Burn Read Free

composer named Frederic Archer?”
    Her arms slide around my waist. “So this is definitely your dad’s place, then?”
    â€œYeah, has to be,” I say, my voice strained. I stand right on top of the sock and look around to see what this vantage point shows me. There’s no furniture in this place, which is an open room with two closed doors at the back, maybe leading to a bedroom and a kitchen. Nothing’s written on the walls, and the ceiling—wait. There’s a rusty nail hammered into the wooden board right above my head. I reach up and twist it, pulling it out, my breath coming faster.
    Nothing happens. I look down at the bent nail, which has turned my fingers orange with iron oxide. It was right above my head. Right above the sock. I kick the ragged thing aside, uncovering a small hole in the floor. I kneel next to it and then, following my instincts, insert the nail into the hole. It catches, and a deep vibration thrums up my arm. Christina clutches at my shoulder while the house shakes and the door behind me unlatches, opening a crack. I push it ajar in time to see the floor of the room sliding open, revealing a metal staircase descending into darkness.
    I stand up, stick the nail back in its hole in the ceiling for future use, and take Christina’s hand. “Definitely my dad’s place.” And it’s both awesome and gut wrenching. “Come on.”
    Together, we descend the stairs, our palms skimming along the cool concrete walls. I feel another vibration before I hear it, and I look up to see the floor sliding across the opening to the staircase, plunging us into total darkness. Christina touches my shoulder, and I put my arm around her. “It’s okay. Just keep a hand in front of you so you don’t hit a wall.”
    Groping in the inky murk, we walk down a few more steps and reach the bottom. My hand brushes a metal door, and I feel my way to a keypad, which lights up as soon as I touch it.
    â€œPlease say you know the password,” Christina says.
    â€œI might.” My heart beats a jittery rhythm in my chest as I punch in
Josephus.
    It buzzes and lets out a tiny electric shock. I yank my hand back with a yelp and shake the pain from my fingers. “I guess that wasn’t it,” I mutter, frustration prickling along my limbs.
Goddamn.
Another dead end. Dad wouldn’t have wasted his final breath on that name, on that message, if it wasn’t important. So what the hell did he mean? I grit my teeth. It barely matters right now, because I’ve trapped myself—and my girlfriend—in the basement of a shack in the middle of freaking nowhere. What matters now is finding out what the password actually is.
    I try
tenacity.
Shock.
Spruance.
Shock.
Scanner
—“Shit!” I step back, the painful tingles coursing up my fingers.
    Christina’s breath is warm in my ear. “Slow down. Take a few minutes and think about it. We’re okay. No one’s chasing us at the moment. It’s all right.” Her arms are tight around my waist, like she’s trying to hold me up. “Have you tried passwords he used in the past?”
    I blink down at the obnoxious keypad. I can almost hear my dad’s grim chuckle. The shock isn’t damaging, just annoyingly painful. Like my dad’s criticisms. I blow out a breath, and then I slowly type my mother’s middle name, one of his favorites despite the obvious security risk. And . . . no shock. The door clicks and swings open. Several lamps and overhead lights illuminate the space, motion-activated, I guess.
    â€œWhoa,” Christina mutters as we walk into an apartment, echoing my sentiments perfectly.
    This place looks exactly like our apartment in New York, minus the windows. Same furniture. Same layout. Even a few of the same family photos. All that’s missing is my stuff, strewn all over the coffee table. I close the metal door behind us and head