In the deserted kitchen I pick up the phone, clicking the receiver. Once. Twice. But there’s no dial tone. I slam down the phone right as Mrs. Green appears in the doorway. “Manuel’s still working, but he hasn’t seen her. Maybe she stepped out?”

“Stepped out where?” I ask. “And the phone’s dead. Are you sure you got through?”

Mrs. Green shakes her head. “Yes. We just called 9-1-1.”

“Who just called? Beth? You didn’t say that before.”

“My dear, you’re all red,” Mrs. Green replies. “Do you want to sit down? Maybe Manuel can help.”

With mounting frustration, I watch Mrs. Green totter to the back door again. She doesn’t even look at me. “Manuel always knows what to do.” She talks under her breath, her shaking hand fumbling with the door handle.

There’s no time for this, I think. No time. With that familiar dread coursing through me, I turn away from Mrs. Green, taking off down the hall.

I’m breathing hard when I reach the hole to the basement. “You guys,” I say. Jackson jumps to his feet.

“Where’s Beth?” he asks.

“I can’t find her. She’s not in the den.”

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Jackson springs to the ladder, climbing up rung by rung.

“Hold on,” I say. “We can’t leave Elliot. Hey. Stop.”

“Did you call 9-1-1? Did anybody call?” Jackson asks.

“Green says Beth got through. But it was busted when I tried. Beth left her walkie…”

“That’s weird,” Elliot says. “Is Mrs. Green okay?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” I reply. “She’s fine. Not helpful though. She’s pretty out there.”

“Are you sure the phone just died?” Jackson asks, still climbing.

“Yes. I know what I heard.”

“So, Beth just vanished?” Elliot tries to move his leg, but winces under the weight.

“We can’t leave Elliot down there,” I say again.

“He’s fine. We’ll be back after we find Beth,” Jackson replies.

“If there’s someone else here…”

“You’ve really lost it, haven’t you? Who would be here?”

He’s about to step on the splintered wood, but I block him from climbing all the way up.

“We can’t leave him,” I say again.

Our eyes lock. Jackson doesn’t move at first, but eventually he sighs. “Fine.”

With both of us helping Elliot, we manage to pull him towards the top of the ladder. “Ow. Ow! Ow!” Elliot says.

“Sorry. Almost there,” I say, hating how much pain he’s in.

Jackson loses his balance, tilting backwards. The ladder wobbles and shifts. We push all our weight forward to stop from falling. My heart pounds against my chest.

“Careful,” I say.