For some time, they had been the only people either of them had seen. The packed clubs and restaurants, the hectic nightlife, and loud chattering voices, were absent among the deathly silence of crumbling cement, and rusted man-made metal structures.
Buildings in this particular neighborhood had been vacated and boarded up. With unwanted furniture and trash thrown about, the area invited every sort of illicit and devious activity.
The old city park was an overgrown garden full of long grass, nearly shoulder high. Broken benches and overturned birdbaths sat like gravestones upon the discarded heap of earth. Wilted flowerbeds languished upon thirsty soil. Splendid fountains had dried, leaving only stained, cracked, empty basins. Exposed to wind and cold, heat and sun, the park lacked care and routine pruning to sustain a certain level of vibrant, green beauty. Forgotten in the deepest, darkest corner of Paris, the park had become a blemish upon the city.
Once the pride and hope of a past generation, the city park sat withering in decay as an urban misfit of time and a shell of its former glory. The ill-kept garden overlaid its metal-gated confines, spilling over onto the street with dead vines and pointy, yellow grass spikes. Shaded by small trees, shrubs, and vines, even in death, life sprouted, as wild new growth wrapped around the rusted iron gates, while reclaiming the desolate park. Branches abounded like sharp daggers. Twigs and brambles littered the ground, snapping as Emma and Killian hiked without a word through the tall reeds. The soft lawn had become parched grassy stalks that crunched with each step. Drifting winds curved waves of tall grass up under itself, making a sinister rustling crackle, like lungs struggling to breathe one last breath.
With a secret fear, Emma followed Killian through the dark, lifeless garden. She crept along as he bounded forward.
Once near the back of the park, Killian easily lifted a long, flat, frayed piece of plywood board from off what seemed to be an arid wishing well. The well’s top bricks were broken into various chunks and pieces, and sloppy orange paint sprayed the words ‘Keep Out’ written in runny lines along the plywood board.
Killian ignored the words and uncovered a large, circular pit with a rusted metal ladder.
The ladder descended deep into the ground below them. Killian eagerly signaled for Emma to join him. She was immobile, reluctantly leaning only her neck over, gawking at the deep pit before stepping back and glancing at the dreary and ominous park that surrounded her.
“No!” Emma tightly crossed her arms. “There’s no way I’m going down there.” She shook her head.
“Come on.” Killian held his grin, while enjoying the muddled, decomposing park. “You’ve come all this way to see the most amazing thing, and it’s as close as the bottom of this well.” He reached for her hand.
“Ew, yuck.” Emma did not give her hand, but instead, turned her nose high and away. “Why would I want to climb down there? Besides, my mom warned me about some girl who was found dead in the sewer the other day.”
“Adults lie all the time.” Killian narrowed his eyes and frowned. “That’s just what they do. I’ve heard the same old story to keep me from going down into the catacombs my whole life.” With forceful intent, he locked eyes with her. “I haven’t lied to you, and I won’t let anything bad happen either…I promise.”
Emma begrudgingly sighed. “Why, what’s down there?” She loosened her stance and her arms fell reluctantly to her sides. “Why? What’s the catacombs anyway?” She stretched her neck out over the deep, black pit once more.
“Come.” He waved her near. “It’s better to find out for yourself.”
Emma extended herself forward, with another fleeting glimpse behind at the dreary park. She stepped carefully toward the old brick well. As if he had done this many times before, Killian easily hopped over and down the dark well. He held the rusted metal ladder and flipped on a flashlight for her above. Her thighs leaned against the outer shell of the cold brick, and with a degree of uncertainty, she flattened one hand and tapped her fingers to her chin, removing them and grabbing ahold of Killian’s offered arm.
She straddled the wall for a moment, one leg hung over, as her other hand firmly gripped the rusted ladder rungs, before she slowly lowered herself into the timeworn, dark well.
Emma ran her hand along, touching the chipped plaster between the loose bricks of the large, round well. She cast a fearful glance while descending into the seemingly endless void.
