The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller

by Paula Wynne

  Hawk parked and they stared at the once beautiful decaying mansion. Its peeling paintwork and overgrown courtyards told the story of a dramatic decline of a country house estate. Deteriorating buildings were connected by a web of overgrown patios. Some parts looked in danger of collapse.

  ‘You stay here. I’ll check it out.’ Hawk opened the door.

  ‘No way! I’m not staying here alone with that horrible building glaring at me. Besides, I want to see what 42A is about.’

  Hawk grabbed her hand on the door handle to stop her opening it. ‘First, let me have a quick recce. I don’t like the look of this. I’ll check it out to make sure it’s safe and we’ll go in together.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘In the meantime, why don’t you try Doctor Robson again?’

  Kelby hesitated, then sighed and nodded.

  Talking to Roy would be better than sitting here alone.

  108

  After several minutes of chatting and laughing amongst themselves the leather jerkin reached into the fire with a thickly gloved hand. María’s jaw dropped in horror as he lifted the red-hot claws of their metal spider and clasped them at the sides of her mother’s exposed breasts.

  Madre screamed in pain.

  María’s lunged at him. ‘No!’

  The cloaked soldier jumped forward and kicked her in the stomach. María doubled over. Her stomach groaned in agony, and her eyes glazed as she watched the unbooted soldier lean over and lift her mother’s sagging body.

  Earlier, she hadn’t understood why her mother wasn’t fighting back, but now María saw why. Madre’s naked body was covered in dark bruises and bloody scratch marks. It looked like a wild cat had torn off her clothes and shredded her belly. Her thighs, once a golden honey colour, now glowed with ominous purple welts.

  The bastardos had beaten Mama!

  After pinning her mother down with his boot in the crook of her neck, the cloaked soldier glared at María. His eyes defied her to try anything.

  The gloved leather jerkin inserted the spikes into each side of her mother’s breasts, penetrating them with a powerful grasp.

  Again, her mother screamed in pain.

  And fainted.

  109

  Watching Hawk’s lofty torso striding to the old derelict building, Kelby’s hand dug into the sling bag crossing her body. Taking her eyes off Hawk for a moment, she tapped Roy’s number into her phone.

  He answered on the first ring, ‘Kelby! At last.’

  Kelby exhaled with relief.

  ‘Did you —’ His voice faded.

  ‘Roy? Can you hear me?’

  ‘Listen Kelby …’ the connection dropped again, but suddenly she could hear him, ‘ … my messages.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear that.’

  ‘Annie —’ His voice dipped. Then, a moment later, it came back. ‘Where ar—’

  The line cut out.

  Kelby’s pulse raced. What was he saying about Annie? Did he know where she was?

  Another five minutes and Kelby started to panic. Hawk had been away too long. Maybe he’d gone inside the mansion on his own, but he said he would come back for her. It must be safe if he’d done that. He probably thought he could find something without involving her.

  A few more minutes passed.

  Kelby couldn’t stand it any longer. Her hand white-knuckled Gary’s note. She turned it over in her hand for the third time to check if she could glean any more about what to do.

  Forcing herself to open the door, Kelby stepped out of the car and peered around. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. A breeze gusted up to her and lifted her fringe. A long drawn out squeak came from behind her.

  Kelby spun around. A sign, swinging from a rusting lamp post, squealed its protest to the breeze. She looked closer and read the sign.

  Homerton Hall Laboratory.

  110

  Olaf watched the giant and the devil taking the split in the road that led to Homerton Lab. Not many people knew about the place, so the devil must have found something.

  Accelerating around the back of the clinic, he parked and entered the newly painted building through the side staff entrance. Knowing his way around the corridors came in handy.

  He heard voices echoing through the maze of tunnels running beneath the house. For a moment, his imagination ran wild. He thought of the days when servants would have marched along here, to-ing and fro-ing between the two wealthy homes above. Before the old string of lights was installed, they probably used candles.

  His breath caught in his throat. Lots of dragons would have roamed in the tunnels in those days.

  The thought made him forget why he had come here. For a moment, he lost himself in animaal urges.

  Then, just as suddenly, voices pierced the wild images raging through his head. Still lost, he thought it was that voice. The voice he had never forgotten.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was Willow. His chest deflated as he exhaled hard. It disappointed him. The dragon had started firing up for revenge.

  Willow, still talking to someone, drew closer.

  ‘What’s down here?’ a strange voice asked.

  ‘You said you wanted to know my connection to rizado. First, I’ll show you toxicology research I have been doing.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with MG and the rizado?’

  ‘Startling results.’

  The voices were almost upon Olaf. He peered down the tunnel, making out Willow’s skeletal figure with another tall one beside him.

  The lover.

  111

  Although his body was raging with a fire wheel of burning memories, Olaf remained still. He had learnt to contain his smouldering urges.

  He preferred to harness them. Keep them dangling in the air, just out of his reach. And when he needed them the most, he could reach out and snatch it. And use the strength it gave him to execute a Tag One.

  At that moment, Willow looked up and caught Olaf’s eye.

