Chill Of Fear tbscus-8

by Кей Хупер

  "And your mother?"

  "My mother thinks I walk on water." He grinned. "Being her only offspring, I can do no wrong. But.. .I think it used to spook her when I'd tell her the phone was about to ring, or that my father would be getting an unexpected bonus, stuff like that. We don't really talk about it now."

  "That must be lonely."

  He thought about it. "In some ways, I guess. Or at least it used to be. But finding a home with the SCU, where the paranormal is the rule rather than the exception, changed everything. For most of the team, it's the only time in our lives we haven't felt isolated and alone."

  Diana could well believe that. "Do your parents know you're with the Special Crimes Unit?"

  "Yeah. But they don't know what's really special about the unit."

  "So... they've never really come to terms with what's a very large part of your life."

  "No. And your father may not either, if that's what you're thinking."

  Diana wanted to again express her irritation that he was so adept at picking up on her insecurities, but it seemed a wasted effort. She contented herself with a sigh he'd have no trouble interpreting and looked away from him, allowing her gaze to wander around the veranda.

  To her surprise, several of the tables were now occupied.

  Or... were they?

  The woman in Victorian dress she had seen the day before sat alone at one table, again raising her teacup slightly as her eyes met Diana's. Nearby, a man sat at another table, his rough work clothing and heavily bearded face making him obviously different from the usual hotel guests or staff; he, also, was staring at Diana, and nodded somewhat brusquely when she looked at him.

  Diana tore her gaze away from him only to see two small children sitting at another table. Both little boys, both wearing clothing of a style she vaguely recognized as belonging to another time. Both solemnly returned her stare.

  Dimly aware that Quentin was speaking with their waitress, Diana looked at the table nearest theirs, watching as a tall woman dressed in a very old-fashioned nurse's uniform rose to her feet and took a step toward her.

  "Help us," she said.

  "Help us," the little boys echoed.

  "It's time," the working man grunted.

  "Diana?"

  She started and looked at Quentin. "What?"

  He was frowning, and indicated the table between them, now holding their breakfast.

  "Oh. Right." She sneaked a glance at the nearby tables that had been occupied by otherworldly people, finding them now empty. "Right." Part of her wanted to tell Quentin what she had seen, but another part of her was already doubting, questioning.

  Had she really seen them? Had they really been ghosts? And if she had, if they were, then what did they want of her? How was she supposed to help them? What did they expect her to do?

  "Diana, are you okay?"

  She took a sip of her coffee, trying to think. To decide. "Just... cold. I'm just cold, that's all."

  "Maybe a hot meal will help."

  "Yeah. Yeah, maybe." She'd have to tell him, she knew that. Sooner or later. And maybe he could explain it all rationally, maybe he would offer a logical reason why, after two weeks of relative peace here at The Lodge, she had suddenly begun encountering ghosts.

  Nate was wary enough of rousing media attention that he called in only two of his detectives for backup, explaining to Stephanie that they were the two who were already scheduled, in any case, to help him in interviewing staff members later. So Zeke Pruitt and Kerri Shehan arrived quietly in an unmarked police car and made their way without fanfare down to the stables, as ordered.

  Both, however, registered considerable surprise when they saw the trap door and what lay beneath it.

  "That's a hell of a thing," Pruitt noted, almost admiring, presumably of the effort undoubtedly involved in its construction.

  Shehan, more to the point, said to Nate, "Are we thinking this may help explain some of the mysteries on Agent Hayes's list?"

  "You've been looking into that?" Nate asked, not really surprised. Kerri Shehan was the sharpest detective he had, and he'd more than once been conscious of the guilty knowledge that her abilities were going to waste in his small, usually peaceful town.

  Now he was very glad he hadn't encouraged her to move on to bigger and better things elsewhere. He had a feeling he was going to need all the brainpower he could get.

