If this tunnel had been used by the Underground Railroad, then it must have scared the life out of the slaves who were taken through it. They must have truly been desperate for freedom to go down into the earth like this almost two centuries ago, their way lit not by a powerful flashlight, but by the light of candles or pine-knot torches. Two centuries ago? This tunnel felt much older than that. Too much older. I found myself wondering just how long ago it had been carved through the stone and who had really made it. And when my ready imagination suggested an answer, I shivered and tried not to think of it.

Suddenly the tunnel widened. The three of us found ourselves standing side by side. The roof of the passageway rose above us, and there was the echoing feel of dark space around us. There were age-blackened, thick wooden beams here, used to prop up the high ceiling. I touched one with my hand, feeling the rough wood, so far from the sun that once made it the strong, tall trunk of a tree. You could see why such beams were needed. This place seemed much more unstable than the rock-walled passageway we’d just emerged from. There were small piles of rubble here and there, some that seemed to have recently fallen from the roof. I wondered if we were under one of the roads that had been built long after this tunnel was gouged out. Was it the road vibrations from heavy trucks that had made those piles of stones fall? What was it like down here when the construction workers on that street near our house set off one of their blasts? Would these old beams succeed in holding this tunnel from collapse for another century? For another year? Another hour?

Mr. Patel held the light of his torch to the floor.

“Look here,” he said, leaning close.

The drag marks were gone, as if whoever had been dragged had either started to walk or been picked up. Something metal glittered on the floor over to the side. Neither Roger nor Mr. Patel saw it, but I bent down and grabbed it up, knowing what it was. It was the one thing that had been missing from the handbag. There was no doubt now. Aunt Lyssa had been brought this way.

“Mr. Patel,” I whispered.

“Wait,” he said, “I hear something.”

He swung the torch in an upward arc, then angled it down. There, ten feet in front of us, the floor of the cave fell away into a pit. I couldn’t tell how deep it was, but I didn’t want to look. Mr. Patel lifted the light and moved it slowly to the left.

I’m here.

Did I hear those words spoken in a harsh whisper or just imagine them? The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

I’m here.