by B J Richards
As she hurried along, a sound coming from the basement broke into her harried thinking, causing her to feel eerie again. She glanced quickly at Annabel’s painting, but there was nothing there. It wasn’t Annabel. Probably just the centuries-old building settling or a pipe groaning.
She took a few more steps and stopped… there it was again, only more distinct this time, and more rapid. That was not the sound of an old building settling. And it was coming from the direction of the basement. But how could that be? She’d installed an additional lock on the basement door when she’d found her old college intern down there with her school pals, ogling the site of the last curator murder. No one else had the key, except Security.
Sandra looked at her wristwatch, and swore silently under breath. Josephine was never going to let her hear the end of this. The movie had been her idea, after all. But she couldn’t deny the sound. It was coming from the basement when it shouldn’t be, and as Curator, she was responsible for what happened in the Hall.
Might as well deal with this now and get it off my mind. She pivoted on her heels, heading toward the basement staircase. The closer she got, the louder the disturbance got. Maybe Security is working on something and forgot to tell me. The thought of turning around to get them fleeted across her mind. But that would just take more time. Besides, it’s probably nothing. I just need to be sure before I leave.
Approaching the outer basement door, she saw the new lock was still latched and breathed a sigh of relief. You’re not going to find anything. She unlocked the door and switched on the light. Walking through the first couple of aisles and finding nothing out of place, she relaxed… until she heard the sound again, coming from the hallway where she’d found Annabel’s painting. She turned and headed toward the hidden door, the shelving unit barring it’s view and securely placed, where she’d left it.
Taking everything off the shelves, she pushed it out of the way. The thought to call Security crossed her mind again. No time. Besides, I don’t want them thinking I’m a paranoid lunatic.
She switched on the light to the right as she walked into the old hallway. She was getting used to the subdued lighting from the archaic fixtures. Walking past the spot where she’d first found Annabel’s portrait, she smiled. She hadn’t been able to rescue any of the other paintings still hanging in the hallway, but she would in time.
Huh. Nothing here. It must’ve been something reverberating through the walls from outside. She knew how sound could carry through old buildings. Billamore was full of them. Walking a little further down the old hallway to make sure it was nothing, she congratulated herself for not calling Security. No need to let them know about my insecurities.
Just as she was about to turn and leave, she heard loud rhythmic sounds again, coming from behind the wall ahead. Sandra had never been this far down the old hallway before, mainly because she had no reason to. And her duties didn’t allow for time to just explore.
Following it further, she noticed the hall turned slightly to the right. She rounded the corner cautiously and stopped. What she found was the most exquisite alcove. Somehow the sound was coming from behind it. But how? There weren’t any openings. This wasn’t like the last time. There weren’t shelves to push out of the way, revealing a hidden doorway. There didn’t appear to be anything hidden at all.
The dim lighting was frustrating, but not so bad Sandra couldn’t see. The alcove was relatively small, lined with paneling, set off with a lavishly carved oak bench in the center adjacent to the wall. Remembering her lighted jeweler’s loop she always kept in her pocket for inspecting museum artifacts, she took it from her pocket and switched it on to inspect the detail in the bench.
Her apprehension was replaced by the thrill of discovery. It was an amazing piece, and she became lost in the moment. Carefully she ran her fingers across the rich grain of the golden oak wood, inspecting it with the magnifying end of her loop. This was why she’d spent years studying art and history and loved her work so passionately. As she moved her fingers along the edge of the bench, she heard something click, and a section of the wall paneling behind her opened up.
Standing up and turning, she was faced with an opening large enough to walk through. She could smell the old, stale air as it rushed into the alcove, the damp cold chilling her skin.
Deep breath, Sandra… check it out first before you get all crazed.
The passageway was pitch black and the subdued lighting from the hallway barely penetrated more than the first few steps. This would be a good time to have my phone with me. The flashlight function on her cell crossed her mind. But she’d left her keys and purse containing the phone on top of a box when she’d first walked into the basement. Using what she had, she shone the small light of the jeweler’s loop into the passageway and started in.
