Where the Truth Lives

by Mia Sheridan

“Hey, man. Business is business, okay? I’ll reimburse you the overnight mail cost. I’m sure you can wait to find out the conclusion. Nothing’s that epic. Dude, trust me. I once waited for—”

  “I needed those comics, and I don’t have time to wait. Lives are on the line here,” Reed said through clenched teeth.

  “Oh. Well . . . I mean, if you’re desperate, I read that whole series. I can tell you what happens.”

  Reed hesitated, the road speeding past him, the reflection of the light on the roof of his car flashing red. He hardly wanted to rely on some kid’s memory, but what other fucking choice did he have now? He was desperate. “Tell me the gist of it. Just the ending.”

  He heard the guy shifting around as if making himself comfortable and Reed almost swore aloud but held it back. “Okay, so, these angels born in hell, you know? The main characters?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay so . . . let’s see. There’s the hot blonde with the big—”

  “Highlights,” he barely scraped out.

  “Okay, okay. So, all their stories come to a head. Despite some wins, evil is prevailing . . . yadda yadda yadda. There’s a ritual they have to perform so they’ll finally be released from the grips of Hell and ascend to their rightful heavenly home.”

  “Tell me about this ritual.”

  “Right, well, they have to form a circle.”

  Reed let out a slow breath. If Axel was going to play out this ritual, his five angels were alive. All except Everett, of course. Axel considered himself one of them, too, though. That meant he wouldn’t hurt them, right? He wouldn’t hurt Liza. And Arryn . . . perhaps he was using Arryn as a stand-in of sorts for Everett?

  “Where? Where do they form this circle? Where does this ritual take place?”

  “Um . . . the catacombs,” he said. “They use the catacombs the demons travel in, because the ritual has to be performed in their lair.”

  Catacombs?

  “Yeah. It has to be performed in the demon’s lair by these five angels. They have to kill one innocent and one demon.”

  “An innocent?”

  “Yup. A sacrifice must be made. Like one of those Inca virgins. Someone innocent and pure. Pretty crazy, huh? Dark stuff.” He chuckled. “I remember the picture. It’s like this sweet-looking young girl with black curls and big eyes who’s all, ‘noooo, don’t hurt me.’” He made his voice go high-pitched in a piss-poor imitation of a scared female. “They all have to burn together. Fire opens this, like, portal to Heaven so they can return to where they rightly belong.”

  Fire? “Do they do it?” Reed asked. He felt almost numb, though his focus was sharp, every detail of the road and the inside of his car precisely outlined as if the world around him had turned into some sort of eerie negative.

  “Yeah, they do it. They get to Heaven. The end.”

  “Thanks.”

  The guy started to respond but Reed hung up.

  His phone dinged as a text came in.

  Ransom: Update from offcr who checked out Ortiz house. Still not home. Offcr was able to see in windows, including bedrm. Nothing out of place. Ortiz truck in driveway.

  Reed: Thx

  Axel Draper had Milo too. Reed would bet his life on it.

  Please, please don’t let him have Liza.

  He dialed Zach’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Zach,” he said as he pulled up to the curb in front of his building and jumped out. “I think Axel is taking Arryn to what he considers some type of catacombs. It’s part of the Tribulation story, where the final ceremony happens. Axel Draper is bringing all the characters together so they can act out this ritual.”

  “Tell me more.” He heard a door shut and the sounds of commotion that had been in the background a moment before quieted. “What sort of ritual?”

  “It involves an innocent and a demon, and a fire. He’s planning to burn them all.”

  “An innocent . . . Arryn.”

  “I don’t know. I think so.”

  “And Hartsman’s the demon?”

  “Maybe. What could catacombs mean?”

  There was a short pause where Reed imagined Zach was gathering himself, and then he heard the tapping of computer keys, and knew the room Zach had stepped into was his office.

  Reed punched at the call elevator button. Come the fuck on! Five seconds passed, and Reed swore quietly, heading for the stairs, taking two at a time. As he cleared the second-floor landing, Zach said, “Okay, listen, in the twenties, Cincinnati invested in a subway that was never completed. It’s . . . this set of empty tunnels and stations beneath the city.” It sounded like he was reading off a website.

