by David Wood
After a moment, he sat back again, taking a long shuddering breath. “I never went back, and I was ready for an attack of some kind. Always looking over my shoulder, never taking the subway. But they left me alone. I don’t think they ever really took me very seriously. Nobody does.” He shrugged, a small, pain-filled smile briefly shifting his lips. “I guess that saved me. But then Jazz started to investigate things, and she was led to the coven there. I was torn. I love her, and I wanted to protect her. But I knew I could help her too. And maybe she’d expose the Witchfinder. Jazz was so strong, so smart. I thought she could bring him down. So I told her where and when to find the coven meeting. And you know what happened.”
Derek slumped, spent, his weight of guilt and sorrow briefly passed on. Rose knew it would haunt him always, but none of it was really his fault. “Why were you there again tonight,” she asked softly.
Tears glistened in his eyes as he looked up and met her gaze. “I went there planning to kill the Witchfinder for what he’d done to Jazz.” He lifted the side of his light jacket to reveal a gun tucked into his waistband. A small pistol of some kind, dark and malevolent in the night. “But when it came down to it, I didn’t have the courage. Even as he killed another person, I couldn’t take a life, even his. I stood there, frozen, and when the poor man was dead, I knew what was coming next, and I slipped away. There’s another exit from that place, along one side, if you how to find it. That’s how I left before, and I used it again today. As I went, I glanced back and saw you hiding in the gallery. I knew I would give you away if I tried to communicate with you, so I hurried up to the bridge and waited, hoping you’d get out soon. And you did.”
Rose shook her head, mystified. She’d been so shocked at the events of the ritual, and unable to take her eyes from the horror, that she hadn’t even seen Derek slip in there, or noticed him slip away. It seemed perhaps no one had. For such a big man, it appeared Derek had a knack of moving unseen. She took his hand. “You can help us take him down. Tell me everything you know about those legends and prophecies.”
Chapter 34
It was after 2.30am when Crowley got back to the Algonquin Hotel. He winced as the keycard beeped and the door clicked to unlock. He pushed the door slowly open and crept inside, then turned and closed it as gently as he could behind him. As he turned back, fear settled in his stomach. Though the lights were off and the room was mostly gloomy, he saw clearly that the bed was neatly made and unoccupied.
A hundred thoughts rushed through his mind. Had Rose come looking for him? Had she run out on him? That was insane, what kind of paranoia was that? But where was she?
The stolen phone buzzed in his pocket. Crowley took it out and stared at it. The one number it held was ringing. That meant Price. But was Price calling his man, the idiot Jerkwad, or did he know more than Crowley wanted to admit? Perhaps Crowley had been a fool all along. He stared until the phone rang out, chewing at his lower lip, trying desperately to think where Rose was, where she might have gone.
Then another buzzing started up in his pocket. His own phone ringing. He took it out and saw Matthew Price written across the screen. Well, he might as well take this call. He could simply play dumb.
“Matthew!” he said, trying to sound far more relaxed than he was. “Enjoying your walk still? You’re lucky you caught me, I’m about to fall into bed.”
“Where is it, Crowley?”
“Where’s what?”
“The damn book, you know exactly what.”
Crowley swallowed. Clearly, Price was far better informed than he had assumed, and all pretense had quickly fallen away. “The book?” he said anyway, trying to sound confused and relaxed now.
“Enough, you idiot. You’re not fooling anyone. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you’ve got Poe’s journal. Where else would it be? I want it.”
“I want doesn’t get,” Crowley said, dropping all pretense as well. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”
“Do not insult my intelligence, Jake Crowley, and do not waste my time. You are into something deeper than you can possibly imagine, and it will kill you if you’re not more careful. I want that book.”
“No, can’t do it, sorry.”
Price breathed heavily for a moment at the other end, clearly trying to get his rage under control. “Very well. You leave me no choice. It’s the book or her. You choose.”
Crowley drew breath to speak, but the line went dead. Damn it! Had he already taken Rose, before Crowley even went after the book? There’s no way he could have known before now, they’d only met on the street less than an hour ago. And at that point, Price still thought he was about to get the journal for himself. Had he taken Rose earlier, some kind of insurance policy? But why would he be moved to do that?
The hotel room door beeped and clicked. Crowley spun around, dropping into a crouch, anticipating the arrival of Jerkwad, here to reinforce Price’s threats. The door swung open, and Rose walked in, her eyes widening in shock when she saw Crowley skulking in the darkness.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
It took Crowley a moment to collect his thoughts. “He’s got Trudy,” Crowley said, realization flooding through him.
Rose hurried in and shut the door. “What? Who has? Price?”
Crowley nodded. “Wait a minute.” As Rose turned on the light, he used his own phone to call back Price. “Come on, come on!” he muttered as the phone rang and rang and then went to voicemail.
Crowley hung up, grinding his teeth in frustration. The phone he’d stolen from Jerkwad beeped and the screen lit up with a text message.
Do you understand the situation now?
Crowley spat a curse, tapped out a quick reply. Yes.
A tense silence hung in the air as he waited for another message from Price. The bastard was toying with Crowley, letting him twist as he waited for word.