Deep breath, you can do this. You’re not a sissy. She tried to calm herself, but her pulse was elevating with every step she took and she found her mind racing back to finding Annabel’s painting and what happened then. Not exactly the comforting thoughts she needed right then.
She brought her attention back to the present and made herself focus. The tunnel was pitch black and the dirt underneath her feet was damp and squished as she walked.
I’m definitely not dressed for spelunking. Her black tailored pantsuit suddenly felt terribly out of place. She swatted at the cobwebs, the darkness enveloping her, with only her small light bouncing off the tunnel walls to bring her any kind of comfort.
Occasionally, she felt water drip on her. There were old pipes running along the ceiling, rusty and wet from the dampness in the air and much needed maintenance. She could smell the mold that covered them and the old stone walls she was passing through.
Sandra made a mental note to talk to the Billamore Committee about the blueprints they’d given her for the place. This was yet another secret the old building had kept from her and she was getting tired of it. First the hidden hall where she’d found Annabel’s painting and now this. It was becoming a rather unsettling pattern.
The sounds she’d heard upstairs were back and getting louder and more distinct. She could hear the sound of shovels and faint voices in the distance. Whoever it was, they thought the museum would be clear of personnel by this time of night. If so, they wouldn’t be looking for anyone. At least that thought brought her a little comfort.
Suddenly all the digging and voices stopped and she felt a wave of panic surge through her. She could her a voice inside her head: This is bad. This is very bad.
All her instincts told her to turn around right now, get Security and call Nathaniel. But there was also a part of her that had to know what was going on in her museum and just couldn’t leave it alone.
Just a couple more steps so I know for sure. She walked as gingerly as she could. The voices started up again, and so did the sound of a sledgehammer hitting a wall.
Almost there.
Shining her light onto the floor to know where she was stepping, she moved forward, careful not to make any extra sounds, but unable to quell the sound of the damp earth beneath her feet.
Suddenly, a blinding light hit her in the eyes… much larger and more powerful than her little jeweler’s loop could produce. She raised her arm to shield her eyes in a vain attempt to see past it, but to no avail.
It all happened so fast. The sound of footsteps behind her, followed by a sharp pain in her head. Her body going limp and the little light in her hand falling to the ground.
She tried to think and fight back, but it was too late… she was losing control.
It was growing dark now and everything was spinning. She felt herself pulled into a slow steady spiral… falling… falling… plunging into the blackness ahead.
CHAPTER TWO
Josephine flipped nervously through the wedding book Mrs. Peterson had sent to her via her butler, Michael. The intricate details of putting together a wedding made Josephine’s tummy flutter and she was grateful for Sandra's grandmother sensing she could use a little gui
dance. Her own family was gone now, so Mrs. Peterson had automatically taken over as a surrogate grandmother to her.
She’d been stressing for weeks about planning her and Nathaniel’s wedding. Sandra had been busy with the museum and overseeing its success after the gala, and Nathaniel knew little or nothing about cakes and wedding dresses. Besides, he didn’t get to see the wedding dress until she walked down the aisle. She looked at the calendar and circled the date with her finger… October 3rd. She was having an autumn wedding and it had to be as vibrant as the season.
Josephine absent-mindedly twirled her curly red hair and checked her wristwatch. It was seven on the dot and still no Sandra… where was she! Josephine wanted Sandra to come early so they could talk about colors… veil or no veil… and what about her hair? She sighed and dropped her head onto the wedding book in frustration.
Her head jerked back up when her phone rang a second later. That better be Sandra. Reading her the riot act also crossed her mind. Checking the Caller ID, she realized it was Nathaniel. She smiled from ear-to-ear and answered the phone. She still got butterflies every time he called.
