Chapter 8
The basement was tucked behind the easternmost building.
To get there, Oliver had to go down a rusty iron gate and twelve steep steps, no handrails, nothing to hold onto.
He nearly slipped as he went down. The steps were slick with a thin layer of water, and the pipes had been leaking for years.
The door wasn't locked. The lock had been busted forever, with a wad of newspaper jammed in the keyhole.
He pushed the door open.
The place was barely 200 square feet with no windows.
A fluorescent light was burned out in the middle of the ceiling. Oliver turned on his phone flashlight.
There was a single bed with a thin mattress, the blanket folded up tight.
A folding table sat nearby, with a spotless plastic cup on top.
Next to it were three empty pill bottles, all labeled with heart medication.
There was a small fridge, unplugged. When he opened it, there was nothing inside.
In the corner, there was a woven bag filled with a few neatly folded clothes.
Oliver crouched down and rummaged through them. They were all old, faded from repeated washing, but folded with care.
There were a few things in the folding table's drawer. Oliver pulled it open and took a look.
There was a notebook. Its cover was all worn out.
He flipped it open. Inside, the handwriting was tidy and careful, like someone really took their time with every word.
The first page had a date. It was from three years ago.
It read, "I moved in today. The place is a bit damp, but it's better than nothing. Got some dehumidifier and put it next to my pillow."
Oliver flipped through the pages.
Most of them were just records of daily expenses, such as buying something one day and spending some money.
"I got Ethan a pair of shoes on sale for fifteen dollars."
"My piles were running out. Since next month's living expenses haven't arrived yet, I'd have to take half doses for now."
About halfway through, the entries started to change.
It read, "I called Derek today. He didn't pick up.
"Third time. He still didn't pick up.
"I ran out of medicine. I called the community hospital. They said I need to pay before I can even get an appointment. I didn't have money.
"My chest pain was really bad. I felt better after a day's rest."
Oliver kept flipping through the notebook.
On the third-to-last page, it read, "Ethan came to see me. He brought me some bread. I didn't tell him I was sick.
"He can't see, but he's smart. If he touches my face, he'll know. I can't let him figure it out.
"As long as I smiled and talked to him, he believed me."
On the second-to-last page, it read, "I called Derek for the twenty-third time today. Still no answer.
"I called Vivian instead. She told me not to call her again, and Derek didn't want to hear from me."
On the last page, there was just one line.
It read, "Still eleven thousand dollars short for Ethan's cornea surgery."
Oliver closed the notebook.
He crouched in that damp basement, surrounded by moldy walls and a floor slick with water seeping through. The air was heavy with the stench of mildew and old clothes.
I had lived here for three years.
Barely a small room, no windows, no heat, no hot water.
Meantime, Derek's company raked in billions every year.
Oliver stood up. Under the table, he spotted a small metal box with a tiny lock. The lock wasn't big, but he didn't have a key, and he didn't try to force it open.
He snapped a photo of the notebook and kept the spot where the metal box was in mind.
As he was leaving the basement, he ran into a neighbor.
It was an old lady in her sixties, carrying a bag of trash. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Oliver.
She asked, "Who are you looking for?"
"Luna. The one who lives in the basement," Oliver replied.
The old lady set down her trash bag and let out a sigh.
She said, "She died. They carried her out a few days ago. Ethan came by. He was so heartbroken he couldn't even cry. I had to call the funeral home for him."
Oliver asked, "Did you see her in her last few days?"
The old lady thought for a moment and replied, "The last time I saw her was about a week ago.
"She was taking out the trash, but she could barely make it up the stairs, had to stop every few steps to catch her breath. Her face was ghostly pale, honestly, it scared me.
"I told her she should really see a doctor, but she waved it off and said she was just tired."
Oliver asked, "Did she ever mention anyone to you?"
"Not really. But there was this one time, I saw her calling someone, over and over, but nobody answered.
"When she finally hung up, she stood there, leaning against the wall for a while.
"Then she said to me, if anyone comes looking for her, tell them she had moved out."
Oliver asked, "Who was it?"
The old lady shook her head and replied, "I don't know. She never told me. But when she said that, her tone was off.
"It didn't sound like she was scared he'd show up, more like she was afraid he never would."
Oliver kept her words in mind as he got into his car.
He sat in the driver's seat, but didn't start the engine right away.