The trees are thick enough that they block out a lot of the afternoon sun, but ahead of us, brightness signals that we’re almost through.
The trail we were on ended a few yards back, so I carefully follow Hans’s steps through the underbrush to the edge of the tree line.
Hans lets go of my fingers and holds his hand palm down, lowering it a few inches toward the ground.
I have no idea what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but I stop walking.
He stands completely still for several long seconds, listening or waiting for something. And I take the time to look around.
Before us, in an overgrown yard, is a dilapidated gazebo.
At one point, it was probably a great place to hang out. Sitting on the benches that line the circular interior, sipping coffee while raindrops bounce off the shingled roof. Or having sex with your hot neighbor in the privacy of the backyard.
I push away the urge to reach out and grab Hans’s perfect butt, and look around at the rest of the property.
It looks like the lawn hasn’t been mown all summer, and the paint is peeling off the back of the house.
I narrow my eyes. Why does the color of the house look so familiar?
Hans startles me by crouching down and rushing out of the woods and across the few yards to the gazebo.
I expect him to go around it, maybe hide behind the railing, but he steps into it. And… lifts a panel in the center of the floor.
What the hell?
Staying low, Hans looks over his shoulder and gestures for me to come forward.
Following his lead, I try to make myself small as I cross to him.
“You first.”
At his command, I look down at the black hole in the center of the gazebo floor.
“Um…” I whisper my hesitation.
Hans pulls a flashlight out of his pocket and aims it down, revealing metal rungs.
Oh, well, so long as I don’t have to just jump in.
Forty percent of me rebels at the idea of climbing down into some dark pit behind a random abandoned house. But the other sixty percent of me is soaking up the rush of adrenaline.
Abandoned house.
My eyes dart back to the house, and my mouth pops open.
That’s why I recognized the color. This is the abandoned house at the end of our cul-de-sac.
“Butterfly.”
Right. The pit.
“Okay, okay.”
It’s awkward to get my feet lined up, but once the soles of my tennis shoes connect with the rungs, I lower myself into the ground.