  ‘I’ll show you how my toxicology connects to rizado,’ Willow stepped aside and indicated for the lover to move in front of him. ‘Go ahead.’

  Olaf pulled back into the shadows and into a junction in the tunnel. A tarnished light bulb near his head nearly gave the game away. His hand shot out and grabbed the bulb. He unscrewed it, despite the burning pain biting into his palm.

  The pain was niks. The dragon had fired up.

  As the footsteps were upon him, the lover said, ‘I don’t see what your toxicology research —’

  Olaf swung his fist. It crashed into the lover’s jaw, knocking him unconscious before he could finish his sentence.

  ‘Thank God!’ Willow whined, ‘I was starting to think you weren’t down here.’

  Olaf knelt and took a closer look. ‘What do you want me to do with pretty boy?’

  ‘Whatever you like. I don’t care. Let him rot in one of the downstairs rooms forever.’ Willow fled.

  Olaf dragged the leaden body along the tunnel. He better be quick. He had to finish off the giant and devil.

  And the lover.

  So much was happening so quickly. The excited pace set his pulse racing again.

  The damp smell of the musty tunnel hit him high in the nostrils. Taking him instantly back to the dragon’s forest.

  And setting his animaal alight.

  112

  The unbooted soldier lifted the bucket of water beside the fire and threw it over Madre’s feeble body. María heard her mother’s flesh sizzle and burn as the warm water absorbed the heat from the red-hot tongs. Closing her eyes, María tried to stop believing the scene in their little family home.

  All the memories of Madre delivering babies on their kitchen table, and healing sic
k people came flooding into her mind.

  The laughter and merriment after the babies bellowed for the first time filled her ears. The smell of Madre’s baking and the taste of a fresh pie filling her hungry belly. The sounds of Padre’s booming voice as he came home laden with gifts of livestock, cloth and strips of leather.

  María opened her eyes. Through slits, she surveyed the room, taking note of anything she could use as a weapon against these soldiers. A flush of adrenaline tingled through her body.

  Madre moaned as another bucket of water was tossed at her. She opened her eyes and looked directly into María’s. The cloaked soldier lifted his boot off Madre’s neck and shoved her into a sitting position.

  María’s expression boiled in anger. Her mother’s mouth moved silently. She leaned closer in time to hear her croak, ‘María. The promise.’

  María’s nostrils flared. ‘I will never fail you, Mama. Never!’

  Suddenly, with the agility of a leopard, María sprang up.

  113

  Taking a deep and ragged breath, Kelby left the safety of the car. The imposing Victorian hall had clearly been built for spectacular living and entertainment. However, the building now seemed to sag in the agony of abandonment.

  A pile of logs rotted nearby, giving sanctuary to night creatures. Debris of branches and dead leaves covered the paved slabs leading to the door.

  Three floors with ornate window frames rose into turrets and chimneys. A large bay window surrounded the main door. At the ends of each winged flank were pillar-covered doorways. Many of the windows were cracked. Brambles climbed up, fighting to get inside the broken glass.

  Kelby took a deep breath, lifted the huge door knocker and rapped on the door. It echoed inside the building, reverberating along the long hallway and disappearing out the other end. She waited. No answer. So she knocked again.

  Still no answer.

  After waiting for about five minutes, she tried the door knob, but it was jammed.

  Blowing out her pent up tension, she sneaked along the house, peering into each window she came across. An eerie stillness hovered over the house. It seemed to loom over her like a demonic ghost waiting to strike.

  Swivelling her neck, she glanced over her shoulder at the car. Hawk wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  Damn. I should wait for him.

  Kelby shivered and wondered what on earth she was doing with no clue as to what she would look for or find. But a strong instinct drove her on.

  Suddenly the image of Gary giving her the framed sign with Winston Churchill’s words came into her mind.

  Never, never, never give up.

  Taking a deep breath, an image sprang into her mind. The photo where Gary threw Annie up into his arms, caught her and cuddled her just as Kelby snapped the precious memory into her phone. With that image of her two most precious people, a new feeling crept into her. For too long she had lived with regret: first the loss of her parents, then her first business going belly up leading to her failure to conceive, Gary’s leg tragedy and finally his passing.

  He’d never let remorse get him down, saying loss of hope is temporary. When her business collapsed, he urged her to pick herself up and move forward. And she had. Now the sensation stiffening her spine was a new awareness. She had to accept her past without sorrow. Without her parents or her brother, she could face her future without fear.

  Renewed perseverance zipped into Kelby.

  At the end of the right wing, she stepped up to the covered door and tried the ornate doorknob.

  The door creaked open.

  Sweat dampened her armpits as she peered inside.

  ‘Hawk. You there?’ Even though only a whisper, her voice raced down the hallway and found an exit at the far end. It blasted out of a broken window and disappeared.

  This time, she bellowed, ‘Hawk, where are you?’

  Again, her voice floated down the hallway and bounced around between the walls. With her heart thudding against her ribs, she stepped inside and peered around. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim interior.

  Silence stretched along the corridor.