“I’m sure he won’t hurt her,” Rose said.
Rose! Crowley seized her and pulled her close to him. “For a moment I thought it was you he’d taken. Are you all right?” He had seen something in her eye, a dark look that disturbed him.
It took a few minutes for Rose to recount the story of the ritual she’d witnessed, how she had found it in the first place, and her talk with Derek afterward. When she had told it all, Crowley simply stood and stared. Then he gathered her into his arms and hugged her tightly.
“I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair. “What a truly horrible thing you went through.”
She nodded against his shoulder, then stood back, gently pushed him away. “We’ll fix this.”
After a few tense moments, another message came through.
In Central Park, there is a bronze statue of a Husky, dedicated to the indomitable spirit of the sled dogs. Meet me there with the journal, in three hours. Come alone. Talk to no one in the meantime. Any sign of the police, of Rose, or anyone else, Trudy dies.
Crowley stared at the message for a long moment, Rose watching over his shoulder.
Where is she? He typed.
Somewhere you’ll never find her.
“What are you going to do?” Rose asked.
Crowley thought fast. Somewhere you’ll never find her. Where might that be?
“He asked for three hours. Where is he that’s three hours away?”
In all the running around and confusion, the excitement of getting to the journal first, and the subsequent uncomfortable encounter with Price, something had slipped Crowley’s mind. Now it came crashing back. And with that memory came the beginning of a plan.
He quickly typed a reply to Price. I’ll be there.
Rose frowned. “Just like that? You’re going to trust him to return her once he has the journal?”
Crowley shook his head. “I don’t trust him at all.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“A rescue mission! I know where he’s hiding Trudy.”
Chapter 35
Having no better place to star
t, Crowley led Rose back to Trump Tower. More specifically, to the manhole cover out front. Along the way, they’d each called the police to request that officers conduct a welfare check: Crowley asked for one at Trudy’s address, Rose at Price’s. He held out little hope that Trudy was being held at either place, but no harm in trying.
Upon arriving at the tower, they watched until the guards in the building’s lobby were busy talking to each other, then quickly slipped from the shadows, lifted the maintenance cover, and dropped into the tunnels under the street.
As Crowley pulled the cover back into place, desperately hoping they hadn’t been spotted, Rose said, “It’s nearly 4am. Will these new friends be awake?”
“It’s always nighttime underground. Let’s hope someone is up at least.” Crowley flicked on a penlight and shone its sharp narrow beam left and right. “This way.”
“How do you know which way?”
“Just a hunch.”
They went for a while in silence, Crowley heading vaguely towards the Bellevue hospital where the presumably fake-named Doctor Michael Prince had conducted his experiments and lost his job. Michael Prince. Matthew Price. It wasn’t such a leap.
Crowley froze at the sound of a soft scuff. “Hello?” he called out. “I’d like to talk to Clyde. Do you know where he is? Or Sarah?”
A silhouette emerged cautiously from a side tunnel. “Who are you?”
“My name is Jake Crowley. I’m a friend of Clyde and Sarah, and I’d really like to talk to them.”
“Probably sleeping.”
Crowley ignored Rose’s I told you so look and said, “Do you think you can take me to them anyway? It’s important. Unless you can help me?”
“Depends what you need.”
Crowley took a deep breath, then dove in both feet together. Might as well lay it all out from the start. “A lot of your folk have gone missing over the last year or so, haven’t they?”
The man’s eyes narrowed in his grubby face. “Yes.”
“Right. And I think I might know who’s been abducting them. I aim to stop him. But I need help. Is there any particular place people have been going missing from more than anywhere else?”
The man pursed his lips in thought. “Well, none of us spend much time around East 18th these days.”
“Why not?”
“Because everybody who goes there dies.” Clyde stepped out of the shadows. “I’m glad you’re here.” Crowley introduced Rose. Clyde seemed vaguely surprised by this courteous treatment and managed only a nod. He, in turn, introduced the other mole man as Ted.
“What’s the deal with East 18th?” Rose asked.
“There’s an old abandoned subway station there. A lot of us used to hang out in it, it was a good space. But too many went missing. Any of the tunnels for a few blocks east and north of the old East 18th Street subway station are off-limits. Not by any rule, just my preference. Especially recently.”
Crowley nodded. He had remembered the thing he’d meant to think about further but had forgotten for a while: the old man among the mole people saying, We don’t go near the tunnels under Bellevue anymore.
“I thought so,” Crowley said. “And just north and east of there is Bellevue Hospital, right?”
Rose gave him a sharp glance, and the mole men nodded.
“We don’t come anywhere around there these days for definite. People still disappear though,” Ted said.
Crowley took a deep breath, knowing that everything rested on this roll of the dice. He quickly explained the situation.
“If the two of you can help us, we can rescue my aunt and maybe even put a stop to this Revenant who has been killing your friends. And I’ll pay you for your time.”
“What do you need?” Clyde asked.
“First of all, I really need to get to the tunnels under Bellevue as quickly as possible.”
