The Whittier Trilogy

by Michael W. Layne

  “There was lots of grunting and growling, but I just sat tight, and stared at that hand trying to get hold of me. After maybe another ten minutes, the hand disappeared back into the black, but I still didn’t move. Slept there all night. When the morning came, I stuck my head out, didn’t see anything, and ran back here. That was the first and only time I ever saw the Troll.

  “And I’m telling you that whatever it was, was not human. I’ve seen a lot of messed up people down here and I was even in the Army during the Gulf War, man. I seen some pretty horrible and weird shit over in the desert, but I never seen nothing like that hand and those fingers in my life.”

  “And you think this is the same guy that killed Sarah?” Trent said.

  “Must have been, from what Zana here told me,” Bozo said. “Zana here might do lots of things, but she don’t lie, man.”

  Trent filed away a mental note to ask Zana later about the lots of things to which Bozo was referring.

  As he processed the story the man had just told him, Trent spotted a couple of syringe needles a few feet away from him and noticed a few scarred and dried up veins around the man’s ankles. However nice and helpful Bozo was coming across as, he was also a junkie, and that meant that he couldn’t be trusted. Trent felt a heaviness in his stomach as he hoped that Zana didn’t share Bozo’s addictions.

  Zana saw Trent eying the needles and immediately moved in to touch Trent on his shoulder.

  Before she could say anything, Trent stood up.

  “Thanks for sharing your story, Bozo. I really do appreciate it. And I’m very sorry about your friend. If what both of you say is true, there’s definitely something very strange going on down here. I know you don’t want to do this, but I think you have to get the cops involved. Maybe they can review the data from the cameras that are plastered all over the place down here. Try to get a clear image of this Troll guy. Figure out where he lives.”

  Zana stepped back from Trent a few inches.

  “You’re still not going to help?” she said.

  “I said I’d come down and see your place and meet your friends—hi everyone—but that’s all I signed up for. I don’t carry weapons, I don’t chase killers, and I really prefer to not have them chase me if at all possible.

  “It’s been…interesting…meeting you, Bozo, and seeing you two again,” Trent said, motioning to Zana’s friends from the alley. “But I need to get back up top, grab some lunch, and then catch a nap before I have to get ready for tonight’s show.”

  Trent took Zana’s hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.

  “Seriously, Zana. I am really sorry. But you’re probably dealing with some big drunk guy or maybe a maniac strung out on PCP. I don’t know. If I was trained in something useful, instead of just mentalism and magic, I would really try to help, but trust me, I’m not the right guy for this.”

  With that, Trent leaned over and kissed Zana on the cheek, even though she weakly tried to resist.

  He turned away from her and started walking.

  “Hold on a second,” Zana reluctantly said. “I’ll show you the way out.”

  Trent kept walking, away from the campsite, back the way from which they had just come. His flashlight lit up the octagonal tunnel in large swatches that danced in front of him as he went.

  “You’ll never make it out of here on your own,” Zana said, catching up with him.

  “I’ll be OK,” he said, without pausing. “I memorized the turns when you brought me in.”

  Trent heard Zana’s footsteps stop as she gave up the pursuit.

  He kept walking along through the darkness, the light from his flashlight illuminating myriad piles of trash strewn across the tunnel floors as well as the graffiti artwork splashed across the concrete walls.

  After another ten minutes, Trent felt as if he were being followed again. His first instinct was to call out to see if Zana was behind him trying to make sure he found his way out of the tunnels safely.

  He contemplated doing so, until he caught the scent of rotting fish and stale blood in the air.

  Trent’s pulse quickened. He wasn’t ready to believe that a giant creature called the Troll was tracking him under the streets of Las Vegas, but judging from the echo of heavy footsteps behind him, whoever or whatever was following him was definitely not Zana.

  Chapter 18

  THE STENCH CLUNG to Trent as he moved quickly through the tunnels, retracing the turns that would lead him back to the manhole and the world above.

  Even though there was the hint of fear in his belly, most of Trent felt alive, on-edge, and almost elated to be running along on an adrenaline high.

  He considered turning off his flashlight to make himself harder to follow, but decided not to waste the time it would take for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Instead, he just ran faster, jumping over piles of trash as if engaged in some strange underworld Olympics. Whoever was following him wouldn’t have any problem seeing him, but he would make sure that his pursuer would damn sure have to burn some serious calories if he wanted to catch him.

  As Trent ran with increasing abandon, the thought popped into his head that he should stop and make a stand, an option that would not normally have occurred to him. However, as soon as the notion came up, Trent’s common sense beat it back down, and instead he increased his pace even more.

  Within twenty minutes, he made it back to the metal rungs leading up to the streets of Las Vegas.

  As he leapt up onto the rungs, Trent was hit with conflicting emotions. He was relieved that he was about to reach the surface alive, and he allowed himself a moment to switch off his flashlight and to take a deep breath. But he also realized that he was concerned for Zana’s well being, and he had to actively tamp down the feelings of guilt he was having for leaving her side and for not helping her with her problem.

