by Stella Hart
The passage was slightly curved, with stone walls coated in dust and spiderwebs. Small alcoves and barred cells opened off the main path, and old pipes and support beams covered the ceiling at regular intervals. The ground was littered with fallen bricks and artifacts from previous travelers or inhabitants.
The whole place stank of death and decay.
“Know where we are yet?” Nate asked as we passed under a sculpted stone archway stained with mold.
I shook my head and stayed silent.
Nate stayed silent too. He pushed me through a maze of passages until we reached a wooden door on the left side of the current path. “Here we are,” he said, unlocking the padlock on the door. It looked shiny and new, so I could only assume that he’d installed it himself recently.
The room beyond the door was pitch black, but that changed when Nate lit a rusted old lantern in the corner.
I half expected to see some sort of sex dungeon with whips and paddles and floggers. But this wasn’t a room for pleasure. It was a room for pain. Cruel, agonizing, vicious pain.
I shuffled forward and blinked, trying to take it all in. It was a large space with cinderblock walls covered in plastic. The floor was covered in plastic too. I could see old brown stains beneath the transparent cellophane.
Blood. Just like the cell I woke in earlier.
Against the wall to my right, a stainless steel cabinet displayed a black knife roll with a range of knives, scalpels, and ice picks sitting on it. A small freezer sat next to it, unplugged and unused for what must’ve been years, judging by its faded, cobwebbed appearance. A rack on the left wall displayed bigger knives, saws, and cleavers.
In the middle of the room was a large wooden table, and next to that was a smaller examination table with stirrups. Chains and shackles hung from the ceiling.
“What is this place?” I asked. My breath caught in my throat as I spoke, making my words sound husky.
Nate ignored my question and ran a hand over the edge of the black fabric that the knives and scalpels were resting on. “Some of the stuff here is mine. The rest was already here, though.”
“Why?” I kept looking around, not knowing what to make of the place.
“You see the blood on the walls?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“This was where your dad killed his victims,” he said, upper lip curling with disgust. “And the cells along the way, including yours—that’s where he kept them before he killed them.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “They never found the Butcher’s killing spot.”
“No. But I did.” Nate’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been exploring this place for years.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police if you were so sure you’d found it?”
One shoulder went up in a shrug. “What’s the point? They caught the guy ten years ago, and he’s dead. Why open old wounds for everyone on the island by creating a big media sensation about the discovery of his killing grounds?” he asked. “You know that’s exactly what would happen.”
“I guess so.” I pursed my lips and looked around again. “So where are we?”
“You’ve heard of the Avalon tunnels, right?”
I nodded. They were quite famous—a warren of tunnels, galleries and passages spreading all over the island. They dated back to the early settlement period, and some of the bigger ones up in the city were a common spot for tourists and adventurers to trek through when it was too cold to hike outside.
I’d never been in any of them before, but Sascha once went on a date with a guy who showed them to her. When she told me how cool they were afterwards, we’d planned to go exploring in them together one day.
We might never get the chance to do that now.
My stomach lurched at the thought.
“What do you know about them?” Nate asked.
“I know they’re huge, and they go all over the island,” I said, brows furrowing. “I also know a lot of them were used by bootleggers during Prohibition. And a lot of the ones that ran onto private properties got blocked off from the main tunnels and turned into private bunkers during the second world war, in case the island got bombed.”
Nate smirked. “So you know the basics, then. I bet you don’t know what happened to the main Arcadia Bay tunnels, do you?”
“No, but I’m guessing that’s where we are,” I said, gesturing at the dank space around us.
“Yeah. They used the tunnels up in the city for all the liquor smuggling during Prohibition, but they had another problem aside from distribution. Snitches.” He ran a hand along the plastic-coated wall as he paced around the room. “All those cells along the tunnels here—they were originally just open rooms and alcoves. But during Prohibition, the smugglers came and added the bars in. Anyone who was deemed a threat to the industry was thrown in one of those cells to rot.”
“What a lovely story,” I muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Nate pulled me out of the room and padlocked the door behind us, leaving me shivering in the dark, damp passage outside. Then he started pushing me back through the tunnels in the direction we originally came from.
“This part of the tunnels is right under Blackthorne,” he said. “I bet you had no idea about that, huh?”
I swallowed and shook my head.
“Not many people do. I’ve mentioned it to my friends before, and they’ve never heard of it either.”
“How do you know about it, then?”
Nate shoved my left shoulder, making me stumble on the stony path. “I overheard my parents talking about the bootlegger tunnel legends when I was a kid. Looked it up a few years later and figured out how to get into this particular part. Right now, we’re under one of the med school buildings at Blackthorne, not far from the teaching hospital.”
Suddenly I could picture hundreds of feet above my head, belonging to students briskly walking between classes, labs, and practical exams. I stopped in my tracks and started screaming at the top of my lungs. “Help! Help me!”
Nate shoved me again, sending me to the ground. I winced as pain seared my kneecaps and hands. “Don’t fucking bother. I told you, no one will ever hear you. We’re too far underground.”
