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He slides his hand down my arm, wrapping his fingers around mine, and leads me through the graves.
At the back of the cemetery near the tree line sits a mausoleum. The marble structure resembles a house with a tall, steepled roof, and two windows flank a door with an image of a cross entangled in iron vines.
Thane approaches the mausoleum, digs his phone out of his pocket, and shines the light on the door. After studying the lock, he withdraws a thin silver spike from the pocket of his jacket and jams it into the keyhole.
Pretty sure this counts as desecration.
“What are you doing?”
“Picking a lock.”
“Is this something you do on a regular basis?”
“Not a regular basis,” he says, none-too-confidently as the lock clicks. After pocketing his phone and the piece of silver, he pulls the door open and we enter the mausoleum.
I expect a room of statues and crypts. Instead, the inside looks like a hotel lobby. There is a red rug that runs the length of the hall and two couches at the center, flanked by a set of side tables with wrought-iron lamps. At the very end, rising like a headstone, is a stained-glass window. Moonlight streams through, casting a kaleidoscope of colors over marble walls, highlighting the names of the dead.
“I thought this was a mausoleum.” My voice sounds ragged in the quiet of the hall.
&nb
sp; “It is.”
“Why does it look so...relaxing?”
Thane gives me a look I can’t quite place until he speaks—it’s understanding, born from experience.
“It’s hard to let go. Having a place to come and visit makes things…easier over time.”
Thane isn’t looking at me as he speaks, he’s staring at the walls of names, but I’m reminded his coldness was built from grief.
“Come on.”
We continue through the mausoleum, passing several more private corridors. The sense of loss here weighs on my shoulders, made heavier by the light, which only seems to illuminate us from the waist down. I find myself clutching Poppa’s coin through my shirt.
Finally, we come to the back of the mausoleum where the hall splits into a T, and both sides plunge into darkness. Thane takes a turn to the right, but I pause, falling back as the air from the void caresses my skin. Thane must sense my hesitation, because he turns, reaching out to clasp my hand. His fingers are just as cold as the air. He says nothing as he digs his phone out again, using the light to descend.
The steps spiral and the walls around us narrow, as if they’re closing in, making my chest feel tight and my breath shallow. Thankfully, the descent to even ground is quick, but the darkness continues, thick and heavy, pressing against my eyes. Thane pulls me forward without pause. Now and then, the light from Thane’s phone illuminates smooth concrete walls.
“Are we...underground?” I ask.
“Yes. This is a tunnel—one of many. There is a network of them under Rayon.”
I pause a moment and then ask, “How did you know about them?”
“Like everyone else…I inherited the information.”
“Well, where did they come from? What are they for?”
“I guess they were built when the town was built,” he says. “There are a lot of theories. The most popular is that they were used as a way for important men to sneak back and forth between the local bar and brothel, but more than likely they were used to smuggle alcohol during prohibition.”
We continue on. At first, I can tell when the tunnel curves and when we change direction, but over time, in the silence and the darkness, I lose my way. Relief washes over me when I finally spot a light at the end of tunnel—literally. It provides no illumination, and is more like a beacon, signaling refuge in a storm.
As we near the light, I realize it’s an elevator. Thane clicks the button and the doors open with a ding. Inside there are a few options for floors, ranging from a negative one to five. Thane chooses negative one as our destination.
“What’s on the other floors?”
“People you never want to know.”