  Zeke Pruitt, approaching middle age and perfectly happy with the usual mundane work the few Leisure detectives dealt with, groaned before his partner could answer their captain's question. "She was up at the crack and at her desk, poring over stuff in the historical database and linking to newspaper morgues all over the state. Stuff about The Lodge and its history, even local legends. Wouldn't even let me finish my coffee before she was reading to me out loud."

  He eyed the trap door, adding, "Have to admit, though, this does make all the old stories about people going missing around here a bit more interesting."

  "We don't know yet whether there's any connection," Nate told them.

  "How was it even found?" Shehan asked, studying the way the saddle racks had obviously been pulled aside.

  "Luck," Nate replied firmly as Quentin and Diana came into the tack room.

  Neither one of them disputed the statement. Neither did Stephanie, who came in behind them just in time to hear it.

  To Nate, she said, "Okay, Cullen's been informed that this tack room is off-limits until he's told otherwise. He's not happy, but he's got his orders. Any of the horses needed from this barn will be taken to one of the others to be groomed and saddled." She frowned toward the trap door. "Always assuming that thing isn't just an abandoned well or something equally innocuous."

  "Let's see. No need to move all this junk — I mean tack — out of the way if we don't have to." Nate got one of the powerful police flashlights his detectives had brought, and went to shine the light down through the trap door.

  Since there was so little room there, nobody came along to peer over his shoulder, but it was safe to say everyone in the room was holding their breath to hear the verdict.

  He didn't make them wait, straightening after only a moment to say, "It's not a well. Zeke, help me clear a little more space around here, okay?"

  "What did you see?" Quentin asked as the burly detective began helping Nate move the heavy floor-standing saddle racks back away from the trap door.

  "The shaft goes straight down about fifteen or twenty feet, then it looks like it turns almost horizontal. West, toward the mountains."

  "A tunnel?" Stephanie asked in disbelief.

  "Maybe. But something just occurred to me. There was a lot of mining in these mountains in the years before The Lodge was built, at least according to one of my high school history teachers. I wouldn't expect to find much of anything underneath us here in the valley, but we're close enough that this could, originally, have been an air shaft."

  "And nobody noticed it when they built this barn?"

  "You're assuming the trap door was cut in later," Nate said. "And maybe it was. Or maybe it was here all along. Are there any original blueprints for this barn?"

  She grimaced. "God knows. Did they even do blueprints for barns? I mean — weren't they just... raised?"

  Nate lifted an eyebrow at her. "A barn like this one? I'm betting there were blueprints."

  With a sigh, Stephanie said, "Well then, maybe Agent Hayes can find them in the basement."

  He said, "I'll certainly look. And it's Quentin." He waited for her nod, then said to Nate, "I don't know enough about mining — modern or historic — to disagree with you; my father is the engineer in the family. But don't air shafts usually angle upward to the surface from major tunnels?"

  "Yeah, if it's a planned shaft. But miners also made use of natural shafts and crevices, old wells — whatever was handy. At least according to that teacher I mentioned. It was a hobby of his, exploring old mines and caves, and he went on and on about it, boring most of us sensele
ss."

  Stephanie said, "Some of it sunk in, obviously."

  "Yeah. Who knew it might come in handy one day?" Nate eyed the cleared space around the trap door, and added, "Zeke, you and Kerri stay topside for now; make sure nobody else comes in here. Quentin, if you're ready, grab a flashlight."

  "I'm coming too," Diana heard herself say. She kept her hands jammed in the pockets of her jacket, still so chilled that it required an effort not to shiver visibly.

  Nate said, "Shit," but with more resignation than anything else. He looked at Quentin, brows raised.

  Quentin was looking at Diana, but even though she refused to meet his eyes, he nodded to the cop. "I think she needs to go down there. Even more, I think we need her to."

  Stephanie said to Diana, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. I'm curious as hell, but you couldn't get me down there at the point of a gun." She sat down on the long bench with an air of making herself comfortable. "I'll wait here until you guys get back. And I'm sure I don't have to remind any of you that you go down there at your own risk."

