Vigil (30 page)

“Put that down,” said Nolan, his voice rising.

I turned to face him. He was striding across the room.

“Why would Vigil need all these clubs?”

“They aren’t just clubs,” he said to me as if I were very stupid. “They have other capabilities as well. They’re state of the art, I assure you, built especially for Master Callum.”

I tapped it into my palm. “Feels like a regular club to me.”

“You’ll need to put that down,” said Nolan, “Put it down and leave this place immediately. I can’t allow you to be here. I simply can’t.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” I said. “I’m just looking around.”

“You’ll break things. And Master Callum is a very private person. He wouldn’t want you snooping around.”

“Actually,” I said, “he’s opened up to me quite a bit.”

“Yes, I realize that you’ve somehow manipulated the poor boy into a relationship with you. But I don’t approve, I want you to know. I know exactly what kind of woman you are.”

That kind of hurt my feelings. “What kind of woman am I?”

“Well, Master Callum does seem to lack taste in that department, always hiring tarted-up hussies to accompany him wherever he goes. And then I read in the newspaper that you’re just another of the same kind. Only worse, because you’re a reporter. You’re using him, don’t think I can’t see that. Don’t think I can’t see that you mean to exploit him.”

That
was what Nolan thought about me? I tightened my grip on the club. “You don’t know anything about me. I would never hurt him.”

“So, what are you doing in here, in his secret room, if you aren’t digging up things that you can publish?”

“I’m looking for weapons,” I said. “To go after The Phantom. The man who killed my best friend. The whole reason I came back to Aurora in the first place.”

“I can’t let you stay in here,” said Nolan. “And I certainly won’t let you take anything away from this room.”

“How do you propose to stop me?”

He reached for me, his hand closing tightly around my arm. He had quite a grip for an old guy.

“Let go of me,” I said.

He tugged at me. “Come with me
now
, Ms. Kane.”

“Let
go
.”

His fingers bit painfully into my skin.

I hit him over the head with the club.

I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing, not exactly. I just knew that I wanted him off of me, and I was holding a weapon in my hands. It was instinctual.

But I must have hit him pretty hard, because there was a loud cracking noise.

And he fell down, down in a heap on the floor. Unconscious.

Oops.

CHAPTER TWENT-TWO

I had the club and a knife stuck inside my pants when I walked into the foyer of Barclay, Barclay, and Quinn. I’d discovered the club also was a flashlight. It might have done other things too, but I couldn’t figure them out. There was a part on it that twisted, but I didn’t know why, and no matter how much I played with it, I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t think I was really going to need weapons.

According to the woman at the desk, Barclay didn’t go into his lair until near sunset every night.

It was noon.

I’d called to check in at the paper. I told Lauren I was on a hot Vigil story, and I’d give her details when I could. I had the afternoon clear to explore. I could find all the evidence I needed and be gone before Barclay even showed up.

But I had the weapons just to be on the safe side.

Loretta was at the desk when I came in. She smiled brightly. “Hi there, Ms. Kane.”

“Oh, hi there, Loretta,” I said.

“You here to talk to me some more about Maria?”

“No, no,” I said. “You gave me everything I needed. I’m just doing some follow-up. I want to look around the building.”

She furrowed her brow. “Look around the building?”

I nodded, trying to think of a good reason for it. “Yeah, I need to have a good idea of where Maria worked before I can, you know, write about her. It helps to, uh, ground me.”

She still looked skeptical.

“I promise not to disturb anyone,” I said, heading for the stairs. “I’ll be practically invisible. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Well, okay, then,” she said doubtfully.

“Great.” I turned around.

“You sure you don’t want to take the elevator?”

“No, no. Good for you, walking up steps.” I smiled over my shoulder.

“Good luck,” she called.

And then I was through the door, in the stairwell.

The stairs stretched up above me, zigzagging back and forth up the narrow stairwell, so high that I couldn’t make out the top.

And they also continued below, delving down under the building.

I knew that the lair had to be in the basement, underground, so I began to walk down the steps.

Even Vigil had chosen someplace underground, off the subway tunnels. He and The Phantom shared their origin. They both had watched the videos of their mother in
The Phantom of the Opera
. She’d been Christine, and a masked man had dragged her down under the opera, underground…

I continued my descent.

After I got down one level, the air grew more musty, and the walls—which had been painted a bland beige color—were now only bare concrete. It was a little cooler here too.

I drew in a deep breath, fighting a brief feeling of being closed in. I wasn’t claustrophobic or anything, but the thought of being crushed underneath the tall building overhead was overwhelming for a moment.

I shook myself, clearing my head, and continued down.

I rounded a corner and realized I’d just come to the last set of stairs. I went down them.

There was a door at the end. Stainless steel. No window.

I grasped the handle and pulled it open.

It opened onto a dark parking garage. The overhead lights were yellow and dim. One of them was flickering, making a slight buzzing noise.

I went through the door.

A parking garage, huh? I hadn’t even known there was one down here.

I walked down the center aisle between the rows of cars. Their blank headlights seemed to stare at me, like eyes.

I shook myself.
Pull yourself together, Cecily.
I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. Something about being down here was getting to me a little.

I grasped the club for reassurance, peering between the cars at the wall behind them.

I was looking for a secret door of some kind, some way into The Phantom’s lair.

But I didn’t see anything except concrete walls with big yellow lot numbers painted on them, marking each of the spots that the cars parked in.

I walked up and down a few more times, walking all the way to the place where the floor started to slant upwards so that the cars could drive to the next level.

Nothing.

Was I wrong? Was it up a level?

And then I saw it.

It was in the corner, a hidden door. It had been painted to look like the concrete blocks that surrounded it. As long as it remained half-lit, and the angle was right, it was impossible to see. Whoever had painted it had also painted in shadowing, making it look 3-D. It fit seamlessly into the rest of the wall, completely camouflaged. However, now that I could see it, it was obvious to me. I couldn’t
not
see it. Not anymore.

