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We liked to lie to ourselves sometimes and say we’d all come so far. But the proof was in the bodies under the dirt. Men like Walker and his friends proved it was possible to be strong men without being abusive. Power play was fun when it was just that—play. Not sociopathic torture that ended in a body count.
My hands fisted in the dark, and fed up, I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing anymore.
Downstairs, the music hadn’t even started yet. It would be a while before I’d be missed, and Walker hadn’t exactly talked over an extensive plan with me. Just that he was going to talk to his friends and then confront the Elders. Which only meant I needed to act quicker than ever.
We needed cold, hard evidence before they could destroy it all.
I started feeling along the walls in the pitch dark. I hated them for taking my phone most of all at that moment. I remembered the way Walker had taken me the first time we came here, and frankly there weren’t that many choices in the dark, but still— in our rush to get me in here, why couldn’t we have stopped for a flashlight? A candle?
The air was so dry and stale. And it was dark as a tomb. For a terrible moment, I imagined them catching me and closing me up in one of those drawers in the mausoleum. Or worse yet, burying me alive.
My hand jumped to my throat as I crouched down, searching for the rope on the floor. My arm jerked back when my fingers brushed across several cobwebs, heart leaping to my throat. But I forced my hand back down and finally grasped the rope, yanking the small door hatch open. Going down the ladder in the dark was even scarier. But not as terrifying as the thought of being at the mercy of the Elders without proof of their sins.
So down I went, and then down the next hallway, and down the next ladder. Finally, I was at the spot where Walker and I had been turned back before.
I was in the basement. And it wasn’t pitch black down here. A greyish light filled the passageway. At first, I froze. Was someone here? Dammit, was this place always Grand Central Station during parties? What was the point of a secret passageway if everybody knew about it?
But as I continued listening intently… I didn’t hear any noise. I mean, there was the distant noise of muffled voices coming from upstairs, but nothing close. Not the noise of shuffling papers or feet against the oiled wooden floors.
I might actually be alone after all.
Well, no time like the present. I was alone now, but better not to press my luck. I scurried ahead. Here in the basement at the end of the hallway was the only door that looked like a usual door—not like the hidden, slide-back walls upstairs. Light spilled out from underneath it, giving illumination to the whole hallway. It was a relief to be able to see where I was putting my feet, especially since I’d never quite made it this far with Walker when we’d come this way. Even still, it made me nervous someone else might be down here with me.
I gulped outside the door, then leaned forward and pressed my ear against it. It would be just my luck to stumble inside right on top of some evil bastard. But it was absolutely silent apart from the suddenly far-too-loud sound of my own breath.
Before I could rethink it or turn back, I reached down, grabbed the door knob, and shoved the door open.
No one was inside.
I rushed in and shut the door behind me. My heart raced like the entire drum corps had taken up marching around inside my chest. I looked around frantically, trying to take in everything at once.
It was an office. Just as ornate and overstuffed as the rest of the house, except I had the feeling that the antiques here were the kind they’d really yell at you for sitting on at the store. Like, everything was really old and fancy with questionable ethics about how it was made and/or plundered. Huge ivory tusks hung from one wall and there was a zebra couch in another corner. The many-antlered buck head mounted behind the desk in the center of the room just seemed like overkill at that point.
It was a room full of death trophies.
Did they keep the teeth of the women who died on display somewhere, I wondered? Maybe locks of their hair?
Then, just realizing the thought I’d had, I decided to get my ass down to business and not linger in the serial killer’s den longer than I had to.
I hurried forward and tried pulling open the drawers of the desk. But it was locked. Dammit. I tried all four of them just in case, but they were all locked. I reached up in my hair, but I didn’t have any bobby pins in today. Double dammit. Women on TV and in the movies always had a pin in their hair in these moments!