Ted shook his head, eyes wide. “I’ll take you to this side of the East 18th Street subway, but from there you’re on your own. I can give you directions, though. It’s not much further.”
“Good enough!” Crowley said. “And thank you.:
“What can I do?” Clyde asked.
“If you’re willing to take a small risk, I’ve got one more task that needs seeing to.”
IT TOOK A while traversing the undercity of New York, but not as long as Crowley had anticipated. Eventually, Ted stopped and pointed ahead.
“Keep going down there, and you’ll come to the abandoned subway station. From there, cross the tracks, and you’ll find a tunnel leading out from the north end, and a few steps going down. When you get to the bottom, take the first turn each time, left, then right, then left. You’ll be directly under Bellevue.”
Crowley glanced at Rose, and she nodded, confirming she’d memorized Ted’s directions too. She had her phone out and was tapping them into a note to be sure they didn’t forget. “Thank you,” Crowley said and handed Ted a twenty.
He grinned and pocketed the cash. “Be careful on the tracks. Trains still go through East 18th, they just don’t stop there anymore.”
“Got it, thanks.”
Ted turned tail and hurried quickly away. Rose walked alongside Crowley as they headed on.
“You really think she’s here?” Rose asked.
“It’s a gut feeling.” Crowley shook his head slightly, trying to arrange his thoughts. “There are just too many disparate threads floating around this same area. I’m convinced Price has been using the forgotten spaces under the city for decades. And I’m sure he was the doctor sacked from Bellevue. The mole people say their friends are still going missing, mostly from that area, and an increasing amount in the last year, since Price came back to New York. It’s got to be there. He must have some secret area under the hospital, probably set up since he worked there. No longer accessible from above, maybe he closed it off, but still reachable from underneath. From down here.”
“I hope you’re right, Jake. But what if you’re not? What do we do then?”
Crowley paused, looked sidelong at her, then shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it.”
They came out into a vast open space, and Crowley shone his light around. They stood on the abandoned East 18th Street platform, bright tags of graffiti adorning every inch of wall space. All kinds of trash littered the ground. Steps led up from either end of the platform, presumably the route back up to street level when the station had been operating, but both were blocked off only a dozen or so steps up. Cement columns were regularly spaced between the tracks. A wind picked up, pushing towards them and lifting dust and plastic packets.
“Let’s get out of sight,” Crowley said, and they both ducked into deeper shadows at the back of the platform as lights lit up the tunnel. In a few seconds, a train barreled through, regular rectangles of light framing bored faces, some reading, listening to music, staring into nowhere. The train rattled past for far longer than Crowley would have credited, then it passed, and everything fell into dark silence again.
“Now’s a good time to cross then,” Rose said. “There won’t be another train for at least a few minutes.”
“Right.” Crowley shone his light across to an opening, cement steps going down. “There’s our route.”
They crossed, picking their feet up high and with great care to not touch any metal. On the other side, they quickly entered the tunnel. The steps only went down a little way, then it leveled out. They followed Ted’s directions – to the end, then left, then right, then left.
Crowley and Rose turned in a slow circle, frowns creasing both their faces.
“Have we missed it?” Rose asked.
The tunnel they followed had ended in a slightly wider space that appeared to be a dead end. Two tunnels used to lead away from it, but both were bricked up, the mortar blackened and dusty. The two routes had clearly been closed for years, probably decades.
Crowley didn’t answer but began shining his light more closely at all the walls. R
ose shrugged and followed suit. Crowley was growing increasingly frustrated, beginning to think that maybe he’d been keen for a solution that didn’t exist. Perhaps they could retrace their steps if they found nothing here and see if there were another route, a small side tunnel they’d missed or something.
“Here,” Rose said. “I’ve found something.”
Excitement built up again as Crowley hurried over.
“Look.” Rose shone her light at the ground.
There was a distinct arc scraped into the dirt, like a door had been opened through it. But there was only a brick wall there. Crowley crouched, looking closely at the base of the wall where the arc began.
“There’s a small gap here,” he said. “This is a false wall.”
After another minute or two they had found the outline of a door made of bricks, fitting so snugly it would never have been noticed if the marks on the ground hadn’t given it away.
“Price getting lazy about covering his tracks?” Rose mused.
“Looks like it. I guess he figured no one came this way any longer. But how do we open it?”
He began running his fingers over the bricks, pressing here and there. One of the bricks near the edge of the fake door shifted slightly. He pressed harder, and the block went in with a solid click. The door popped open, a one-inch brick façade on a wooden board.
“Et voila!” Crowley said. “Let’s go carefully now.”
On the other side of the fake door, stone steps led up into darkness. Crowley shone his light up and saw another door not far ahead, closed but seemingly not locked. At least, no padlock or keyhole was visible. He crept up, Rose right behind him, and listened at the wood. Nothing. A simple, round brass knob was the only way in. He slowly turned it and opened the door a crack. A soft orange light washed out, almost like candlelight, but too steady. He leaned in and saw a few wall-mounted electric lights with dim orange bulbs. Maybe they were kept on a dimmer switch, or perhaps this was only emergency lighting.