Free Dark Water by Sharon Sala Page A

this far. There was no harm in looking.
    She circled the house, shivering slightly as the wind hit her square in the face. Between the cold and the rain, she was all but asking to get sick, but coming to Marmet without doing this was impossible. She’d been thinking of her secret place and the little treasure chest she’d left behind ever since she’d boarded the plane in New Orleans. In a few minutes her questions would be answered. Either it was here or it wasn’t. Suddenly anxious to be gone from this place, she hastened her steps.
    The backyard looked smaller than she remembered, but she supposed that was normal, because she was bigger. It happened that way, all things being relative. The back porch was still there, although a bit decrepit. She ran to the east side of the steps and knelt, running her fingers along the old brick foundation. From the bottom step, she counted ten bricks to her right and then two bricks up. Now that she was here, she stopped and rocked back on her heels.
    What am I doing…crawling around in the mud and the rain like a madwoman? Lord…Sarah Jane…don’t you have enough to worry about without searching for a childhood pot of gold?
    She stared at the brick, telling herself that if it was gone, it wouldn’t matter. But she knew, as she pushed her palm against the rough surface of the brick, that it did matter, more than she ever would have believed.
    At first the brick didn’t budge, and it occurred to her that someone could have reset it years ago. She pushed even harder. After this many years, it was bound to be somewhat stuck. Just while she was convincing herself it was hopeless, it suddenly gave.
    She shot forward as her hand slipped through, taking no small amount of hide from the back of her arm when she fell. But the pain was soon forgotten as she began feeling around in the space behind, searching for the little bit of herself she’d left behind.
    A couple of moments passed without any luck, and then suddenly she felt something small and solid and square. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the side of the house, and tried not to cry.
    â€œThank you, Lord,” she said softly, and pulled out a small plastic box, the box that held the treasures of a childhood.
    It seemed to be intact, although it was covered in a thick layer of dirt. She set it down in front of her and took a tissue from her coat pocket, wiping the blood off the back of her arm before swiping it across the box. As she did, a small streak of green was revealed. Her heart skipped a beat, and she began scrubbing at the lid with frantic motions.
    With each swipe, more and more of the true color of the small plastic box began to show through. Finally she tossed the tissues aside and pulled on the lid. Like the bricks behind which it had been hidden, it stuck. But Sarah kept pulling, and suddenly it came off in her hands, revealing an old photo. The image of her father’s face was smiling up at her from the picture. Breath caught in the back of her throat as a quick film of tears blurred her vision. At the same moment, she realized that the contents of the box were going to get wet. In a panic, she slammed the lid back in place and jumped to her feet. Without looking back, she began to run, clutching the box to her breasts as if it were a baby.
    Tony looked up just in time to see her come running from behind the house. The expression on her face was somewhere between shock and panic. Thinking that she was being chased, he jumped out of the car and ran toward her.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œI need to get inside,” she muttered, and bolted past him without further explanation.
    He stood for a moment, half expecting to see someone behind her, but when no one appeared, he backtracked, following her to the car. He slid in behind the wheel, took one look at her wet hair and clothes, and then upped the heat a notch. He could see she was holding something