  Thankfully, light spilled into the hall from the many windows, showing the decay and ruin. Once she was inside, the cold, desolate building clawed at her, as though relieved to finally receive a visitor.

  As she stepped gingerly along the hallway, an earthy odour rose from the damp floorboards. Broken ceiling beams scattered her path. A painting lay on the floor as though the person hanging it had suddenly forgotten it. Unable to resist, she reached and touched the chipped and flaking walls. Saddened such a beautiful building had been left this way, Kelby imagined how it had once been, alive with the sounds of children playing, racing down the hallways and families chattering as they went about their daily routine.

  That’s how it should be now.

  She could see lots of doors leading off the flaking hallway. Peering into each room as she passed, Kelby realised they were abandoned consulting rooms, filled with discarded books and papers. A few had windows swinging open on their hooks. One had birds nesting in what looked like a dentist’s chair.

  Feeling overwhelmed, Kelby tiptoed into the next chamber and gasped.

  From the far side of the room, two white ghostly apparitions watched her.

  114

  Olaf ran through the underground maze. Sweat poured off his head. It rolled down over the dragon and soaked his t-shirt. This tainted tunnel … it reminded him of another dark place. He had to get out.

  Scuttling along the damp passage, Olaf placed his hand on the wall to keep himself steady. The smell of this place overwhelmed him, and once again he was in the forest where he had been abused.

  That terrible wilderness still sired nightmares.

  Fleeing. Over the forest floor littered with logging debris. At each turn the brush reached out to grab him, their woody talons thick with spikes and impaling thorns.

  Stumbling. On overgrown roots and wind-toppled deadfall. Slashed by the oak thicket.

  Tumbling. To the mossy undergrowth. Crashing to his knees. Unsure if the roots tripped him up or the dragon chasing him.

  Plunging. Into a cavity surrounded by eroded roots. And debris. A rabbit carcass strewn about by its predator.

  Explosions bursting in his head. That voice puncturing the heavy, oppressive air.

  Sweltering. Heat consuming him. Sweat drenching him.

  The dragon shooting bolts of flames into him.

  For a long moment, Olaf lay curled up on the tunnel floor. Hugging his knees. Trying to rid himself of the pain. The shame. The fear.

  Slowly, the same fear turned sour in his mouth. He spat it out, coughing up a lump of phlegm.

  Flexing his bicep helped to remind him he had beaten the dragon. He glanced sideways at it bulging. Hard and high. He arched his arm a few more times and rose to his feet.

  He had a job to do.

  Grit and dirt crunched under his feet as he left the tunnel and exited the clinic, and the bright glare from the overcast day pierced his eyes. He had fired up the lover. Now the giant and the devil waited for their turn.

  It only took a spark to flare up a fire storm.

  115

  Unable to run, Kelby stared at the two ghosts. Terror prickled her neck. Every hair on her body stood on end and her pulse accelerated into a frenzy.

  The ghosts didn’t move. Neither were they floating. They seemed too chalky with definite shapes.

  Weren’t ghosts invisible with only an aura of white?

  Her breathing calmed. Taking the plunge to discover more, she stepped closer. They still didn’t move. Another step closer.

  Kelby blew out her relief. They were only garden statues with ivory dust sheets thrown over them. This was getting out of
hand. If only she could find what Gary meant by ‘42A’. And if only Hawk would come back from where ever he’d gone. At least he was here somewhere and she’d find him any minute.

  The next room she entered had once been a reading room. It still maintained a small semblance of dignity, with books lining carved shelves on either side of the room. Journals, covered in thick dust, lay scattered across the floor, while a coffee table waited to once again carry an afternoon tea. Outside, a row of barren trees shuffled their branches, looming in to see what the intruder was doing.

  Across the corridor another room contradicted the decaying tranquillity of the reading room. Three wrought iron hospital beds on either side of the room shrunk back into the walls as though afraid of receiving new patients. This room had the stench of death.

  Kelby’s imagination ran wild with images of patients suffering unknown agonies. She bolted back into the hallway.

  An amber glow lured her into a room a few doors further on. The mansion’s kitchen looked as sad and forlorn as the rest of the house. Shafts of light shone through smashed holes in the glass windows and pooled onto the dust-covered floor.

  As Kelby stepped carefully over smashed jam jars, she imagined the baker had thrown cinnamon in the air and it had filtered down to cover the entire kitchen. With each step the stench of mould and damp earth rose up to assault her nostrils.

  A rusted ladle still perched in a roasting tin sat on the stove as though the chef had rushed out the door and hadn’t come back. Ageing pan lids and burnt copper pots adorned the cooker set back into the wall, now crumbling around it. In the corner, cupboard doors swung off their rusting hinges spreading their shadows across the table, already littered with kitchen debris.

  As she stood beside the rotting oak table, memories of her mother rammed into Kelby’s mind. With unexpected clarity the smell of an apple pie steaming out of the oven took over the mildew stench. Kelby recalled apple pies with golden crusts sitting on a powdered counter where her mother rolled pastry.