Chapter 8 The Hidden Way In
“Cass lifted the lantern higher… and the light stopped on a pair of boots she hadn’t seen before. Not empty. Not abandoned. Someone was already in the room with them… and they were breathing.”
When the official doors are locked, you realize that the secrets you once kept are the only keys you have left.
Cass didn't waste a second arguing. Evan was hurt, and the cold was a rapidly escalating danger. The swirling black water of the flooded road was no longer just an obstacle; it was a physical threat. They had to get off the water.
“Back to the station,” Cass commanded, her voice steady despite the frantic scramble of her thoughts. She helped Evan up, supporting his weight as he limped, favoring his twisted ankle. “Lean on me, Evan. We’ll use the walls to shield us.”
The short journey back to the station felt longer, and harder. The wind now seemed to actively fight their every step, and the small, protective tether of cloth around their wrists was vital. Evan winced with every uneven step, but he held the guitar case tightly, its safety seemingly as important as his own.
“The back window,” Evan gasped, leaning against the cold brick wall again near the locked front door. “Are you sure it’s still boarded up? The station hasn’t been used in twenty years.”
“Mara and I checked it three years ago, on a dare,” Cass explained, pulling the lantern close to inspect the shadowy side of the building. “It was flimsy then. Just a single sheet of old plywood nailed over the glass. It faces the abandoned tracks, away from the road. The conductor couldn’t see it from the front office.”
She led him around the corner of the station house. The wind was slightly less brutal here, but the air was dense and heavy with the smell of damp brick and old moss. The ground was slightly higher, but the shadows were deeper, making the building feel less like a haven and more like a monstrous, silent sentry.
They found the window immediately. It was small, set low to the ground, and covered by a piece of wood that looked thin and gray with age. Rust streaks ran down the bricks beneath it.
“See?” Cass whispered, pointing. “The wood is barely attached. We can pry it off. You need to get inside, Evan. Immediately. You’re shivering.”
Evan leaned against the wall, trying to control the uncontrollable tremors in his body. The cold had penetrated deep into his bones. “Cass, we need a plan. We can’t just crawl in and surprise them. They might be armed. They might be terrified.”
“We’ll make noise,” Cass said, already inspecting the gap between the plywood and the window frame. “We’ll announce ourselves. But right now, we prioritize shelter. The mystery person is secondary to the wind and the water.”
She set the lantern on the ground, directing its amber glow onto the window. She took a deep breath, flexing her fingers. “I’m going to use this,” she said, picking up a loose, heavy shard of slate that had broken off the roof tiles nearby.
Evan watched her, a mix of admiration and fear stirring in his chest. This was the Cass that belonged to the Lighthouse, very focused, decisive, and willing to use force when necessary. The caretaker’s role suited her completely.
“Wait,” Evan said, catching her wrist before she could jam the slate into the gap. “If we break the window, if we make too much noise, what if we draw attention from the road? Or from the water?”
“What choice do we have, Evan?” Cass countered, her voice low and sharp with adrenaline. “If we wait, we get hypothermia. This is the only chance we have before the wind shifts again.”
He nodded, conceding the truth of her logic. “Okay. But when we get the board off, I go first. You keep the light and watch the exit. My leg is injured, but I can still move faster than you if I have to, and I can take a hit better than you can.”
“No,” Cass instantly refused. “You’re injured. You go in second. I know the layout better than you do, and I’m smaller. I can get through the gap faster, and I know where the old breaker panel is. If we can get the main power on, we can stop relying on this little lamp.”
Evan realized he was arguing out of instinct, trying to protect her, but her way made more sense. She was the one with the local knowledge; he was the one with the useless, heavy guitar case.
“Fine,” he relented, forcing the word past his tight throat. “You’re the pilot. I’ll be the lookout. But the moment you see anything, even a shadow, a movement, a whisper... you call out, and you use the lantern as a weapon if you have to.”
Cass gripped the heavy slate shard in her hand, testing its weight. She positioned herself next to the window, the wind whipping her hair around her face. She focused the entirety of her determination on the task.
She drove the slate shard into the thin gap between the plywood and the wooden frame. The wood groaned loudly in protest. She levered the slate, putting all her weight and frustration into the effort.
There was a sickening, loud SNAP as one of the rusty nails finally gave way. The plywood shifted outward slightly.
Cass repeated the effort, moving down the side of the board, using the leverage of the thick slate. The work was exhausting, made it ten times harder by the wind and the cold. She felt a burning ache in her shoulders, but she pushed through it, fueled by the image of Evan shivering beside her.
Finally, with a loud, tearing sound, the board ripped free from the last nail. Cass let the slate fall to the ground and caught the board, lowering it quietly to the ground.
A wave of cold, stale air rushed out of the small window opening. The window glass was intact, but years of grit and dirt had coated it thickly.
“Okay,” Cass whispered, retrieving the lantern and holding it high. “Here we go. I’m going to break the glass now. Stand back, Evan.”
She used the butt of the lantern handle to strike the window sharply near the frame. The old glass didn't shatter; it broke into small, jagged pieces, the sound a surprisingly sharp, immediate intrusion on the soundscape of the storm.
Cass carefully cleared the shards from the frame, her movements precise and quick. She threw her leg over the sill.
“I’m going in,” she said, looking back at Evan. “Get ready to follow, quickly. Don't worry about the noise now. Just be fast.”
Evan nodded, his face pale in the lantern light. He bent down, ready to hoist himself through the hole.
Cass wormed her way through the small opening. She landed softly on the dusty, wooden floor inside.
She held the lantern up, scanning the room. It was the old storage closet, thankfully empty of any immediate danger. She saw the dusty, familiar shape of the old breaker box mounted high on the wall.
“Clear!” Cass called out, her voice loud in the enclosed space. “Evan, come in! I’m heading to the breaker box!”
Evan shoved the guitar case through the opening first, carefully resting it on the floor. Then he hoisted his body up, his injured ankle protesting loudly as he maneuvered his weight over the sill. He dropped heavily to the floor, landing with a grunt.
“Now, the light,” Evan urged, breathing heavily.
Cass didn’t need to be told twice. She moved quickly to the breaker panel, holding the lantern up. She found the thick, old main switch and pulled it down, then shoved it up again with all her strength.
Nothing happened. The station remained dark.
“Damn it,” Cass muttered. “The main line must be severed by the storm, or the box is corroded.”
Evan pushed himself up, leaning against the wall, surveying the room. He felt a moment of deep, profound relief just to be out of the wind.
“At least we’re dry,” Evan said, trying to steady his ragged breathing. “This is good, Cass. We’re safe for now. Just keep the lantern steady.”
Cass nodded, turning the lantern around to sweep the room again. That’s when she saw it. Tucked beneath the dusty, splintered edge of an old wooden counter, almost entirely hidden in shadow, was a pair of heavy, black, rubber-soled boots.
And attached to the boots, a faint, slow sigh that spoke of deep, troubled sleep.
The stranger was not just in the station. They were in this very room, hidden just out of the lantern’s direct beam, and they were breathing.
Cass froze, the lantern light shaking slightly in her hand. She stared at the boots and the shadow they occupied, every nerve ending screaming a silent warning.
What was more terrifying: facing the savage, external violence of the storm, or the silent, concealed presence of the person who shared their refuge?