“Someone will find this place,” I said as I climbed to my feet. “Just like you did.”
“The entrance is a trapdoor hidden under a giant patch of ivy outside the building, so I seriously doubt that,” Nate said. “Even if they do find it, they won’t make it very far. I padlocked it shut.”
“They could break the lock.”
“If they do that, they still won’t get anywhere near you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m trying to show you right now,” he replied, pushing my shoulder again. “Hurry the fuck up, and you’ll find out.”
Still seething, I traipsed along the dark passage, shivering every time I felt a cobweb brush over my bare skin. We passed my cell—oh, god, I was already calling it mine—and headed farther down the tunnel until we reached a wrought iron gate.
Nate shook it to show that it wouldn’t open. “No padlock necessary here,” he said, pointing to the lock. He pulled another key out of his pocket and dangled it in my face. “The smugglers added in these gates as an extra precaution back in the day. They’re all over the place in this part of the tunnels.”
“And you just happen to have a key for all of them, huh?”
“Yes. Once I found this place, I figured out where the old keys were kept—Blackthorne’s history department.”
I scoffed. “So they just gave them to you?”
“Not exactly. I asked to borrow them for a project, and they said yes. Things come to you pretty easily when your ancestors built half the fucking college.”
“Of course they do,” I muttered.
“I had copies of the keys made and returned the originals, so as far as the Blackthorne administration is concerned, no one could possibly be down here right now. Not even me.” Nate grabbed me and shoved me up a
gainst the stone wall, making me cry out. “So get this through your fucking head. No one knows you’re here. No one can hear you scream. No one can find you.”
I blinked rapidly as chills shot through me. He was right. No one was coming to save me. All I could do was save myself.
“Can we please talk about this?” I asked in the calmest tone I could muster, staring directly into Nate’s eyes. “If you just tell me why you think I killed Claire and Nessa, maybe I can understand and explain myself.”
“I had a feeling you’d say something like that.” Nate started pulling me toward my cell again. “If you insist, I can tell you everything. But like I said, I didn’t bring you here for no reason.”
He dragged me back into the cell and shoved me down. I winced as I landed on my right elbow at a bad angle.
“So why did you do it?” I asked in a broken whisper as I rubbed my sore arm. “You’ve been stalking me for months, so you must’ve decided I was guilty a long time before anything even happened. Am I right?”
He smirked as he locked the barred cell door behind me. “Yes. Do you want to know how I recognized you in the first place?”
I frowned, racking my brains for a recent memory. “You told me that night in the gazebo. You said you were at my father’s arraignment.”
“That’s right. But I didn’t tell you the whole story.” He knelt by the bars to get closer to me. “I don’t know why my dad took me to the arraignment. All I remember is him telling me that I needed to see what happened to people who went against us. I can’t exactly ask him, either, because he died three days later.” He stopped and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Anyway, what I do remember from that day is you. You were just a kid like me. Scared and confused. You kept crying and saying your dad was innocent. Then it was like a switch flipped.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I barely remembered that day. Too traumatic.
“You started screaming. Someone had to drag you out of the courtroom. You kept saying your dad was innocent, and that you hated everyone on the island. Then you said, and I quote: ‘My daddy would never do that to anyone! But I will! When I’m a grownup, I’m going to come back here and do it to all of you; everything you’re saying he did. Then you’ll finally feel bad about your lies. But I won’t care, and I won’t ever feel bad, because you’ll all deserve it!’” Nate cocked his head. “Do you remember that?”
“No, but I was just a kid. I didn’t mean it.”
“I used to think the same thing. You were just a child. There was no way you were actually going to come back here and avenge your father one day. But then I caught you in my house that night a few months ago, and I started to wonder.” Nate’s eyes narrowed. “I started following you around. You broke into more and more houses, obviously looking for something. I figured out what it was, too. You were looking for information on whoever it was who accused your father, because you wanted to get back at them. In fact, you wanted to get back at the whole island. Wreak havoc to punish everyone for what happened to your family ten years ago.”
“If you were so convinced that I moved back here to kill people, why didn’t you stop me?” I asked.
“Because I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t just lock you up when you hadn’t done anything wrong apart from a few break-ins,” he replied. “So I decided to watch you instead and try to convince you to leave the island. I got into your phone and bugged your dorm with a camera. I know you know about that, by the way. It’s offline now, and the last footage it transmitted to me showed you finding it. But that doesn’t matter now.” He paused, lips hooking upward in a smirk. “Oh, and I bugged your apartment in the city with a listening device, too.”
My eyes widened. “I knew it was you!” I shouted, climbing to my feet.
Nate looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“It was about five weeks ago, wasn’t it? The same day we ran into each other outside Redstone?” Nate nodded, and I went on. “Someone broke into the apartment that night. Sascha didn’t think so, but I was sure of it. My stuff was all messed up. Now I know I was right. It was you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I looked around and installed the bug in the living room so I could hear any conversations you had when you went home to visit, but I didn’t mess anything up. I didn’t want anyone to know I was there.”
