The footsteps stopped right over the basement door. Then my coworker Randy yelled, “You still down there?” like nothing was wrong.
I yelled back that somebody locked it. He got quiet for a second, then said, “Hold on.” I heard him messing with the knob but it barely moved. The whole time I kept staring at that little room because none of it made sense. The groceries were fresh. Bread wasn’t moldy. Sink still had water droplets in it.
Then I noticed the TV.
Small old thing sitting on a milk crate beside the mattress. Still warm. One of those local news channels was muted on the screen with captions running.
Randy finally got the basement open and immediately asked why it smelled like cigarettes down there. I told him somebody had been living behind the wall. He looked more annoyed than scared. Just kept saying we needed to finish before the property guy got back.
That’s when we heard a phone vibrating somewhere in the hidden room.
Not ringing. Vibrating over and over.
Randy actually told me not to touch it. Which was weird because Randy touches everybody’s stuff. Copper pipes, tools, watches left in drawers. He’s that kind of guy.
I picked it up anyway.
No lock screen picture. Just six missed calls from something saved as “D.”
Then a new voicemail popped up while I was holding it.
The transcription started filling in automatically.
“Dad, I came by earlier but your truck was already there. I saw two men inside so I left. Please call me before they board the basement back up again.”
Randy walked out of that room immediately after I read it.
But before he left, he pulled the family photo off the wall and flipped it over.
There was a date written in marker on the back.
Three days earlier.