by Ira Robinson
Crickets and grasshoppers flung themselves ahead of her, scattering in the glow of the flashlight she swung here and there in front of her. After her encounters with the crawling things before, nervousness flared in her gut, but she gritted her teeth and did her best to ignore them. Not far into the orchard, she had to stop and backtrack to avoid a large web, created by some industrious spider, which crossed between two trees. Though she probably broke more than a few with her feet, she did not really want it in her face.
The noise of the night droned on around her, making her already frayed nerves on edge. It was too similar to what she had experienced over the past few days and she glanced about herself and at the path she was laying behind her for any signs she was being followed by the creature from the depths of hell.
There was no indication of anything being there but the normal life of the night. Nothing to show she had to worry. The footprints were hers alone, each fading quickly as the turf rebounded from her steps.
By morning, there might not be any clue she had been there at all.
After a while, she reached the edge of the orchard, where the trees began to lose their spread and grew closer together. The undergrowth, too, became more treacherous. Sam had to slow her pace considerably to keep from being tripped up by the brambles that made their home beneath the boughs.
A burst of sound halted her steps, her right foot skidding against the dampened ground. She winced even as she grabbed at the small tree she was passing by, using it to make sure she did not fall.
Her body tensed as she peered into the darkness, the glow of the flashlight blocked by the heavier growth she passed through.
The sound kept going, something moving ahead of her. It was not loud, and was low to the ground.
The breath she held escaped slowly as she realized it was probably a rabbit scared by her foot falls. As the stir of its rapid run from her settled into silence again, she took her shaking hand from the trunk of the tree.
Sam swallowed as her nerves drifted back into a pace she could deal with, waiting for the trembles to ease. The straps of the pack swung easily off her shoulder and she opened the zipper on top.
She sipped one of the water bottles she brought with her, thinking of how much farther she would have to go before she reached the building. She was not far from the road that led through the orchard, avoiding walking on it directly so she would not run across anyone driving along it. The small break in the trees it made stayed to her left and within sight, but she hoped to remain distant enough from it to afford her some shelter against any eyes that might be around.
The mental map she had of the place was skewed, though, since the first time she came through here was with her car. She was likely halfway there, but isolation and adrenaline kept her off balance.
The pack swung back with a sloshing of the water bottles inside and she put her feet to the task of carrying her through the mess she was in.
The fog she drove through returned, thicker than it had been during the early evening hours.
Sam slowed more as it thickened, the cool touch of the damp air brushing her face, rasping across it with the meager breeze her pace created. The soup became heavier the more she walked until, though the flashlight was in her hands, the furthest she could see before her was only a few paces.
Each time the shade of the next set of trees came into sight, a flare of nervousness coursed through her. Her eyes were wide and her face white with the pressure her heart was taking, as each shadow became a pool the creature in the hat could be hidden within. The life of the night dimmed, as well. In this place of fog and dark, the chorus of their voices and movements were silenced. The only thing to disturb the forest were the crunching and crackling of twigs and detritus across the ground by her falling feet, while modest gasps and moans of effort floated out of her throat.
Small hints of light began ahead of her. Within moments, the glow increased, quickening her steps as the hope of finally reaching the end of her walk took command. Cautious as she wanted to be, Sam could not help moving through the woods faster than she should.
When she got to the last stand of trees, she was shocked at how the fog ended so abruptly. Some pressure, one unfelt and unseen, kept the bank at bay, solidifying it near the edge of the break, leaving the space ahead free of any sign of it. Sam stepped back and forth a few times, her mind confused as to how it could be happening; there was nothing to indicate a difference between the two, but there it was. A tendril of mist reached out to follow her but fell from her without sound.
She shrugged, the pack sliding along her shoulders as she did. It was only one more thing to add to the strangeness of what this place was.
Sam took the next few paces away from the fog and clicked her flashlight off, chiding herself for not thinking to do it before she reached the trees ending. If someone was around and looking her way, they would have readily seen the light in the woods. She kept still for a few minutes, staring at the spot the building occupied, its own small bit of light coming from the windows scattered across its face. Though there were a few other lamps along the parking area, they did not shed much illumination on the exterior, but there were a few cars parked. Their numbers were less than earlier that night, but one, in particular, drew her attention.
Bart's truck remained in the same spot, not far from the front door and steps leading up to it, and the parking lot the building lorded over.
