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She shook her head. “First off, score one for computers over books.”

“How so?”

“Debbie found so many little things, she missed one of the big ones. I found Whipple Phillips this morning. He’s on Wikipedia.”

Everything shook. It took Nate a moment to realize he’d come to a dead stop, one foot on the stairs, one on the first landing. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head.

He raised himself up to the landing. “So what’s it say?”

“Pretty much just what Debbie had. He was a businessman from New England with investments in Idaho. Spent a lot of his later years taking care of his daughters and grandson. Died in 1904.”

“He had a family? Are they still around?”

She shook her head again. “All gone. But you’ve heard of his grandson.”

“Stop being melodramatic.”

“H. P. Lovecraft,” said Veek.

Nate’s mental gears spun for a moment. The fragile framework came close to being thrashed. “Wasn’t he...he’s a horror writer, right?”

“The original horror writer, if you ask some folks,” Veek said. “When H. P. was a little kid, according to several accounts, Grandpa Whippy told him all these weird stories about other worlds and monsters and stuff. When he got older, Lovecraft said those talks inspired a lot of his stories about Cthulhu and the Elder Gods and all that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“It’s on Wikipedia, so it must be true.”

“Cthulhu’s some kind of evil god, right? The one with

tentacles

the octopus head?”

“Technically, I think he’s an immortal alien,” said Veek, “but he’s so powerful he’s a god for all intents and purposes.”

“I didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

“I’m not. Wikipedia scores again.”

Nate let it sink in. It pushed against the fragile construction and he shoved it away. He couldn’t get distracted. Not even by Veek. “Can we talk about this in a little bit? I need to...I have to get this idea worked out.”

“Go,” she said. She stood up and brushed herself off. “I’ll stop by in a while.”

* * *

Nate stared at the blank wall next to his desk. Half of his apartment was in shadow, despite the midday sun. Two of his windows had plywood over them. He was low on the list to get them fixed.

He’d been staring at the wall for ten minutes. While he did, the framework in his mind grew and became more solid. The threads spun into wires, and the wires twisted into cables. He just needed to winch the cables tight and pull the little ideas into one big one.

Underneath the paint there were words written in blood. Aleksander Koturovic’s blood. He’d been right there, in this apartment, one hundred and thirteen years ago. He ran there to make sure his friends and co-workers knew the Family of the Red Death was coming for them.

Nate played the scene in his mind again.

Koturovic had been stabbed by one of the Family members. Probably a fatal wound back then, and he would’ve been educated enough to know it. He knew he was a dead man walking. He wasn’t going to make it through the night, even if he ended up at a hospital. Definitely not if the Family got him.

Koturovic had run through the night on New Year’s Eve, bleeding the whole time, crazed doomsday cultists chasing him. He’d gotten into the building, run to the farthest apartment from the front door, and scribbled a warning that couldn’t be washed away. And then...

What happened next?

He couldn’t risk being caught. The stakes were too high. No matter how dedicated he was, there was a chance he’d talk if the Family tortured him. Especially as he got weaker from blood loss. He knew Kavach was the world’s only chance. So he wouldn’t let himself be taken prisoner.

Nate turned and examined the room. He tried to picture it when he’d first moved in. When Toni first showed it to him. An empty box. Kitchen, closet, bathroom.

MUST HIDE

The closet wasn’t big enough to hide someone, even if it was filled with clothes. The cabinets in the kitchen were too small. Granted, everyone said people were smaller back then, but Nate couldn’t even picture a child fitting inside those little boxes. The bathroom couldn’t hide a cat, let alone a person.

There was a ledge outside the big windows. It was just wide enough for someone to stand on, but they’d be exposed to anyone down on the street. And Koturovic would’ve been too weak to risk the ledge. If the scientist fell and
didn’t
die, the Family would have him.

There was always the chance he would’ve hidden in another room, or left the building altogether, but it didn’t feel right. He would’ve been weak. He wouldn’t have a lot of time. The Family couldn’t have been far behind him. Too close to risk leaving the room and being caught once the message was written.

Maybe there’d been furniture in the apartment. A bed to crawl under. A steamer trunk or wardrobe to hide in. But the first thing anyone did was look under the bed, and any piece of furniture in plain sight big enough to hide in would’ve been an obvious place to search.

Ahhh,
something in the back of Nate’s head piped up,
but Koturovic
knew
people would be looking for him. He would’ve been ready. He would’ve had a trap door or a bolt hole or...

Something in plain sight.

Nate walked to the closet. A sweep of his arm pushed all the clothes to one side. He dragged his laundry hamper out and kicked aside a few pairs of sneakers.

Down in the corner of the closet sat the panel he’d first seen three months ago. It was a foot tall and maybe eighteen inches across. The width made it look less like a door. He ran his fingers along the paint-covered seams and the rough stretches around it where the framing had been pulled away.

Nate bet whoever tore the framing off never even looked inside the little hatch.

He went back to the kitchen and got a knife. The blade wasn’t as sharp as the razors they’d used to open 14, and Nate found himself stretching and tearing the thick latex a lot more than cutting it. A few times the paint came away in strips and he tossed them over his shoulder into his studio.

It was hot work, made even hotter by the lack of circulation. The ceiling fan’s air patterns didn’t extend into the closet. He grabbed a shirt from the top of his hamper—the shirt he’d worn on his unexpected trip into outer space—and blotted his forehead again and again.

It took Nate half an hour to carve around the rectangle. He pried at the panel with his fingernails but couldn’t get enough leverage. After a few moments he picked up the knife and stabbed it as deep as he could into the gap. He tried to lever the little hatch open.

