Chapter 3

On the third day, the basement light stopped working. I couldn't tell day from night and could only judge the time by how often food was brought to me.

Mom didn't bring me bread anymore. She pushed in a bowl of cold oatmeal porridge. Half of it spilled, and what remained tasted of rust. I lifted the bowl and took a few sips, but my stomach churned violently.

The walkie-talkie grew hot in my hand from how tightly I held it.

I pressed the button over and over again.

"Mom, I have a fever."

"Mom, please."

"Dad, are you there?"

No one answered.

Later, I heard a stranger's voice outside the lid. It was someone from property management.

Jared Mosby said, "Mrs. Clement, the basement drainage pump is scheduled for maintenance over the next couple of days. There's a heavy rain warning, so it's best not to keep any valuables down here."

Mom's voice was indifferent as she replied, "Got it."

Jared spoke again, "What's that steel box at the very back of your basement for? Make sure it isn't blocking the drain."

My heart suddenly started pounding. I used every ounce of strength I had to pound on the lid.

I cried, "Sir! Help me! I'm in here!"

Jared paused for a moment before asking, "What's that sound?"

I pounded desperately. I kept hitting the lid until my palms went numb. My fingernails scraped against the metal with a piercing screech.

Mom immediately raised her voice. "My son is upstairs banging his toys around. He has autism and can't handle strangers. Please don't ask too many questions."

Jared hesitated and said, "But it sounds like it's coming from inside."

Mom opened the basement door, and her footsteps approached.

She stood outside the box and spoke to me in a low voice through the lid, "If you make any more trouble, I'll take away the walkie-talkie."

I froze.

She turned around and smiled at Jared. "His sister did something wrong. She's in there writing a reflection essay. We don't need to report to property management about how we discipline our own child, do we?"

Jared gave a couple of awkward laughs. "Alright, then. Take care, Mrs. Clement."

The footsteps receded, and the door closed.

I lunged for the walkie-talkie and cried out, "Mom, you know I'm going to die."

Mom was silent for a long time.

Then, she said, "So, admit it."

I clutched the walkie-talkie, my throat hurting so badly that I could barely make a sound. "If I admit it, will you believe me?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then, I admit it," I said tiredly, closing my eyes. "I was wrong. I didn't take good enough care of Ezra."

Mom immediately cut me off, "Not that. Say you deliberately handed him over to human traffickers."

My whole body went cold. Those words were stuck in my throat.

I couldn't say them. Because if I did, and Ezra heard about it someday, he would think I had really planned to abandon him.

I could be locked up. I could be yelled at. I could endure the pain.

However, I couldn't let Ezra think I didn't love him.

I whispered, "Mom, I can't tell that lie."

Mom kicked the lid of the box. The metal shook so violently that my ears rang.

She sneered. "Then, you can stay in there!"

…

That night, Dad came again. He stood outside the box, his voice exhausted. "Evie, your mom is asleep. Tell me the truth. Did you do it on purpose or not?"

I struggled to keep my eyes open. "Dad, do you remember when I was eight years old? Ezra ran into the street, and I rushed over to grab him. A car hit me and broke my arm. That time, you said I was the best sister in the whole world."

Dad's breathing grew uneven.

I continued, "I ran after him this time, too. I just couldn't protect either him or myself."

There was no sound from outside the box for a long time. I thought Dad was going to open it. I heard the jingle of keys.

Then, Mom's voice came from the stairway, "Michael, what are you doing?"

The sound of the jingling keys stopped.

Mom rushed over and snatched them away. "You believe her?"

Dad suppressed his anger. "She's our child, too."

Mom started crying. "What about Ezra? We almost lost Ezra! Are you going to drive me insane all over again because of her?"

Dad said nothing. Meanwhile, Mom took the keys away.

I heard Dad whisper from outside the box. "Evie, just hang in there a little longer."

I smiled. So, when it came to my life, all I could do was hang in there.