  "Noted," Quentin said, accepting another flashlight from Pruitt and preparing to follow Nate down the ladder. He paused only long enough to direct a steady question to Diana. "Are you sure about this?"

  "Yes." She was sure, but that didn't make her any less frightened. And it didn't do a thing to warm her as she put her cold hands on that cold iron ladder and followed the two men down into the cold ground.

  With Angelo at her heels, Madison walked down through the gardens in the general direction of the stables, but turned off that path and made her way to the English Garden.

  "They wouldn't let us in the first barn anyway," she told her little dog. "Becca says it'll be closed to guests all day. Maybe even longer. So you won't have to pretend you're not afraid of the horses."

  Angelo looked up at her intently as they walked, his ears alert and tail waving. But he looked less happy just a minute or two later, when Madison chose the path that would lead to the little gazebo in the distance.

  He whined uneasily.

  "Angelo, you're beginning to get on my nerves," she told him. "Becca said to meet her in the gazebo, so that's where we're going. I told you that."

  The little dog hesitated, actually pausing for a moment as his mistress continued on, then hurried to catch up with her, ears and tail lowered now.

  "I like Becca," she informed him, compelled to defend her preferences. "She's fun. And she knows all about this place. Besides, you know as well as I do that we could get into real trouble if we didn't have Becca to warn us about the bad stuff."

  Angelo stuck close, silent but still obviously anxious.

  Madison turned her attention ahead of them, and quickened her step when she saw Becca waiting for them in the center of the white-painted gazebo.

  "Hey," she called.

  Becca waited until Madison and Angelo joined her before responding. "Hey yourself. Did you have breakfast?"

  "Sure. Pancakes. They were good."

  Becca nodded slowly. She seemed to hesitate, then said, "They've found the door."

  "You said they would."

  "Yeah. The thing is... I maybe took Diana down there too soon."

  CHAPTER 11

  When they reached the bottom of the vertical shaft, they discovered that there was indeed a rough tunnel, angling slightly downward for several yards before leveling off and running more or less straight and level toward the west. There was just barely enough headroom for Quentin, the tallest of the three, to stand upright, but the tunnel was narrow, and they had to go single file. Their flashlights lit the space quite well, but threw odd flickers and shadows as they picked up the irregular surfaces of the passageway.

  The stone floor underfoot was slippery in some places and virtually dry in others, so that they had to be careful walking. The air was damp and just chilly enough to be uncomfortable. It also held a disquieting scent of old earth and stale water, and the mustiness of a place too long closed up and left dark.

  "But the air is reasonably fresh, especially for this far down," Quentin commented, keeping his voice low since the hard surfaces of the passageway, they had quickly discovered, threw sounds back at them.

  "Which means that, somewhere, there's another opening to the surface," Nate said.

  "Bound to be," Quentin agreed. His fingers tightened around Diana's. He had taken her hand as soon as she'd reached the bottom of the ladder, and though he hadn't said anything, he was worried about how cold it was.

  He was worried about her.

  "I'm fine," she murmured just then.

  She was a half step behind him, but he was able to see her face when he looked quickly back over his shoulder. In the backwash of illumination from the flashlights, her face seemed almost ghostly pale.

  And he sensed more than saw that inward-turned attention, the quiet waiting for whatever would come. Consciously or not, she was tuning in to her abilities. Probably, he thought, how she had picked up on his concern for her.

  Probably.

  "Are you sure?" he asked.

  "I'm fine," she repeated, then added, "Listen."

  It took another moment, but then he heard it, the dripping and faint gurgle and splash of water ahead.

  "I think it widens — " Nate began, then broke off as the passageway did indeed widen very abruptly. In fact, it opened into a cavern of some kind.