"Just the second person I wanted to talk to,” she cooed into the phone. Even though she’d known him since they were kids, he still had the ability to make her giddy.
"Oh… and who would be the first?" Nathaniel's deep voice tried to sound hurt as he feigned disappointment.
"Just my best friend who is yet to get here on movie night."
"I’d be jealous if you girls weren't going to see another ghost movie.”
Josephine laughed. "Excuse me, mister non-believer in ghosts. They are real, they exist and those other fictional characters in the movies are like you. They don't have the good sense to believe until it's too late. Come to think of it, you're even worse, because you've seen evidence of it."
"Ahhh… but I’m safe from any upcoming ghost Apocalypse because the love of my life is a true ghost believer."
Josephine grinned, "Fortunate for you." Then she sighed and Nathaniel could tell there was something on her mind.
"What is it?"
"Sandra is running late. I asked her to be here before seven and now it's ten minutes past and the movie will start in five minutes."
"Maybe she's already on her way. Have you called her?"
"Duh, forgot about that. I got caught up trying to figure out all these wedding details. Later, Hon." She made a loud kissing sound over the phone and hung up, then immediately dialed Sandra.
Pacing, Josephine waited as Sandra’s phone rang, but she didn’t answer. That’s odd. Josephine tried dialing again. Still no answer… only Sandra’s voice mail.
"Where are you Sandra? I'm waiting. Call me back if you can no longer make it." Josephine’s irritation was evident in the message she left. But at seven-fifteen and still no call back, Josephine’s irritation turned to concern. Something was wrong.
Sandra doesn’t go anyplace without her phone. Josephine’s thoughts grew more stressful as her pacing became more rapid. Since she became the Hall Curator, she’s been obsessed with having her phone with her in case an art patron wants to donate. She’d never forgive herself if she wasn’t there to answer.
“That’s it. Something’s wrong. I just know it.” Josephine grabbed her purse, closed-up her floral shop and drove off toward the museum.
Five minutes later she pulled into the parking lot. It was empty, except for Sandra’s car. Everything was dark. Too dark. A deep sense of foreboding began to grow in Josephine’s gut.
She parked beside Sandra’s car and left her headlights on so she could see better. Sandra’s car looked completely intact… the car doors were locked and the tires were fine, so she didn’t try to walk anywhere. Even if Sandra did have a car problem, she would’ve called Josephine to come get her.
The knot in Josephine’s stomach grew tighter and more ominous. Walking up to the main entrance, she tried to open the door.
"Can I help you?" A strong male voice announced itself behind her, causing her to jump. Turning around, she saw it was the security guard.
"You scared me!" Josephine almost yelled, her hand to her chest.
"The Hall is closed, ma'am. You’ll have to leave." The security guard was ordering her off, and in a rather unpleasant voice.
" I don't know if you recognize me, I'm Josephine… I've been around here a lot. I know it’s dark out here, but I'm the most frequent redhead in this museum," Josephine blabbered on. Nathaniel had accused her of prattling whenever she got nervous, but he’d also said it was cute.
Evidently the guard didn’t think so, and cut her off. “What can I do for you ma'am?"
"Sandra… the Curator here. Is she still in?"
"No, ma'am." The guard was standing firm in his tone and she could tell he was irritated with her.
"But her car is still in the parking lot." Josephine motioned emphatically toward Sandra’s SUV.
"Maybe she ran out of gas and called an Uber. I don't know what to tell you ma'am, but the lights are out and she already closed up." His impatience was growing, as was the volume in his voice.
At this point Josephine knew she was getting nowhere with the guard. “Thanks for your help.” She made sure not to hide her sarcastic tone and headed toward her car. Once inside, she called Nathaniel.
"Are you at the movies already?"
"No, actually. I'm at the museum and Sandra's car is here, but I can't find her and she hasn't been picking up her phone either."