  Empty tunnels? Reed burst through the stairwell door out into the hallway. “Zach, that’s gotta be it.”

  “I’ll get a team together immediately. Ransom’s already here. There’s an old tunnel entrance on Hopple Street. We’ll leave now. Meet us there.”

  “I will. I’ll call one of your phones as soon as I’m close.” They both hung up just as Reed rounded the corner to his apartment. The door was open a crack. Reed’s heart dropped to his feet, his breath coming harshly as he removed his weapon, triangulating the door and entering quickly. “Police!” he yelled, but the only sound that greeted him was eerie silence.

  He made his way down the hall, mindful to be tactical, but a sense of dread and urgency compelling him to do so as swiftly as he possibly could.

  Liza, Liza. Please be okay. God, please be okay.

  In the guest bedroom there were minor signs of a struggle as though someone had surprised her, but then quickly incapacitated her. His gaze swept between the hardcover book dropped on the floor, to the overturned lamp. She’d fought, but he’d either drugged her, or injured her. His eyes moved over the floor, the bed. No blood.

  No, no no. Axel needed her alive to perform this ritual. She had to be okay.

  At least for now.

  He felt time ticking down like a giant pulsating clock chiming in his head. A clock that would eventually run out.

  Reed forced himself to calm down, to focus. Liza needed him now. Arryn needed him now.

  Because the cast of characters was complete.

  The madman had gathered his players.

  With a strangled grunt, born of fear and frustration, Reed headed for the door but turned back when he realized he was still wearing dress shoes and didn’t even have a coat. If he was going to join the search party—if he was going to be an asset to the rescue team—he at least needed boots and a jacket. He ran to his room, kicking his shoes off and pulling a pair of hiking boots from his closet, which he didn’t take time to lace, simply shoving his feet into them and grabbing a waterproof jacket from his closet. As he pushed the door shut, the rush of air caused a pile of case photos sitting nearby on his dresser to flutter off.

  Reed didn’t take time to pick them up, simply stepping over them and heading for the hallway. But one of the pictures caused him pause and he turned back, looking down at the photograph from one of the victim’s necks.

  The brand.

  Buckeye.

  That’s where it had started.

  At Camp Joy in that cabin where five angels mistakenly sent to hell had first gathered, telling their stories perhaps, sharing secrets that some of them, young and reeling from trauma, might soon forget as life moved forward.

  But not one. One had always remembered. One had woven their individual tragedies into a bigger story, trying desperately to find meaning in his own pain.

  Something was skating around Reed’s brain . . . something just out of reach. He took a moment, trying desperately to grasp it.

  What else had they done there? They’d learned about the Underground Railroad. It felt like a light went on inside his mind.

  Liza’s words whispered through Reed: There’s a now-abandoned house near the river where freedom seekers hid in this below-ground storage area that had a water runoff tunnel leading from it that let out on the shore. I imagined those
scared people gathered there, crawling into that darkness and then running through the woods in the pitch-black of night, the only light cast by a sliver of moon. The bravery that would have taken, the terror that must have been in their hearts, but they did it anyway, running toward a world that would not embrace them because they decided that freedom was bigger and far more powerful than their fear. Their stories—though vastly different—made me want to be brave too.

  Axel Draper had acted out other non-literal commands before—pushing people to their deaths to act out demons falling from power.

  Underground Railroad.

  Underground lair.

  He doesn’t think like you. He’s twisted. You have to try to think like him. Liza’s voice rose up inside him and he swallowed a panicked groan.

  Could they be wrong as far as the unused subway tunnels?

  No, he could be totally off-base. He probably was. But . . . her words repeated. He’s twisted. You have to try to think like him.

  Reed left his room, heading for the kitchen where he opened his laptop and did a google search of the house Liza might have been talking about.

  He found it immediately, the images of the home making it clear that it was long-abandoned just as she said. He was surprised that it had sat empty for so long and that no one had bought the property, but he didn’t have time to research why.

