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“Maybe. But he’s got to get rid of the bodies, not just hide them. Otherwise, our decaying corpses would stink up the place.”
Miley walked over to one of the rows of bottles, feeling her way around each bottle and shelf. Nothing. Methodically she began to search each row of bottles.
“What are we looking for?” Damon asked.
“More wires to be careful of. I’m also looking for some kind of lever that opens some kind of secret door that will get us out of here. Acosta has got to have a way in other than those two doors. He isn’t going to want to give up his wine, and he’s going to want to gloat and watch us suffer.”
“And Frannie called me a sadist.”
Miley whirled around. “There’s nothing at all sadistic about you. You’re one of the kindest, most service-oriented Doms I know. Don’t get me wrong, if being a sadist turns someone on, by all means they should find that corresponding masochist and go for it. But you’re no sadist. Franco Acosta, on the other hand, is riddled with sadis…” Miley turned around staring at the riddling rack just left of the center of the room.
“What is it sweetheart?”
“A riddling rack. Why would he have one of those in the middle of the room and only one? Maybe it leads to a different way out.”
Miley approached the rack, walking around it and studying it to ensure it wasn’t booby trapped. She began removing and replacing the wine bottles in the rack. There were thousands of combinations, but they seemed to have nothing but time on their hands. Nothing worked. Finally, she realized that three of the bottles had an ‘X’ on the bottom of the bottle. Miley lined them up with the oldest wine at the bottom of the right-hand side, another bottle with an ‘X’ on the middle spot and the final and youngest wine with an ‘X’ on its bottom in the top left-hand square.
Slowly and with what seemed to be great consternation and reluctance, there was a great creaking noise as the floor beneath their feet shook, a trap door opened and the floor fell away into a large, spiral staircase leading down into a secret basement.
“Did you know this was here?” she asked.
“Not a clue, but it stands to reason that this is how Frannie managed to get to her vehicle without being seen.”
When the stairs quit creaking and the floor stopped shaking, Miley and Damon began to descend into the subterranean level.
CHAPTER18
DAMON
The stairs leading down were strange and like something out of an 80’s horror flick. They appeared to be made of stone and felt solid under their feet, but enormous stone stairways didn’t just move and go from being flat to a winding staircase. They added to the creepy vibe by holding hands as they descended. Damon was pretty damn sure Miley had never held hands with anyone going into an unnerving situation.
“Why is it I keep expecting to hear some cheesy music and have someone in some kind of mask come rushing out with a butcher knife held over their head?” she asked.
“Too many slasher flicks?”
She laughed but didn’t release his hand. He loved that even in tense and potentially dangerous situations, Miley never failed to find humor. The stone staircase seemed to go on forever. It twisted in a downward spiral, which kept them both a little off balance. Finally at the bottom of the stairs, they came to a room that was devoid of any light, save what little had followed them down the winding stairs. There was nothing in the room. Nothing.
The room itself was round and the walls, floor, and ceiling—as far as they could tell—were made of smoothly-honed stones that fit together seamlessly. You could tell they were individual pieces, but the surface was smooth and polished, although the floor did not feel slick.
“What do you suppose this is?” she asked.
Damon pulled her close and kissed the side of her head. “Good girl. I’m pretty sure your normal reaction would have been, ‘what the fuck?’”
Miley grinned up at him. “Pretty much. But still. This room is weird.”
“Everything about it is a bit unnerving, from the way the staircase just drops out of what felt like a very solid floor, to no light and as yet, no easily discernible purpose for the room.”
“I think I might be glad there’s no light,” she said scanning the room, trying to pierce the darkness.
“Why do you say that?”
“I get the feeling that part of what adds to the unsettling feeling might be revealed by light—blood, skeletons, torture devices. Except for the sheer size of it, it feels very much like an oubliette.”
“Those holes in the ground where feudal lords threw people to die?”
She nodded. “How awful would that have been to die like that—alone and listening to life going on around you. I used to have nightmares about being bricked up inside a castle wall. I never could make myself walk on top of Hoover Dam.”
“They say that’s just an urban legend.”