  He reminded himself that Zana and her friends lived in the tunnels full-time and that they were obviously good at keeping themselves alive down here. He also reminded himself that he had been through enough recently and didn’t need to get involved in another harrowing situation so soon afterwards.

  Besides, Trent was sure they would be OK.

  He was sure Zana would be OK.

  Trent climbed up to the top rung and pushed the manhole cover up as if it were made of plastic. After a quick check to make sure there were no cars coming, he climbed out of the manhole and stretched his arms above his head in the empty alley.

  Stooping over, he slid the manhole cover back into place and decided that he needed to talk to his new friend in Vegas, his fellow psychic, Doreen.

  Doreen would have more information about what was going on in the tunnels. After his visit with her, he’d still have plenty of time for some food and even a nap before his first show that night. Trent wasn’t a young buck anymore, and he needed some rest, especially after his wonderfully exhausting evening with Zana the night before.

  After walking a few blocks, he found Doreen’s shop and walked in to the sound of chimes. There were a few customers milling around the store, and Trent spotted Doreen helping one of them pick out the right crystal for her needs.

  When Doreen spotted Trent, she smiled and held up her index finger, letting him know that she would be with him in a moment.

  Trent nodded to her, then went to the back of the shop and took a seat in the familiar fold-out metal chair.

  In about five minutes, Trent heard the chimes from the shop door, and Doreen joined him in the back of the store.

  “What’s going on with you today, Mr. Walker?” Doreen asked.

  “Good afternoon, Doreen. Know anything about Trolls?” Trent said.

  Doreen pursed her lips and sat down across from him.

  “That’s an interesting way to start a conversation,” she said. “There are a lot of strange and sometimes terrifying things going on here in the streets of this town. But there are even stranger things going on down below. There’s only one Troll I’ve heard about around
here, and that’s where he’s supposed to live. Lots of folks up here just think he’s the homeless people’s version of the bogey man.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t have enough evidence to have a real opinion either way,” she said. “I do know that no one has any idea about anything that’s really going on down there—how many people there are—how many miles of tunnels. Last estimate I heard, there were over a thousand folks living down there and hundreds of miles of tunnels. But the tunnels keep people cool, and nobody bothers them much from what I hear. “

  “Except for the Troll,” Trent said.

  “Right. The Troll. I suppose there really could be a man or something else living in the tunnels called the Troll. Might even be a real person going around killing homeless people. If there was such a thing going on under Vegas, no one up here would be the wiser for it, that’s for sure,” she said.

  Doreen absently picked up a bundle of fresh herbs from the top of her desk and held them to her nose.

  “I was just down there today, at one of the camps,” Trent said. “On my way out, it felt like someone was following me. Could have been anyone just playing around I guess, but it felt…weird, like someone or something was really tracking me.”

  “And you’re wondering if it was this Troll fellow? I can’t answer that, of course. But I can tell you that the people below mind their own business for the most part. Kind of an unwritten rule. So, I doubt one of them was just messing around with you. Just like with most animals; you leave them alone, and they’ll leave you alone,” she said with a smile.

  “Speaking of which,” she continued, “how are you doing? After you left last time, I had this thought about you that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind—something fuzzy about you I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  Trent laughed.

  “You’re starting to sound like a real psychic now, Doreen,” Trent said. “Did you read my aura last time or something?”

  “We both know there’s no such thing as a real psychic,” Doreen said. “Still, there was something about you that first day we met.”

  “And today?”

  “Today it actually seems much clearer. I know it doesn’t make any sense, Mr. Walker, but when I look in your eyes, I see something more than a man. I see something…wilder in there with you. Maybe something angry? I’m not sure, but there’s something definitely going on in there that’s not normal.”

  “Hmm,” Trent said, “I think you need to brush up on your cold reading skills, Doreen. No offense. I’m a little tired and maybe a little cranky, but the only thing you’re probably noticing about me is that I need a good nap. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “I have no doubt about that,” Doreen said with a smile as they both stood up.

  “You take care, Mr. Walker. Remember, most of the folks down below us are just trying to get by. But just like anywhere in this world, there are some bad people down there, too. Just be careful.”

  “I’ll stay safe, don’t worry,” Trent said. “No one’s going to hurt me.”

  “I’m not that worried about your physical self getting hurt, Mr. Walker. I’m more worried about your soul,” she said, placing her hand gently on Trent’s shoulder.

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that,” Trent said. “I don’t even believe in the soul.”

  “I know you don’t,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

  Trent just chuckled and shook his head.

  “Just remember, you know where to find me if you ever need my help,” she said as she walked him to the front door of her shop. “Do me a favor and stop in before you leave town, for my own peace of mind.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Trent said as he walked out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  As he started walking along, he had to admit that Doreen wasn’t completely wrong about him. He wasn’t sure why, but a piece of him was feeling angry about things lately—nothing in particular, but he felt like there was a slowly burning rage in his gut that was not normally present.