  He read the address out loud so he’d remember it and then grabbed the coat he’d thrown over the back of a kitchen chair and raced for the door. As he rode the elevator downstairs, he dialed Ransom’s number, swearing as it went straight to voicemail.

  Reed stepped off the elevator, dialing Zach’s number. His phone went straight to voicemail as well. Fuck! They were probably already below ground, or very close to beginning the search of those decayed tunnels. This was Zach’s daughter, and no one would have wasted a second. There would be no phone reception down there. They might not even be using radios so as not to alert Axel of their arrival should they find him.

  Reed pulled away from the curb, typing the address of the old house into his GPS. There was a team of good men searching the subway—and the streets of Cincinnati. He owed it to Liza and Arryn to cover all the bases.

  It took him twenty minutes to make the drive to the street near the edge of the Ohio River. The lights of Kentucky glowed softly in the distance, brighter because of the lack of streetlights in this deserted area. Reed drove slowly down the dark road, thick trees lining both sides of the private drive. He came to an overgrown entrance to what had once been a driveway and turned in, his tires crunching over the weeds and gravel.

  When he came to a tall, iron gate, he stopped, stepping from his car and inspecting the large padlock, attached to a long chain wound through the bars, both rusted with age. He wouldn’t be getting through this way.

  Reed turned on the flashlight on his phone, pointing it down at the ground, his heart galloping as he saw fresh tire tracks in the dirt.

  Someone had been here very recently.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Liza came to slowly, the sound of pinging water echoing around her, the smell of dankness and rot filling her nose. Her head felt too heavy for her neck. Images came to her . . . a man entering the room where she’d been reading—Axel, she knew that now. Reed had mentioned his name, and she could see him in the once chubby lines of his older face. The stark fear as he’d rushed her, the painful prick to her neck. Liza cracked her eyes open.

  An ancient wood-slatted wall met her gaze, damp with moisture, and weathered by age, and when she looked around, she saw she was in a large open cavern, where five people were sitting in metal chairs, their hands chained behind their backs. Liza’s gaze moved slowly between them, all appearing to be drugged like her, their heads lolling forward: The two people from the photographs Reed had shown her, and . . . She felt her mouth go slack. “Arryn?” she gasped but Arryn didn’t look up.

  Icy panic filled Liza’s veins. Unconscious, just unconscious. Axel had brought them all here. What was this? And what was he going to do? Why?

  She turned her head slowly to see a fifth person, this one strung up in the corner next to her, his hands chained over his head, feet bound in rope and barely touching the floor. Dizziness rolled through her.

  Charles Hartsman.

  Who else could it be? A small sound left Liza’s throat as she took in the infamous serial killer who looked like an older version of Reed, blood trickling from a bullet wound in his shoulder down his naked chest. Liza’s gaze moved from the bloody wound to the word tattooed above his heart in large, black script: Caleb.

  Caleb?

  Who is Caleb?

  Charles lifted his head and stared directly at Liza, his dark eyes piercing even in the dimly lit space, its only source of illumination a kerosene lamp hung from a hook in the wall. Her heart constricted. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at a man who was the physical embodiment of Reed Davies and hate him. It felt like hating a part of Reed, though she knew that was irrational. She knew it, but still, she dared not meet his eyes. Liza squeezed them shut against the man’s gaze as he attempted to move his hands within the chain, but there was no give. Her own muscles felt like they’d been pumped full of lead but she attempted to wiggle her feet, get some blood flowing to her extremities.

  Oh God, oh God. Get me out of here.

  Liza’s head ached as she tried to work through this situation with drugs still pumping through her system, making her slow, tired, yet somehow still wired with terror.

  There was a short stairwell behind her, leading somewhere even lower. Somewhere so dark she couldn’t see the room beyond. In the opposite corner, Arryn stirred, moaning softly. A door near Arryn opened and Axel entered. Liza saw a stairwell behind him that must lead above ground. She heard the soft patter of rain right before he pushed the door closed, latching it and stepping forward slowly, out of the darkness like a monster appearing from the gloom. He was tall, at least six foot five. Muscular. Strong. A man who could easily carry a body up several flights of stairs. A man who could toss someone, or several someones, over the edge of a building. Her brother. He turned toward them, his eyes moving from one to the other until he came to Liza.