Stacked and compressed by time, many of the bricks were chipped into slivered blocks, the mortar long since weakened under its own weight. The grout, now thinly crushed between slabs, was in a constant state of decline, while the bricks uneasily rested one by one on top of each other, threatening to cave at a moment’s notice.
Killian swung to the side of the rusted metal ladder, and allowed Emma to go down in front of him. He then followed closely behind her. He held the flashlight for Emma, it shined along the wall where the bolted, rusted ladder melded to brick. As they started the climb downward, with a single arm, Killian lugged the hefty piece of frayed plywood over top the well, thus hiding the entrance to the catacombs from the outside world once more.
The air, once pleasant and temperate in the city above, became moist, cool, and stagnant as they climbed lower. As they descended into the pit, Emma’s anxiety quietly rose. Dew coated all surfaces, making the bent, warped, and broken metal rungs like bars of slippery, cold ice.
Emma’s foot skated off the ladder, and in an instant, she screamed out. “Aaah!” She felt the sensation of falling, with an awful plummet into the deep unknown.
“I’ve got you.” Killian, with great speed, reached out for her. With one arm, he grasped her upper limb, pulling her back onto the ladder.
“Oh, my god, I thought I was going to die.” Her heart skipped and beat swiftly. Her respirations increased. She now labored to catch her breath in panic among the smothering, stagnant air.
“I told you, everything will be all right.” He was calm, too calm, given the circumstances. With a serenely mechanical response, he stroked her hair as she huffed rapidly.
“Okay. I’m okay now.” After a few moments had passed, Emma had regained her confidence, and the two continued slowly climbing the rest of the way down the dark well’s black void together.
At the last rung, an immeasurable height of darkness obscured the bottom step from the end of the well. Emma strained her eyes for a landing spot. Killian held the flashlight, aiming it into the pit, but even the light was swallowed by immense darkness, and no view of solid ground did the void give away.
Emma asked Killian for the flashlight. He handed it down from above. The flashlight popped out of her hand when she reached up. Feeling her stomach jump, the sensation of another fall seized her body. So Emma gripped the rungs, wrapping her arms around the ladder and pulling her body close, allowing the flashlight to fall from her reach instead.
The flashlight sharply plunged down into the black void, clanking a few times as it hit the bottom of the well before its light darkened altogether.
The flashlight had become part of the void, a slave to gloomy despair, and Emma wanted to leave this place. She now only sought to go up and out of the well altogether.
“That’s just great!” Emma shouted. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”
“Jump,” Killian casually replied.
“Jump!? Are you crazy?”
“Why not?” Killian calmly asked.
“Um hello, the flashlight just broke, what do you think it’s going to do to my bones?” Emma tried pushing Killian’s legs aside. “I’m getting out of here, so move!”
In a blurring instant, Killian swung like an acrobat to the other side of Emma and then plummeted from above her down into the void of the black pit.
“OH, MY GOD!” Emma yelled.
There were only specks of light from holes in the frayed plywood high above from which
to see, but not nearly enough. Emma was not sure of what she had seen, but her eyes bulged after Killian dropped into and vanished at the bottom of the black void. Distressed, she called out, but she heard nothing except the bitter call of her own voice in echo, and then, awful silence.
“Killian!” Emma shouted. “Are you okay? Where are you? Answer me!”
she screamed the last.
Deflated, she rested her head on her wrists, her fingers now aching at the knuckles, and white from tightly gripping the rusted steel rungs.
She sniffled a few times and a tear dropped from her cheek to the bottom of the void. Then survival removed her sadness and fear. Emma regarded the climb back up as a daunting climb to escape what had become Killian’s fate.
Cautiously, she reached one hand above for the next rung up, but suddenly, a light appeared, shining from below in the black pit of the void.
Delighted, her pitch sharpened. “Killian, you’re alive!” She swung her head downward.
“But of course.” He shined the light up at Emma.
“You jerk!” she indignantly said. “Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I needed to find and fix the flashlight first. Now come on.” He motioned the light back and forth from her to the ground. “See, it’s not that high at all, so jump.”
