Found by Harlan Coben Read Free Book Online Page B

reality behind Bat Lady was even scarier.
    The decrepit house that had stood for more than a century was barely more than ashes now. It had been burned down last week. I had been in the house at the time. I had barely escaped with my life. I still didn’t know why that man had tried to burn me alive. I had only met him once before.
    He was the paramedic who told me that my dad was dead.
    I stopped in front of the remains of the house. There was yellow tape surrounding it. I wondered whether that meant that this was a crime scene, if the authorities had figured out that this had been a case of arson, not merely fire.
    I flashed back to the day it all started, just a few weeks ago. I had been walking to my new high school, minding my own business, strolling right past this very spot when the front door of the scary old house creaked open.
    The Bat Lady had called out to me. “Mickey?”
    I had never seen her before. I had no idea how she knew my name.
    She pointed a bony finger at me and said the words that changed my life: “Your father isn’t dead. He’s very much alive.”
    And then she vanished back inside.
    I had thought that his casket would hold the answer. Instead it just led to more questions.
    I stared at the remains of the house. Signs reading CONDEMNED and PRIVATE PRO PERTY—NO TRESPASSING were everywhere.
    So now what?
    There were secret tunnels under the house. I wondered whether the fire had affected them. I doubted it. I tried to remember the last time—well, the only time—I had been in them. I knew that the entrance was by the garage, deep in the woods. I knew that they led to the house. I knew that there were other paths underground, a whole maze of them maybe.
    Tunnels that had been closed off to me.
    Was that all gone now? Or would there be clues down there?
    I thought about working my way into the garage and searching for the tunnels, but, no, I couldn’t do that right now. For one thing, there were the various KEEP OUT –type signs. But more than that, there were neighbors out and about. A man mowed his lawn. A woman walked her dog. Two girls were drawing on a driveway with chalk. I debated circling around back, trying to find another way into those woods behind Bat Lady’s property, when I heard a sweet sound that always got my attention.
    The tunnels would have to wait until the street was quiet.
    Besides, someone was dribbling a basketball.
    The sound called out to me. It worked like a mating call or something. I was drawn to it. The sound was soothing, engaging, comforting, inviting. If someone is dribbling a basketball and you want to join him, you are always welcome. It is part of the code. You could shoot around with someone or rebound for them or take winners. You didn’t have to know each other. You didn’t have to be the same age or the same sex or play at the same level. All that vanished when someone was dribbling a basketball.
    As I drew closer, I could tell from the sound that it was someone practicing alone. Two dribbles. Shot. Two dribbles. Shot. By the speed of it, I’d say that the person was practicing low post moves. The sounds were too close together for outside shots. If you play the game, you’ll know what I mean.
    When I turned the corner, I saw my team co-captain Brandon Foley taking hook shots in the key. I stopped and watched for a few seconds. He took three from the left, then three from the right, then back to the left. He made nearly every one. His face was coated in sweat. He was concentrating, focused, completely lost in the simple bliss of this drill, but there was something more here, something deeper and not so joyful.
    “Hey,” I called out.
    Brandon stopped and turned toward me. Now I could see that it wasn’t sweat coating his face.
    It was tears.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked me.
    “I was just walking by when I heard the dribbling,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said after practice. I appreciate you reaching out like