Why was he still there? Moreover, why had he come to begin with? The place was an enigma to her, somewhere she never encountered in her lifetime of living in the small town. As a cop, she had never run across it. Shouldn't she have? Shouldn't she know every nook and cranny of the town she was supposed to protect?
Yet there it stood, the object of her long journey through the blanket of night. Only yards to go now before she could figure out what the hell was going on, not only with her brother but maybe herself.
Perhaps then she could be free.
There was no sign of anyone wandering around outside of the building. Good. She could be reasonably confident no one had seen her light shining from the woods. Still, she remained at the edge of the fog, staring at the dark hulk of the brick and wood structure while she pulled the pack once more from her back and reached in for a drink.
She would let a few minutes pass by while watching, just to be sure.
When Sam finally started moving again, she did it slowly, edging across the distance between the sheltering trees and the front of the building. Her eyes roved everywhere, taking in what she could. The lack of light hampered her, but she did not turn on her flash. No way to tell if who would happen to be looking out of one of the panes of glass or someone walking.
The little bit that came from those windows did not allow much detail to be picked out, but it gave her a target. The sky above lent a better clue to how it looked only when she was within a few yards of it.
The air around the place seemed lifeless to her, even the breeze across her face as she made her way through the woods was gone. Maybe whatever kept the fog back was some kind of bubble, preventing the environment from doing its natural thing.
It helped, though. At least she was not as chilly as she had been while walking in the dampness the mist created on her skin.
Sam crept along the wall, keeping as close to it as she could. Her ears perked for any sounds from inside of the place, but there was none. The stone of the walls might have kept sound from coming through, or the rooms were lit but empty. She could not be sure. It comforted her a little, though. Maybe she would not encounter anyone before she was ready for it.
Now that she was this close, she could see all of the ivy growing everywhere on the building. It crossed the stone and clung to the wood, shielding a lot of the rock from exposure to light from the sun. Even this late in the year, the stuff was still green with life, the tiny roots pressing into the crevices it could find.
Not far from the front door a bit of rock jutted from the rest. Sam saw the same
was there on the other side, as well, but for what purpose? Decoration? Or a part of the building that no longer existed? From the way it was arranged, it could have been an old wall that had been removed at some time in the past.
She ran her palm across it, the warmth of the stone radiating from it into her fingers. It was rough, weathered with age and exposure, and the ivy grew thick.
There were strange fissures on it, which her tips traced. She followed the lines, creating circular shapes, but could not discern any pattern.
Curious, she risked the flashlight. She glanced again to be sure, but there did not seem to be anyone around and no sign in the windows. She pried the vines away from the wall and flicked the switch on the side of the light.
It flared to life, blinding her with its brightness as it reflected off the surface of the stone. Sam blinked, water pressing from behind her lids, but she adjusted quickly, picking out the shape of it all before clicking the light off once more.
It had been an embossed rose, the petals opened fully, etched into the stone, deeply cut, and unmistakable.
She took a step back, her hand unconsciously reaching up to grasp the pendant around her neck. The cool metal drew the warmth from her palm.
The engraving looked so much like the necklace her mother had given her, without the stem and leaves she had seen formed out of the silver so many times before.
She shook her head. It had to be a coincidence.
But if it was, it was a hell of one.
Sam bit her lip, confusion gripping her into a tight clutch.
She turned away from the wall. There would be time enough later to figure things out. For now, she had to learn as much as she could about the place before she left. This might be her only chance.
She approached the front door, but did not go up the small set of stairs that led to it. She did not want to have someone come out. What would she say to them? "Oh, hi, my name is Samantha, and I'm just sneaking around your secret hideout here. Don't mind me."
That would not do.
Instead, she took a minute to notice the door seemed a hard wood that might have been as old as the rest of the building. There was a narrow window in the center of it, but something blocked any light from coming through. It reminded her of a castle, where the doors have peepholes with sliding slats behind them to keep anyone from staring in before it was moved aside.
A large metal knocker was near the side, along with a handle that looked as strong as the rest of the door.
For a moment, she imagined herself knocking and demanding of whoever came to open it that she see her brother, so he could explain exactly what was going on. If he had the right to be there, why couldn't she? She was not only family, she was a cop, and should know what was happening in a secretive place like this.
But the temptation passed quickly and she closed her eyes as the image went away. It was not that she was afraid, but she had no leverage here. There was nothing to her advantage that would force her demands be answered.
She wished she had brought a camera along. She could take photos of the place and of Bar's car, to show proof she had knowledge of him being involved in something that could be shady. She could slam the pictures on his desk and demand answers, once and for all.