A tremble worked its way up through the blade. It was the slow, thick sensation of something dragged into motion after ages at rest. He felt threads of latex stretch and pop around the panel.

A line of darkness appeared at the top of the hatch. The blade slid in deeper. Nate grabbed the edge with his free hand and pulled. The smell of a hundred years rushed out to greet him in a dusty cloud.

The panel was loose, but he could feel a tug of resistance. He pulled again and something rustled behind the door. He yanked his fingers away before realizing it was his own motions making the sound. He got a grip on either side and dragged the panel away from the wall. Light spilled into the space.

The backside of the panel had a brittle loop of rope on it. The rope was attached to an elaborate lever-arm held in place with blobs of plaster. They dropped to the floor as he pulled the hatch open. The lever was wrapped in a crumbling sheath that led back to a cobweb-covered pile of dusty sticks, plaster, and fabric. A pair of neon-green roaches darted across the pile and vanished into a patch of shadows.

Nate studied the rats’ nest of odds and ends. It was crammed into the space between the walls. Most of it was wedged under the bathtub’s raised platform, which was recognizable even inside-out and from this odd angle. One length of wood and fabric hung down to balance the assembly against a thick electrical cable.

After a few moments his first impressions broke down into the truth. He saw the loose buttons on the sleeves, each hanging by just one or two threads. The blobs of plaster clinging to the rope became individual finger bones. A pattern emerged from the random shadows and he recognized the eye sockets and nose cavity of the sideways skull. One of the roaches felt Nate’s eyes on it and skittered deeper into the building.

“Aleksander Koturovic,” he murmured.

Oskar expressed disbelief at first, then anger at the opened panel, and shock at the sight of the skeleton. It left him pale and short of breath. Right then, Nate was certain Oskar didn’t know all the secrets of the Kavach Building.

An hour later six people were in Nate’s apartment with a gurney, a very expensive-looking camera, some lights on tripods, and several bright orange tackle boxes. They looked and acted like the medical examiners on countless television shows except for the distinct lack of badges on their shirts or windbreakers. He asked who they were with. One man told him “the morgue,” while the sole woman in the group said “the authorities.”

Nate waited in the doorway with Oskar. Mandy was by her apartment across the hall, looking nervous and fascinated at the same time. Veek, Tim, Xela, and Andrew stood two doors down. They couldn’t see anything, but they watched Nate and Oskar for hints or signs of what was going on.

Inside the apartment the medical examiners removed Koturovic’s body in the largest pieces they could. Each part was placed in a large container that looked like industrial-strength Tupperware. There was no discussion of cutting into the wall. None of the people mentioned the odd cables or devices inside the crawlspace.

One of them, the man who said they were from “the morgue,” asked a few questions. When had Nate found the body? Did he touch it? Did anyone else touch it? Could they contact him later for a full statement? He answered as best he could.

It was quarter after eleven when the last container was loaded onto the gurney. The woman spoke with Oskar, while the same man who’d asked the questions gave Nate a pat on the shoulder and told him not to think about it. The gurney was rolled down the hall, carried down the stairs, and slid into the back of an official-looking blue van. They drove off, and Nate knew he would never see either the people or Koturovic’s body again.

Oskar cleared his throat. “I am so sorry I doubted you,” he said for the fourth or fifth time. “It must haff been a horrible shock to discoffer that.”

“Yeah,” Nate answered for the fourth or fifth time. He looked at Oskar. “Any idea who it is?”

The older man shook his head. “I think you would not be shocked to know many bad things haff happened here offer the years. I can think of two or three people it could be, and I’m sure there are more from before my time.” He shivered. “Again, you haff my apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I am going to haff that hatch sealed and your apartment cleaned. The company will coffer the cost.”

“Thanks.”

When Nate got back upstairs he found everyone standing around his door. He’d left it open when he went down with Oskar and the group of medical examiners. Clive was there, but no Debbie.

Mandy cleared her throat. “Are you okay, Nate?”

“All things considered...yeah, I’m okay.”

“So is it true,” asked Clive, “what Veek and Tim are saying?”

Nate looked at Veek and she nodded. “I guess so,” he said. “It was Aleksander Koturovic.”

“You found him?” said Andrew. His eyes were wide with awe. It made him look like an anime character.

Nate nodded again.

“Did they say what they’re going to do with him?” asked Veek. “With his body?”

“No.” Nate shook his head. “They were polite but they didn’t give out a lot of answers, y’know?”

“I didn’t think they would,” said Tim. “They smelled like contractors.”

Xela raised a blue eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They weren’t with the city or the state,” said Tim. “Not with the feds, either. Not officially, at least.”

“And again,” said Veek, “you know this stuff how?”

He didn’t take the bait. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Look, guys,” said Nate, “I appreciate the concern, but right now I’m beat.”

Mandy’s head turned to look at something in her apartment. “It’s almost midnight,” she said.

“Man, you’re a wuss,” Xela said to Nate.

“What if we all meet up Friday on the roof?” he suggested. “We can watch the sun go down, have a few beers, and talk about...about this and yesterday and all the stuff that’s happened these past couple days.”

Andrew’s head bobbed from one shoulder to the other. “Intoxication goes against the Lord’s wishes,” he said.

“Yes, we know,” said Tim. “I’ll bring a bottled water just for you.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Nate and bowed his head. “You’ll be in my prayers.” He slipped down the hall and vanished into his room.