I made my way over to the hidden door, finding its cleverly disguised door knob, which had been painted in such a way so as to hide its existence. I opened it.

The door opened into pitch blackness.

I stepped inside, trying to keep the door open behind me, in order to let in some of the scant light from the parking garage.

But it was too heavy, and it slammed shut behind me, plunging me into thick darkness.

Complete darkness. I couldn’t see my own body—my limbs or my torso.

It was warmer here, and the musty smell was worse—almost too much. I felt as if I’d been swallowed into the city’s stomach.

I scrabbled in the darkness, feeling for the doorknob. I needed to open the door again. I was too closed in.

But when I tried it, the door knob wouldn’t turn in my hands.

Locked.

It had locked after me, and I was shut up in this darkness.

Panic shot through me, hot and bright. My breath quickened. Sweat broke out on my brow.

I was trapped down here. Alone. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t get back the way I’d come.

I covered my face with my hands, feeling hysterical tears bubbling up in my chest.

“Get it together, Kane,” I said aloud in my best no-nonsense gym-teacher voice.

The door was locked. Okay. Fine. I’d have to find another way out. There was one. I was sure of it. Barclay came in this way, but he came out as The Phantom, and he sure as hell didn’t go back through the lobby of the law firm.

I took a deep breath. I was going to be okay.

And then I remembered that the club I’d brought with me was also a flashlight.

I switched it on.

A circle of blue light appeared ahead of me. I shined the light around, taking in my surroundings.

I was in a narrow hallway with a low ceiling. It was made of smooth stones, haphazardly fitted together so that there were no chinks between them.

This must be old, some old underground passage from hundreds of years ago. The city of Aurora had been settled since the early 1700s. This could be that ancient.

I pushed forward, moving deeper into the darkness.

The ground under my feet was earthen. I saw a few insects crawling over it. Big insects. Blind and scuttling.

I shuddered involuntarily.

I forced myself to keep my breathing steady. I was not afraid of bugs. I was bigger than bugs. They were gross and creepy-crawly, but I could handle it.

I kept walking.

The passageway went on for some time. I pushed through its musty warmth.

Something was crawling on my back.

Instinctively, I reached back to brush it away.

Oh. My hair. My own hair.

What the hell was up with me?

I pushed on.

No, there was still something crawling on me.

I twisted to look.

There was nothing there.

I let out a whimper. I hated this.

Every few seconds, the sensation persisted. I felt something crawling on me, and I had to try to brush it off.

There were never any bugs on me.

I was beginning to wonder if it had been a good idea for me to come down here by myself. Here I was going into The Phantom’s lair. He was a serial killer. And I was freaked out by the dark. By bugs. I was having a hard time breathing, and I was jumping at things that I imagined.

I was losing it.

But I couldn’t go back.

The door was locked.

I had to keep going, bad idea or not.

I picked up the pace. I didn’t want to be in this damned passageway anymore. I felt like it was growing narrower on me, like the walls were closing in.

I imagined the walls coming for me—pressing against my skin, the stones vaguely slimy and cool.

I would push at them. I would struggle.

But they would be too strong.

They would squeeze me and squeeze me.

I’d scream. I’d rake my nails against the hard stone.

But they’d bear down on me, inexorable. Crushing.

I wouldn’t be able to breathe.

My lungs would be pressed together.

My bones would snap—

Fuck.

I sucked in air through my nose.

The air was musty and dead.

I could swear I heard the goddamned bugs crawling everywhere. They were coming up my legs.

I started to run.

My breath was loud and labored, echoing through the corridor.

The light of my flashlight bobbed up and down, bouncing crazily over the smooth, stone walls.

I tore down the hallway, panic tearing at my chest, tears sliding down my cheeks.

I would have yelled, but I didn’t have the breath for it. I was pushing myself to run faster and faster. I needed to get out of that fucking hallway. I needed to get free.

My lungs were filling up with the fetid air, and I felt like I was drowning.

And then—

I tumbled into a room.

There was a step down, and I stumbled, barely catching myself, barely remaining on my feet.

I knew that something had changed, I could feel that the air was cooler, that the walls were farther away.

I shined my flashlight around, and then I spied something out of place.

A light switch.

Down here?

I didn’t care right then. It was civilization. It was something from the world I knew down in this dank, closed-in world, and I ran for it, flicking it on.

The room was bathed in light.

I’d found it. The Phantom’s lair. Relief mixed with triumph surged through me.

I’d made it through the hellish hallway of bugs, and I’d gotten to the goal. I was like a Greek hero emerging from the underworld.

It was okay now. There was light. There was space. I was going to make it.

I drew in several quaking breaths, ashamed of the half-sobs that punctuated each of them. I’d really let everything get to me way too much. And I wasn’t that kind of girl. I didn’t get freaked out at that kind of stuff.

I was here to do a job. I needed to be calm.

“I’m Cecily Kane,” I said out loud, my voice echoing through the chamber. “I’m a reporter. I’m strong. This doesn’t freak me out.”

My next few breaths were more steady.

I looked around the room.

It was carved out of stone, an underground cave. The ceiling was smooth above me, hollowed out long, long ago. It was high, maybe ten feet or so. Someone had gone to the trouble of putting in recessed lights all over it.

In the center of the room, there was a table, bolted to the ground. The lights seemed to focus on it.

I went closer to examine it.

There were leather straps lying on its surface, the kinds that could bolt down a person’s arms, legs, and neck.

This was where he brought the girls, I realized. This was where he killed them.

Looking closer, I realized the table was awash in reddish brown stains, and the floor underneath my feet was spattered in them too.