“Jump! We’ve been through this already! I’m NOT jumping!”
“Come on, you have nothing to worry about. Look, I’m fine.” Killian quickly ran the flashlight up and down his own body.
“You were lucky. I’ll probably break my leg or something,” she mocked, while still high on the ladder above.
“You’re overreacting. Just trust me.”
“Just trust me.” She mumbled to herself, “Like I haven’t heard that before.”
Killian pointed the flashlight up at Emma. “I can still hear you, ya know.”
She looked down over her right shoulder and then over her left. She closed her eyes and took several deep, short huffs. “I can’t do it. I’m going home…” Before Emma could finish her next word, the metal rung under her foot broke, and this time she fell backward, descending into the void. “NO!” A jarring, lasting scream bellowed forth. Emma grabbed at the air, up toward the last glimpse of fading light from the top of the well, as her body pitched downward. Gravity tossed her petite frame, twisting it, while she plunged uncontrollably in a reverse spiral, diving headfirst, tumbling her with malice toward the hard ground at great speed.
Emma braced for the impending agony. Her eyes widened. Her mouth gaped. She screamed again. A second lasted forever. Killian swooped in and extended his merciful arms, catching her before even a strand of hair hit the unforgiving ground where he firmly stood.
Stunned, she put her arms around his neck, and held him tightly as she forcefully kissed his beautiful face, each side over and over again. He gently placed her onto her feet. The ground proved soft, with a squishy muckiness rather than the hard rock she expected. Emma slid from side to side on the spongy ground. It was boggy thick, and she was unable to balance her legs.
Emma put her hands around his shoulders to stabilize herself. She merged lips with Killian, crashing supple, pink flesh together in bonded excitement with him. She unglued her lips from his. “Oh, my god, how did you save me?” Emma shook her head in disbelief.
Killian cracked an all-knowing grin. “I opened my arms and there you were.” He took her by the hand. “Come, where we are going is just around the corner.”
Killian shined the flashlight ahead. It dimly parted heavy waves of swimming black, immersive darkness. The light’s beam, strong elsewhere, was overpowered by a vast haze of gloom in the tunnels around them. And of their senses, much valued sight turned helplessly blind upon them, until confusion grew. Even the tiny specks of light from the top of the well had vanished into nothing, and were absorbed by the unending darkness of the void that surrounded them. Yet still, they journeyed deeper into the damp, silent, and glum underground.
Killian led Emma by the hand. A faint light along with some whispered voices emerged from the tunnel up ahead.
“What is this place?” Emma asked.
Killian put his index finger to his lip. “Shh.”
“Well…tell me something,” Emma whispered.
Killian pulled her faster toward the light and sounds up ahead. “These are the catacombs, and here,” they quickly turned a corner into an open room filled with candles, old chairs, and ancient carvings, “is a grotto.”
“What’s a…?” Emma trailed off. Her eyes instantly glanced over at the two strangers already sitting in the uncomfortably cozy room. Two teens handed a paper bag covered bottle back and forth to each other, and kept talking as if Emma and Killian were not there at all.
One of the strangers in the room, a young male, sat sprawled across a torn reclining chair with springs poking up this way and that outside its loose, worn fabric. He spoke English with a thick Parisian accent. “A grotto is just a party room for those belonging to a certain age group…an age group that no longer cares to dress up for the aristocracy of their exclusive clubs.” He pointed at the ceiling. The young reclining man straightened to his feet from his torn chair, saluting Killian’s shirt with the French flag slovenly dyed across his chest. “Vive la France!” He laughed afterward.
“What?” Emma squinted.
The young man now swayed as he stood from his sprawled sitting position and bowed, tipping his red beret while picking at the seams of his baggy trousers. “Where are my manners? I am Maurice.” He then pointed to the young, attractive, pink-haired girl still sitting on the floor next to him. Her head was shaved on one side, but on the other side her hair was long and straight, covering her eyes. “And this is my associate, Sophie.” Maurice dipped an open palm toward Sophie, but she just tightened her mouth with a passing, annoyed glance.
