Desperation

The water wasn't just pooling; it was rising. The dark liquid curled around Iris’s ankles, icy and relentless, seeping into the concrete pores of the basement floor. The sound of splashing from behind the brick wall had stopped, replaced by a wet, rhythmic scratching. Like fingernails on stone.

He was trying to climb.

Iris scrambled back up the bulkhead stairs, her wet pajamas clinging to her skin. The rain was a curtain of gray noise, drowning out the world. She ran to the garden shed, tearing the door open. Shovels. Rakes. A bag of potting soil.

Nothing to stop a flood.

She grabbed a tarp and a roll of duct tape. It was pathetic. It was nothing. But it was all she had.

She climbed the trellis to the porch roof, the wood slick with moss. The chimney chase was a gaping wound in the slate, water funneling into it like a dedicated artery. She threw the tarp over the hole, wrestling with the wind that tried to rip it from her hands. She taped the edges, praying the adhesive would hold against the wet brick.

It slowed the flow. But it didn't stop it.

She slid back down to the porch, landing hard on her hip. She limped inside, shivering, and grabbed her phone.

She needed help. Real help. Not a lawyer. Not the police who took Julian’s calls. She needed someone who could break a wall.

She dialed Marcus.

"Iris?" His voice was thick with sleep. "It's 3 AM."

"The basement is flooding," she said, her teeth chattering. "The hidden room. It's filling with water. I can hear him inside."

"I'm coming," Marcus said instantly. "Call 911."

"I can't. If I call them, Julian wins. He'll say I'm crazy. He'll move Elias before they even get a warrant. Marcus, you have to help me get him out. Now."

"I'm ten minutes away. Do you have power tools?"

"No. Julian took everything."

"I'm bringing mine. But Iris... if we breach that wall, there's no going back. We are breaking and entering. We are destroying property. If we're wrong..."

"We're not wrong," Iris said. "I heard him splashing."

She hung up and ran back to the basement. The water was deeper now, halfway up her shins. The tarp had failed.

She waded to the wine rack. She pulled the lever she had discovered, swinging the heavy shelf out. The steel door was there, cold and impassive.

She put her ear against it.

Silence.

"Elias?" she screamed.

Nothing.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through her. Had he drowned? Had the cold water induced hypothermia?

She hammered on the door with her fists until her knuckles bled. "Answer me!"

A faint thud. Low. Near the floor.

He was there. But he was weak.

She looked around the basement, desperate for a weapon, a tool, anything. Her eyes landed on the old coal chute in the corner. It was welded shut, but the iron was pitted with rust.

If she could open it, maybe she could drain the water.

She grabbed a rusted crowbar from the corner and jammed it into the seam of the coal chute. She threw her weight against it, screaming with effort.

Metal shrieked. The door popped open.

Water rushed toward the opening, a swirling eddy of mud and debris. The level dropped an inch. Then two.

It bought them time. But it didn't open the door.

Headlights swept across the driveway windows. Marcus.

She ran up the stairs to meet him. He was already out of his truck, carrying a heavy duffel bag. He looked at her wet clothes, her bleeding hands, and his face hardened.

"Bring your drill," she told him. "We're going in."