But she had none with her, and, if she did, knowing him as she did, he would probably deny it all or brush it off somehow.
She made her way back down the wall toward the corner, intending to cross around the whole of the place. It would not take her long; though imposing and old, it did not look like it took up a lot of space.
Sam's feet halted and remained stock still as she rounded the corner. There, some distance away was another, much larger building near a line of trees.
A small dirt road passed between where she stood at and the other, cutting across the grass behind it. Even with the dimness, lights around the other building showed her it was was at least three times the size of the rose-embossed one.
She moved a pace from the wall and stared dumbly at the structure. It was newer and, instead of stone and wood, seemed to be made of metal. With the low light from the sky above and the few lamps scattered, small gleams reflected from it.
The two vans she had seen earlier that day were sitting in front of the place.
"Just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"
The voice came from behind her, distinctly male and too close.
Before she could whirl, her body seized in the grip of electricity, all thought in her brain scattering in the aftermath of taser fire.
Chapter 20
A low buzz interrupted Sam's world of black, as the ache in her head stirred her into consciousness.
She opened her eyes but closed them instinctively as bright light pierced her orbs. The pain rose and she forced her lids to compress together tighter.
She was on her back with something soft beneath her scalp. She reached her hand to feel it and realized it was a pillow. She then used her palm to cover her eyes and opened them once more.
Then it was easier to handle and it took only a moment before she could stand to let it drop.
She tried to sit up, but her muscles did not respond well to her commands. They oozed thickly, like fighting against water. By the time she was able to moving her legs fully, her body seemed to flow better. Whatever had knocked her out had thankfully done nothing permanent.
The mustiness of the bed matched the stone walls that surrounded her. As her senses returned to coherency, the age of everything became obvious.
Was it the same stone she saw outside of the building? She was not sure, but as she shook her head, trying to slough away the remains of the attack, she began to realize it was. It had the same touch of decline, the rough hewn crevasses along each edge of it all.
Was she in that building now? Likely. Though there were no windows, the coloration of the stone, the way it felt when she ran her palm across it, all matched what she had seen before.
The humming radiated from the single light in the ceiling, a fluorescent bar running atop the center of the room. Her eyes followed the cable that ran between it and the wall, piercing through a tiny hole.
The strand was near the door leading out, but Sam could not tell where that went; it was closed and no windows were embedded in its wood.
She was strong enough to stand and took a deep breath as she winced against an aching in her legs. They trembled when she put her full weight on them, but after a few moments, they settled. She she could take steps.
The fogginess in her brain faded while she exerted herself, pushing away the last vestiges of the fire that ran through her when she was shocked.
As that awareness returned, she grew pissed, and by the time she reached the door, the memory of the voice, deep and male, came back to her. She slammed herself against the door, grasping the handle to fling it open.
It was locked.
She stared at her hand for a moment before lifting it to pound on it, enraged at the indignity of being trapped in a strange room by who knew whom.
"Let me out of here," she screamed, her voice reverberating off of the wooden door. Her fist bounced against it again.
It only took a few times before she got too sore for her to do more, but she did continued making a commotion. She kicked the door, her foot slamming into it over and over. It, too, hurt, but in her rage she could not stop.
The thick thing refused to budge, but she heard, in the echoes of her blows, the hint of cracking.
Finally, she had to give up. It throbbed too much to go on. She limped toward the bed but did not sit. She paced, her breath coming in gasps as the ire burned.
Who had done this to her? Why had they? Most importantly, how could she get out of all this?
Sam stopped her pacing and looked around again, seeking anything she could use to help her escape. But there was nothing more than the bed with its trappings and the light above.
It took her a few moments more to notice the camera next to the bulb, l
ooking down into the room.
She squinted, trying to discern what she could of it, but it was so small she could barely see it against the light. It was no larger than a coin, and huddled so closely to the bar she could not distinguish much beyond the lens.
But it was definitely there, and it was watching her. She was sure of it.
The bed, little more than a cot, was easy enough to move. She scooted it closer to the center of the room and got on top of it. She worked slowly, though, so she did not lose her footing. The last thing she needed was to stumble and thwack the back of her head, still healing from when she fell before.
She was able to come within a few inches of the camera and could now see there was a small power cable spliced away from the larger one leading to the lamp. It was tiny, and could have been used in some spy movie to find out what the secret agent was doing.