“Bullshit. My research into Dad’s case was scattered all over my room!”
Nate was silent for a moment. “That wasn’t me,” he finally said. “Like I said before, I looked through your stuff, but I was careful to put it all back exactly where I found it. I’m not fucking stupid.”
I sighed and sank back to the mattress. He would never admit to anything that made him look incompetent. Typical arrogant asshole.
“Anyway,” he said, raising his brows. “I used the listening device in the apartment to rule your sister out. I thought she might’ve returned to the island to help you at first, but it’s clear she didn’t. For one, she’s too much of an emotional wreck to plan out a series of murders. All she seems to do in the apartment is lie around watching soppy movies on Netflix and crying. I’ve also heard her on the phone to you.”
My stomach lurched again at the thought of my sister. She was a very emotional person, so I couldn’t even imagine how badly she would be affected if and when she realized I was missing and possibly dead.
“I heard her telling you to concentrate on your college work a few times,” Nate went on. “She kept saying ‘revenge isn’t everything’ and ‘you might never get the answers you want’. She also said a lot of stuff that alluded to your father’s guilt. So she obviously knows you came back here to try to prove his innocence, but she doesn’t agree with you at all. I doubt she was aware that your plan involved revenge killing, either.”
“That’s because it didn’t,” I said, stubbornly crossing my arms. “Yes, I’ve always wanted revenge. But not like that. I wanted to find the people who framed my father and turn them in to the authorities.”
Nate chuckled darkly. “Oh, sure. You trust the authorities here, huh? Even though you think there was some far-reaching conspiracy that set up your dad?”
“I was going to take my proof straight to the FBI when I found it,” I said, glaring at him. “Of course I don’t trust the cops here on the island.”
He snorted with amusement. “It’s funny how you think I’m delusional when you’re clearly the delusional one here,” he said. “And you know what else is funny?”
“What?”
“You really think your psycho father was innocent. But in the process of trying to exonerate him and avenge him, you’ve become him. It’s so ironic.”
I clenched my teeth. “For the millionth time, I’m not a killer!”
“All the evidence says otherwise.”
I rolled my eyes. “What fucking evidence, Nate? Your imagination doesn’t count.”
“Hm. Let’s see.” He pulled my phone out of his pocket again, clicked a few buttons, and held the screen up to the bars. “Very interesting search history over the last several months, Alexis. Efficient methods to remove organs. How to bleed out a body. How to remove eyeballs without damaging them. That’s just a small sample.”
“I can explain that,” I said, holding up a palm. “I’ve been researching all that stuff to try to prove that my father was innocent. He didn’t have much scientific knowledge, and I think the way the Butcher murders were carried out showed that the person knew what they were doing. I’ve been trying to prove that. That’s all.”
“That’s a convenient excuse.” He reached into the black bag he’d brought to the cell earlier. “Do you have an excuse for this too?”
He held up an orange and white medication bottle. The label said ‘Alexis May Livingston’ along with the drug name. Aripiprazole.
I frowned. “What’s that?”
“I found it in the trash in your room. It’s an anti-psychotic medication.”
“But I….” I trailed
off and shook my head. “It’s not mine.”
“That’s all you have to say about it? It’s not yours?” Nate said, eyes glimmering with disdain. “So you’re claiming you’ve never been medicated for anything?”
I gritted my teeth. “I’ve been prescribed sleeping tablets before because I’ve always struggled with sleep. But that’s all. I don’t even take them anymore because they didn’t help me.” I hesitated and shrugged. “Maybe they mixed up the drug label on the pill bottle, and that’s why you found it in my trash. It was meant to say Ambien.”
“I don’t think a pharmacist would be that stupid and incompetent. You were obviously prescribed Aripiprazole because you’re batshit fucking crazy.”
My head was aching now, and there was a dull roaring sound in my ears. “Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?” I asked, lips curling with disgust. “Even if that was my medication, it wouldn’t mean I’m a killer. Tons of people are on meds like that for all sorts of reasons, and mental health issues don’t automatically make people murderers!”
Nate laughed again. “You’re seriously trying to be politically correct right now?” he said, shaking his head. “Do you really think people who slice and dice girls are mentally stable?”
I gritted my teeth. “No. Obviously they’re unstable. I’m just saying it’s fucked up to paint all mentally ill people with the same brush.”
“I’m only painting you with that brush, because these are your meds and you’re a fucking lunatic. Just like daddy dearest.”
Anger surged through me like acid, starting in my belly and burning as it rose to my throat. “So that’s all your evidence, huh? A search history and a pill bottle.”
“Of course not. Remember the camera I put in your room?”
I glowered at him. “Yes.”
“All the footage from it was transmitted wirelessly to my computer. I also had an alert system set up so that it would ping me if there was any movement detected in your room while I was sleeping. I set that up just in case you tried anything in the middle of the night, because I was sure you would at some point, and I was right. Too bad the alert system didn’t work. I slept right through it.”