  After turning back onto the main strip, he started making his way back to the Lucky Imp. Maybe a good nap really would make him feel better and help him get back on his game.

  As he made his way through the crowds of tourists, Trent allowed himself a slight smile as he dipped back into his memories from the night before and from his morning with Zana.

  If he had a chance, he wouldn’t mind seeing her again, but he assumed that after walking out and refusing to help her for the billionth time, she was probably not that interested in seeing him again.

  He sighed as he reached the street to turn off the strip and to head to the Lucky Imp. It was closing in on dinner time, but Trent figured he could always get something quick and really bad for him at the hotel bar after his nap.

  When he reached the hotel, he went straight to his room, took his clothes off, and crawled into bed. He could still smell Zana.

  He closed his eyes and let his body relax. He was thankful that, despite the daylight outside, the hotel’s curtains were thick enough to keep the room pretty dark. That plus the air conditioner soon lulled Trent into unconsciousness, but his sleep was anything but restful.

  He dreamed that he was having sex beneath a full moon with a faceless woman and then running through a forest for his life from an unseen, unknown predator. Tired of the endless chase that can only occur in a dream, Trent stopped, resigned to fight whoever or whatever was behind him. When he spun around, all he saw was the blackness of the night. He stared into the void, trying to distinguish something—anything—that would reveal his pursuer. But the black was all encompassing. He slowly turned back around. When he did, he felt a cold hand touch his shoulder. He swung around yet again, but instead of the darkness, this time he was met with a wilder, more savage mirrored reflection of himself. He and his doppelgänger stared at each other for only a split second before his animalistic self barred its teeth and started to growl menacingly.

  Trent woke up covered in sweat with his heart beating rapidly and a hunger in his stomach that needed tending to. He walked over to the window and saw that it was dark outside. He had slept for three hours, which meant he had barely enough time to grab some food and prepare for his first show.

  He hoped the audience would be a good one and that the place would be packed, because he was suddenly in the mood to really scare the shit out of someone.

  Chapter 19

  THE HUNTER had learned too late of the mentalist being in the tunnels that morning. However, if there had been any lingering doubts about whether or not to include Mr. Walker in the hunt, those were now erased.

  Not only had the woman brought Mr. Walker, an outsider, into the underground world where the Hunter was king, but she and the mentalist had evidently been intimate already. Now they were liabilities for each other. He couldn’t put only one of them in the hunt without the other one trying to find out what happened.

  Now he would have to capture them both.

  There were hundreds of cameras in the tunnels that he used both for surveillance and to broadcast the actual hunt in real-time to his clients. And if his men had noticed in time that Mr. Walker was walking around with the woman, perhaps they could have arranged an ambush and captured them both in one move.

  Even though his men had been too slow, the pup had picked up on the new scent and tracked Mr. Walker all the way back to the exit. It was the first time the younger of the two creatures had shown some real initiative, and it gave the Hunter a sense of satisfaction that one day he would have not one, but two trained killers to command.

  Still, the incident allowed the Hunter more time to study his new prey—to determine Mr. Walker’s strengths and his weaknesses. It didn’t take much to figure out both immediately.

  Mr. Walker was physically fast, and he was quicker to adapt to the underground environment than the Hunter had expected. He also possessed fairly keen senses as he obviously had been
able to detect that he was being followed on his way out.

  As far as his weaknesses went, the Hunter had no doubt that the man’s Achilles heel was the raven-haired woman, and probably every other woman as well.

  As the Hunter considered the mentalist, he reminded himself that this was the quality of prey he would never find living under the streets of Las Vegas. He realized that by selecting Mr. Walker, he was starting down a steep and slippery slope from which he might find it hard to return. After all, once his clients had a taste of a quality hunt like this one promised to be, he would be sorely tempted and maybe even expected to search above ground again to find superlative subjects for future hunts.

  In short, he was in danger of setting his own bar too high.

  With only two days left until the full moon, the Hunter had a plan to procure both the mentalist and his woman. Instead of forcibly trying to take the mentalist at the Lucky Imp and potentially causing a scene, the Hunter would first capture the woman and then use her as bait to bring the all-too-clever Mr. Walker straight to him.

  Chapter 20

  IT WAS TUESDAY night, and the crowd at Trent’s 10 p.m. show was filled with more people than he had expected.

  The audience was a healthy mix of middle-aged, sun-burned, and drunk tourists. But there was also an older couple sitting toward the middle of the bar area and some young leather-clad motorcycle wanna-be ruffians at another table. Most unexpectedly, two men wearing expensive suits sat in the back although they seemed to be observing the show more than watching it. One of them was almost bald with a military haircut and the other had short blonde hair neatly combed to one side in a part.

  All of Trent’s routines went off without a hitch, but during his finale—the final hypnotism of the night—one person turned into a wolf, while another of the volunteers became a rabbit. Normally, the two would have left each other alone while they were hypnotized, but Trent found himself harboring a surprising disdain for the woman who was hopping around like a rabbit.