“I’m Emma.” She flashed a short wristed wave. “And this is my…” Emma looked at Killian, not sure what they were to each other. “This is Killian.” She awkwardly grinned.
With a set of hollow eyes, Killian glared at Maurice and Sophie from the entrance of the grotto. His usual charming nature turned unfriendly and withdrawn. He made Maurice fidget restlessly with a stare. Killian crossed his arms and scowled.
Emma put her arm around Killian. He shrugged it off. She looked up and over at the front of his face, but it was vacantly blank.
Sophie had an innocent cuteness about her. She wore thick, black eye shadow from the top of her brows to the top of her cheeks, yet a cunning glimmer of the streets focused pinpoint pupils, with a side of crazy behind her heavily shadowed eyes. Sophie pretended indifference to the new arrivals by tipping a bagged bottle up, and gulping a prolonged slurp, all while glancing a sideways peek of suspicion around the room.
Sophie’s general tone and affect was one of boredom. Full-figured, she was upper endowed. Her ears were pierced up and down both lobes, and adorned full of beaded, glass pellets looped in a row of silver, from the back top of her ears, larger rings higher, descending into six or eight smaller hoops near the bottom of her lower earlobes.
“So, you are both fellow cataphiles like us?” Maurice tensely grinned and twirled his beret like a steering wheel. “No?” he asked.
Sophie answered for them. “No, they are just paupers like us.”
With his chin protruded, Killian said nothing, so Emma answered Maurice. “What’s a cataphile? And for god’s sake, will someone tell me what a grotto is?” Her words vibrated off the jagged, rocky walls.
Sophie took another swill from the bagged bottle, and after, the scrunching paper bag rustled as she clanged the glass inside while scraping its bottom against the ground. She put her index finger to her lips. “Hush, or they’ll hear you,” she said the rest in French, “you stupid American girl.” She hated Emma at first sight.
“Who’ll hear me?” Emma only spoke Englis
h.
Sophie laughed scornfully. “The police.” She wrapped her mouth over the bottle’s stem. “They patrol some of the shallow tunnels trying to catch cataphiles like us.”
Emma shrugged her shoulders. “So.”
“So they’ll throw you in jail if you’re caught down here,” Maurice said.
Sensing Emma’s frustration, Killian answered. “This is a grotto.” He pointed fingers on both hands to each side of the tiny, round room.
The grotto was a room carved in sharply arched folds from stratified rock. The room was filled wall to wall with lit candles. The floor was littered with bizarrely grotesque piles of relics and idols, along with a couple of stained, torn pieces of furniture against each wall.
Emma prattled forth, giggling for no reason as a sweet, relaxing, aromatic scent fanned in among the grotto’s air.
Sophie leaned over and grabbed Maurice by the shirt. She climbed on the chair, and kissed him on the lips, her eyes drifted an inquiring look toward Killian and Emma. Sophie and Maurice shamelessly displayed their passions as if they were the only ones in the grotto.
Killian ushered Emma over toward the dirty, shredded fabric chair across the room from Maurice and Sophie. Killian sat, watching as a voyeur, rubbing his pronounced chin, but he was not deriving enjoyment. He was sizing things up with a curious regard of his own.
Emma, oblivious to his expression, bounced on his lap and began kissing him as briskly as Sophie was Maurice. Emma sat across Killian’s lap, her thighs folded together and eyes closed as he teased her, while rubbing his soft lips across her indulgent creases. Still, Killian angled his head, and inspected Sophie and Maurice who enjoyed the company of observers.
Sophie nagged Maurice with playful banter, so Emma enticed Killian with gentle kisses and low talk of her own. Sophie meshed her fingers inside of Maurice’s. Then, all at once, Killian broke lips, held Emma off by the shoulders, and pointed to an overused, dark blue backpack, which had flopped over on the ground after Maurice happened to kick the bag during his excitement.
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