Vanished (Private 12)

“I can see why you might think that, Reed,” she said, squeezing my hand, “but it’s more than that. Everything happens for a reason.”

I felt a chill of recognition go down my spine as Mrs. Lange released our hands and stood. Noelle and I looked at each other with a sort of wary excitement. We both felt that something monumental was about to happen. Something huge.

Mrs. Lange walked over to a small, ornately carved wooden box sitting on a table in front of the window. When she opened it, I could see the dark purple velvet lining the inside. She removed an old-fashioned key, long and gold with a delicately scrolled knob, attached to a purple cord.

“Go to the chapel,” Mrs. Lange said quietly, her eyes shining as she dangled the key in front of us. It caught the sun streaming through the window, glinting in the light. “You must go tonight and you must go together. Everything depends on this, girls.” She stepped forward and placed the key in my hand, then placed Noelle’s hand over it, so that it was nestled between both our palms. Then she looked into our eyes and smiled. “Go to the chapel, my sisters. All the answers are there.”

It was a clear, frosty night, the stars out by the thousands overhead as Noelle and I trudged up the hill on the outskirts of campus and ducked into the woods. Neither one of us spoke, the crunching of the snow beneath our feet, the rhythmic bursts of our breath the only sounds around us. I tried not to think about the night I’d so recently spent alone in the woods, scared for her life, scared for my own. Tried not to think about how it was all a joke, a test of some kind. All I wanted to know right now was what lay ahead.

We arrived at the old Billings Chapel, its spire rising up against the stars, and we both paused for a moment to take in its stark, white beauty.

“Do you think it’s possible that the old bat is just off her rocker and we’re doing all of this for no reason?” Noelle said suddenly.

“You tell me. She’s your grandmother,” I said sarcastically.

“And yours,” she replied.

“Right. But you’ve known her slightly longer.”

Noelle smirked. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

We shoved open the heavy door of the chapel and it let out its now familiar creak. Moonlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful shadows all over the room. I smiled, noting for the millionth time how the Billings Literary Society had taken the once dirty, abandoned space and made it cozy and welcoming. The floors had been swept clean, there were fresh candles in the many sconces lining the walls, and up on the platform around the pulpit was a collection of colorful silk pillows, plush chenille throws, and even a fur blanket Vienna had left behind after our last meeting.

I walked over to the first sconce and lit the two taper candles with a match. Then I took them both down and handed one to Noelle.

“Have you ever seen any lock this key would fit?” Noelle asked, tugging the key out of her coat pocket and holding it up.

“No. But I haven’t been looking for one before now.”

I turned around and started along the right side of the chapel. Noelle took the left. I passed through the first arch in the wall, into the storage area with all the o

ld wicker collection baskets, the shelves full of dusty old hymnals. Nothing. Through the next arch was a tall bookshelf, packed from top to bottom with bibles, more hymnals, and a stack of ceramic bowls and cups. Again, nothing. As I stepped out of the archway, Noelle emerged from the one across the chapel. I raised my eyebrows. She shook her head.

I crossed the room to her and together we walked into the old chaplain’s office. There were more bookshelves in here, these mostly bare, and a rickety old desk and chair.

“What about the drawers?” I asked.

Noelle placed her candle into an ancient, brass candleholder atop the wooden surface and tried the drawers. The first two slid open with no problem. The third she had to struggle with since it was welded shut from years of moisture and warping, but it finally flew open.

“Nothing but crumbling paper,” Noelle said, throwing her hands up and letting them slap down at her sides.

Holding my candle aloft, I carefully moved around the small room. We hadn’t cleaned up in here, so there was still a thick layer of dust on every surface. I saw a small box on one of the bookcase shelves and moved in to take a closer look. As I did, something on the floor caught my eye and I froze.

It was a scratch—a deep, arcing scratch in the wooden floor. It extended out perfectly from the edge of the bookcase, out into the room. Suddenly my heart was in my throat.

“Noelle, come here,” I whispered.

“What? What did you find?” she asked, lifting her eyes from the book she was perusing.

“I’m not sure. Just come here.”

Noelle dropped the book on the desk and walked over. “Okay, but why are you whispering?”

I paused. “I don’t know.”

I took the candle and walked around the side of the bookcase. “I think maybe this bookcase swings out,” I said, nodding at the floor. Then I walked around the other side and blinked. “Oh my God. Hinges.”

Noelle’s eyes widened. “No way. A secret passageway?”