Free Phobic by Cortney Pearson Page B

in your bedroom too, Pipes. That’s the only thing I can think of that would make this make sense right now.”
    “Todd—”
    “You seriously need to get that thing hammered shut. Talk about a safety hazard.”
    “Shh.” I shove him along the wall to the creaky stairs. Panic infuses my lungs, propelling my feet, but Todd seems to feel the need to lug along like a rowboat. Our slow progress is torture. Any second the basement will grow hands and snatch us back, trapping us forever.
    I bully Todd into the kitchen. My palms clam over with sweat against the wood, and I take a few shallow breaths and slam the door, blocking the basement just as Joel steps into the kitchen.
    Aw crap.
    He stops, and the fury on his face is so distinctly like my father’s I recoil. I expect him to yell, but his voice is deadly soft. “Mind telling me what you think you’re doing down there?”
    I open my mouth, only to close it again. I know what this looks like. Todd and me sneaking off in the middle of the night.
    “Go home, Dawes,” Joel barks, though his eyes stay right on me.
    Todd ducks his head down and glances over his shoulder before shuffling toward the back door. He has a slight limp and keeps a hand to his back.
    Aside from those kids who’d followed me home, the house has never hurt anyone before. I’m stunned it took the floor right from under Todd. Figures that he would think it was just a hidden hatch or something, although why he’d think I have one in my bedroom floor is beyond me. And Joel, I should have just gone to him. I should have gotten his help, because now this looks like I’ve gone behind his back.
    Joel’s nostrils flare like fish gills, and I follow him into the dining room. He clicks on the light and pushes aside a stack of depositions on the table beside the pile with the newspaper article on top. He must be in the middle of a big case.
    I wonder if Joel knows more than he lets on, if Dad told him more than he told me. Or maybe Joel is just as in the dark about things as I am. I rub my hand on my pants, feeling the sticky residue of blood. Gick. I have no idea where it came from, but I’m not sure I want to know.
    He doesn’t say a word. Just glares at me. I’m not about to wait for the lecture.
    “Why don’t we ever go in the basement?” I ask.
    “So you
were
down there.”
    He only saw us come up out of it. “Dad took me down once, but he had to like,
lead
me. And then when I was down there just now—”
    Joel exhales loudly through his nose and tilts his head back. “You know better than that. Dammit, Piper. Dad had strict rules.” He holds up his fingers and tacks them off with his other hand one at a time. “No going in the basement. No opening the door behind his desk.”
    “Yeah, but Dad was just anal. He didn’t really care about us. And Todd—well, Todd…” I know Joel will believe me. I still have a hard time forming the words. “The house like, made a hole, and—”
    “I don’t care if he’s dead now, Piper. You stick to those rules, or so help me…” Joel is panting, and his finger is a sausage in my face. I smack his hand away. I suddenly want to smash my fist in his beak.
    “You think just because you’re my
guardian
now that you can tell me what to do? This is my house too, Joel.
My house.
”
    “No, it isn’t. Dad left it to me. You’re living here because I say you can.”
    I’m stumped.
Really?
“Gee, thanks for clearing that up. I feel so much better now.”
    I’m tempted to sweep every single stack of paper off the table, but I contain my rage. I kick my chair back, and it clatters to the floor as I stomp off and climb the stairs to my room.
    “You’re fifteen years old, Piper!” Joel yells in my wake. “You do as I say!”
    “Shove off!”
    I stew in my room, hearing Joel’s orders ricochet in my brain. He has no right to be so demanding. So self-righteous. So
dad
-like. My feet cross over the chunk of floor that disappeared earlier. The books