  “Hello, Angel,” he said, smiling sweetly at her. She shivered. “It’s so nice to see you.” He looked at the others again. “It shouldn’t take too long for them to come to. But we’ll wait. I need them awake for the ritual.”

  Ritual?

  He walked to a corner where there was a black case and a red, rusted can. He picked the can up, humming some unknown tune as he walked around the perimeter of the room, pouring the liquid in a trail behind him.

  Gasoline. Liza smelled it.

  Oh God.

  He was planning on burning them? A scream rose within her.

  Hold it together. Reed must have figured out you were abducted by now. But even if he had, how would he ever know where Axel had taken her? She didn’t even know where they were. Then again . . . she looked around. “The house,” she murmured. “The one they told us about at Camp Joy.” Her voice sounded gritty, unused.

  Axel looked up. “That’s right. I knew you’d remember. This is it, Angel. This is where we ascend. All of us.” He used his hand to sweep toward Liza and the other two. Oh my God, she thought, realization flooding her, they’re the other two kids who were in our cabin.

  “You recognize them, don’t you? Milo and Sabrina? All of us, back together again.” His shoulders dropped. “Except Everett,” he whispered. “But I’m his brother. I carry his blood inside me. Maybe . . . maybe this will save him too.”

  Liza looked at Milo and Sabrina, seeing them not as they were now, but as they’d been. Then. Yes, yes, she remembered now. Milo had been prostituted by his own mother, and Sabrina had been severely beaten by her father. She’d almost died, been left with a permanent limp and scars littering her skin. Everett and Axel’s parents had both died in an accidental fire. They’d shared their stories, there in the safety of
that remote cabin. It was the first time Liza had spoken her pain because those kids? They understood.

  “I read those final Tribulation editions,” Charles broke in. “Just this morning, as a matter of fact. Riveting. I guess I’m playing the demon in this far-off-Broadway show?”

  Axel smiled, a long hum sounding in his throat. “Playing? Hardly. You’re a demon, Charlie,” he said. “I knew Mimi would get you here, and she did.”

  Charles’s expression grew icy, but as quickly as that, he smiled. “Don’t lie. You wish you’d killed your grandfather yourself, don’t you, Axel?”

  His grandfather? Gordon Draper? Killed?

  Axel paused for a long time, gasoline dripping from the can he was holding, creating a puddle on the floor. “I’m glad he’s dead. But”—he shook his head—“no, I wanted the ultimate demon. You. The one they could never catch. The one my grandfather said was too smart for everyone. He respected you,” Axel said. “He was . . . star-struck.”

  “Trust me, he wasn’t star-struck the last time I saw him,” Charles said, his lips curving. “I don’t think he enjoyed spending time with me at all.”

  “No,” he murmured. “I’m sure he didn’t. But he’d still be jealous. He’d be jealous that I caught you. Because I had the ace up my sleeve. I looked through that box. I found Mimi’s picture. He didn’t even realize who he’d killed or who was out in that garden. My grandfather was never great at remembering names, only screams.” He moved his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “I wasn’t there for that particular killing, but when I asked him about sweet pea, he told me that she’d begged. She’d begged him not to take her away from her little boy. He did, though. He did take her away from her little Charlie. You. But as it turned out, you were a demon too.”

  Charles moved suddenly and Liza sucked in a breath as Axel’s posture changed. He was wary of Charles, even with him strung from the ceiling, hanging from chains.

  She didn’t understand what they were discussing, but it terrified her all the same.

  Charles sniffed, regaining whatever composure he’d seemed to lose for a moment there. “I enjoyed watching him die, even if I would have liked to draw it out a little more. But . . . time constraints.” Charles paused, appearing thoughtful and as relaxed as a man could look while hanging from shackles. “As it turns out, however, I do have some limits. A nose? Well.” He shrugged, a small movement with his hands tied above his head the way they were. “That’s just a nice clean swipe. But removing the eyes?” He shook his head, cringing dramatically. “Wow, you’ve gotta be a real sicko for work like that.”