  There was immediately a feeling of vast space all around them, and when Nate swept his flashlight in an arc, they were able to see that they stood at the mouth of a cavern that had to be sixty or eighty feet across and a good twenty feet high. They could see the narrow mouths of what appeared to be at least three other passageways leading off from this central chamber.

  They could also see the water they'd only heard before, a stream running fairly rapidly in a narrow channel that appeared off to their right, wound among and around several rock formations in the cavern, then vanished somewhere on the other side.

  The cavern had the look of something utterly natural rather than man-made, perhaps formed eons ago when the narrow stream had been a powerful underground river.

  Nate was the first to speak, asking Quentin, "How far do you think we've come from the barn?"

  "Fifty yards, more or less."

  "Just into the mountains. Jesus, I knew Kentucky had Mammoth Cave National Park, with a shitload of natural caverns and underground passageways, but I had no idea we could have something like this in Leisure."

  "You really did pay attention to that teacher," Quentin said absently, shining his own light in a slower probe around the vast cavern.

  "I guess I did. But, Quentin, if this is natural rather than a mine, why keep it quiet? Tourists pay to visit places like this one."

  "Maybe not if the only access is made up of vertical shafts like the one we came down. It's one thing to invite tourists to walk into a nice big cave, but quite another to ask them to use twenty feet of ladder and walk half the length of a football field in a very narrow tunnel to get to that nice big cave. None of us is claustrophobic; I'm betting the passageway we just walked would give most people fits of panic."

  "It's a point," Nate admitted. "Still, you'd think at least the locals would know about this, and I'll swear I never heard a word about it."

  "They didn't want you to hear," Diana murmured.

  Both the men looked at her, with Quentin aiming his flashlight carefully to illuminate her face at least somewhat without blinding her. In the eerie, indirect wash of light, her face was shadowed, the planes and angles of it distinct and yet curiously unfamiliar.

  For just an instant, Quentin thought he was looking at someone else.

  "Diana?"

  "They had to keep it quiet," she said, her voice low, almost dreamy, and distinctly different from her normal tones. "They'd already built The Lodge, put so much money and time into it. They couldn't let it all be for nothing. When the first murders happened, when they realized what lived here, what fed here, the
y had to... protect their investment. And in those days, men took the law into their own hands."

  "What did they do?" Quentin asked quietly.

  "They hunted him down. And when they caught him, they put him here. Shut him underground. Left him to die here. Alone."

  "Him?" Nate's voice was so wary it was just a bit unsteady. "Diana, who're you talking about?"

  Her head tilted slightly, as though she were listening to a soft, distant voice. "He was evil. He walked like a man and talked like a man, but he was something else. Something that fed on terror. Something without a soul."

  Quentin tightened his grip on her hand, fearing that if he let go of her, he'd somehow lose her for good, because he had the apprehensive sense that some part of her was already elsewhere, tied to the here and now only by the flesh-to-flesh connection of their linked hands.

  He wanted to stop this, to pull Diana back from wherever that absent part of her was, but every instinct told him not to. Not yet. This, whatever it was, was important. This was something she had to tell them. Something he had to listen to.

  "It's coming."

  He hadn't listened to Missy.

  He intended to listen to Diana.

  "They thought he was an animal, so they trapped him like one," she murmured. "They had no idea... what he was really capable of. No idea how rage could give him the strength to keep going. They had no idea death wouldn't stop him. They destroyed the flesh, but that only set the evil free."

  Quentin kept his voice low when he asked, "Who are they, Diana?"

  She looked at him, seemed to see him for the first time, even though her eyes held a peculiar flat shine. "They created The Lodge. Just a handful of men, wealthy men. They didn't intend it to be a place of secrets, but that's what it became. After that night, after they buried a killer alive and swore they'd never tell.

  "But people around here... some of them knew. There were stories. There always are. A whisper here, a question there. Then years passed, decades, and it was just legends. Superstitions. And most everybody forgot what had roamed these mountains — and been buried alive inside them."