"That's strange. Not like Sandra at all.” The concern in Nathaniel’s voice was undeniable. He knew all too well what she’d been through with the robberies and attempt on her life, and wasn’t about to let anything happen again, if he could help it. “I'm on my way. Give me five minutes."
Josephine could hear him putting on his jacket over the phone. "Can you check her house on your way here to make sure she hasn't gone home and check Mrs. Peterson's place, too."
"I doubt she'd be at her grandma's. Mrs. Peterson is going out of town today for a trip. I know because of the Neighborhood Watch program… though Michael, her butler, might still be there. I’ll check though. I'm sure she's fine, don't worry." Nathaniel didn’t want to rattle Josephine any more than she already was, so he tried to sound positive.
“Okay. See you in a few. And hurry.” Josephine hung up and waited nervously in her car twirling her hair, trying to avoid the angst she was feeling. She took a few deep breaths and desperately hoped he was right.
CHAPTER THREE
Sandra’s eyes began to flutter open, just barely. Everything was a blur right now. She could feel the thumping in her head. This was more pain than she’d ever felt before… pain that immobilized her and made her so sick at her stomach, she felt she would vomit.
Slowly, she tried to move, but it was excruciating. Her whole body ached and felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The smell of dank earth permeated her senses and she could feel it beneath her hands. Memories began to come back to her. Dank… musty… yes, that was it. She was in the tunnel.
“Tunnel”, Sandra tried to say it, but her throat hurt just as much as her head did. Slowly she managed to bring her hand up to her head. Sand and dirt… in her hair, on her face. She was definitely laying on the tunnel floor.
She fought the fog in her brain and forced herself to focus with what little energy she had. In the background she could hear the voices again, hurried and panicky.
"We can't leave ‘er here; she's gonna blab and then people will find out and it's all over. Like the boss said, we have to do this while laying low." It was a man’s voice, crude and rough. And scared.
"I know, that's why we have to get rid of ‘er. We’ll make it look like an accident. That way it won't be suspicious," another gruff voice said.
"So how are we going to do it?" The first voice said again. Through the slits of her eyes she could start to see figures in the distance. She could tell one of them was bald and one had dark scraggly hair.
The bald
one shrugged. "We use the sledgehammer on ‘er head and take her to the spot, that way it could look like she fell with her head first."
"Does that even make sense?" the dark-haired man asked.
"I don't know, I've never killed anybody before."
"I thought you worked for him when that last stupid curator got hit," the dark-haired man accused.
The bald man looked a bit panicky, but Sandra could tell he was masking it. They’d obviously chosen a Friday night, thinking it would be quiet at the museum. She remembered his gasp when he saw Sandra walking down the tunnel and shined a light in her eyes. Then everything went black after that.
It had to have been the dark haired one who hit me.
She vaguely remembered one them saying this wasn't what he signed up for, but he wasn’t going against the boss. That he knew what happened to those that did. And that he had plans for his cut. A cut that would let him go anywhere and do anything, once they found it.
They weren’t the only ones panicking. Sandra could feel fear and desperation surging through her mind. Intense pain continued to override almost every muscle in her body. For the first time in her life, she felt alone and completely hopeless. All she could do was lay there and listen to their plans for her.
"We gotta take care of ‘er. We gotta stop and take care of ‘er."
"Nah. That’d be the last thing we do. Think about it. She's been here for minutes now and no one has come to check on her. Dumb bitch came here alone and probably didn't tell anyone. So, we work first, and before we go, we take care of ‘er."
"What if she wakes up?" The dark-haired man was starting to pace now, his voice getting shakier.
"Relax idiot. She isn't awake yet. We have to keep digging. If the boss finds out about this, the only thing that will save our skins is what we’re digging for."
Sandra tried to move her head more in their direction for a clearer view, but the searing pain practically incapacitated her. Things were still a bit blurry, but she could see they were digging into the wall. Whatever was in there, or whatever they thought was in there, was worth killing for.