Krystal’s Point Of View
In the greenhouse the air was stuffy with decay and reminiscence. Dusty bits of the broken glass ceiling allowed slivers of the moon to enter and that was sufficient to make the place seem a haunted house. Rusted beams were covered with vines. There were broken pots on the floor, entwined with roots and bones of long forgotten experiments. orchids, hybrids, secrets were whatever the green house formerly raised. All of them long since dead.
I could feel it nevertheless. The pull. This was a part of my childhood, a secret conversation behind closed doors. The truth had been lying somewhere under the ground.
Colt and I toiled along together, with flashlight in hand. He had fixed his jaw, and his face was hard to read--but his shoulders--I could see that they were s
