in a space no larger than a broom closet. I think I must be at the top, but I keep reaching. I keep finding handholds to grab. I can barely fit into this tiny space. I'm shocked that Mr. Schiller can get up this. I work my way up like a crab in a box until I see more light coming in over my head. I inch upward and look through the next door. It's one-way glass, showing me the upstairs hallway. That's when I realize the mirrors in the kitchen, the upstairs hallway – they're really trap doors to this wall. I've found out a secret I've walked by over and over, with only Mr. Schiller to tell.
I lower her slowly back down through the chimney. I have to rely on her to tell me the right speed. But when I see her emerge out of the darkness, I let out the rope a little bit faster. She hangs relaxed inside her harness, as natural as if we'd started when she was a little girl. She holds the rope attached to her harness with one hand while the other lays slack at her side.
When she reaches the floor, she can't stand for a minute. Her body hasn't gotten used to flat ground yet. She leans back, not taking her weight onto her feet, and I reach out for her, scooping her up. I put her back onto her feet and steady her until she's found her footing again. She looks up at me, her smile triumphant. I rest my hands on both her shoulders. "What did you think?" I ask her.
"It was incredible," she says. She laughs. She puts her hands on my forearms, holding onto me. It is then that I notice her hand.
"You're bleeding," I say. I take her tiny hand in both of mine and turn it so that I can examine the cut. It's a series of scratches that run down the blade of her palm – the blood already dried in most places.
"It's okay," she says. "It doesn't really hurt anymore."
I look at her face. I have the urge to cup my hand around her cheek, but I feel guilty. I feel scared. I feel weak.
"Let's go upstairs," I say. I flash a brief smile. "We'll get you a bandage for your hand."
"But I want to try more," Natalie says. She pushes the hair back off her face, and her eyes scan the gym, moving like antennae probing the room.
"Later," I say. I put my arm around her shoulders and start walking her back toward the stairs.
She resists for a moment, looking back over her shoulder, and I nearly have to pull her along.