by Elle Gray
It was one of the last pieces she wrote before she died. I keep her website up and functional, as well as her archive of podcasts. She was just getting started really, but she’d developed a loyal following that was growing by the day. Keeping her website running is my way of keeping her alive for them as well. And every now and then, one of her fans will stop by the website and leave a message for her. In a way, seeing how much others loved her helps me too.
I get to my feet and look at the big board as Brody calls it up. The article is titled Seattle Underground, Separating Fact From Fiction. Because it was October, Veronica thought it would be fun to do a Halloween piece, and because the Underground is reportedly haunted, she arranged to take a private tour one night. I remember her coming home pale as a ghost herself. We drank wine and laughed about it all night.
I read the text of the article. It’s not long before I find what it is I’m looking for. It’s a line in the article near the end.
“…I don’t consider myself easily spooked, and I can’t confirm the validity of the alleged ghost sightings, but there is something about the Seattle Underground. There’s a certain mystique to the way the shadows flit between the cracks in the walls. The dead ends and closed-off pathways. The glimpses of the still-standing past. The secrets hidden by years and years of neglect. Whatever truly lurks at the heart of the Underground will have to remain a mystery. For now, it’s a place that seems to reveal more questions for every answer you uncover. And that place scares me like nothing else.”
Brody looks over at me. “Do you really think it’s the Underground?”
I nod. “I do,” I say. “I’m sure of it.”
“Okay, let’s go,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, you’re not going anywhere near the guy,” I say. “I’m not going to be responsible for anybody else getting hurt.”
“You do know him taking Blake was not your fault.”
“He never would have known she existed if not for me.”
“He bugged the office, man.”
“Still. I don’t want to risk your life too,” I tell him. “Please. Just stay here and be ready if I do need you.”
He opens his mouth to argue but closes it again and nods. “You got it, man. Whatever you need. I’ll be ready.”
I clap him on the shoulder and give it a squeeze. “You’re my best friend, Brody. You’ve always been there for me—”
“Shut up. Don’t you even dare start talking like you’re not coming out of this,” he snaps. “Go do what you do best— beat the crap out of him, grab Blake, and get back here. That’s what you do. That’s what you’re going to do. You got me?”
“I got you.”
I squeeze his shoulder again and pull him into a tight embrace before heading out of the office. I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to freak him out any more than he already was, but I have a bad feeling as I head into what might be my final confrontation with Alvin Perry. Never before in my life have I ever felt this outmatched. He always seems to be two steps ahead of me, and even though I’ve closed that gap a little bit, the gap still exists.
He’s managed to get under my skin and rattle me in ways nobody ever has before. Not even my father. And I know he’s going to have some nasty surprises waiting for me when I get there. This is not going to be a bloodless coup. We are both fighting for something, and we are both the type who will fight to the death for it. It’s very possible that I may not come out of this alive.
But I will make sure to do everything in my power to make sure that Blake does. She’s the mission, and she is my focus. Everything else, including my own life, is extraneous and disposable.
Thirty-Two
Seattle Underground; Downtown Seattle
The Underground is closed for the day, but I see the gates that lead to the entrance have already been pried open. The door is popped and standing slightly open, beckoning me. I pull my weapon out of the holster on my hip and check the magazine, then slam it home before I chamber a round and turn the safety off. My concealed carry permit hasn’t come just yet, but it’s close enough.
I pull my coat around me tighter, concealing the holster as best as I can. I open the door and pull out the small penlight I have and sweep the area in front of me. Nothing. It’s clear. The lights inside are dim, leaving most of the area around me in shadows and gloom as I descend the staircase.
After the Great Fire back in 1889 leveled a lot of the city, Seattle was rebuilt right on top of the remains of the old city. But the rebuilding left a labyrinth of passageways, basements, and other assorted rooms. It’s a ghost town, a relic of the past, living just below the streets of one of America’s biggest cities.
Eventually, some enterprising mind figured out how to make a few bucks off the old ghost town, and since then, the Underground has become one of Seattle’s bigger tourist attractions. It is literally like stepping into the past. Relics and artifacts of the bygone era remain, as does all of the original construction. Oh, they’ve had to make improvements here and there to ensure the place doesn’t collapse and kill the tourists— that would be bad for business after all— but it’s relatively unobtrusive and doesn’t detract from the flavor of the old city.
Personally, I like it down here. I know a lot of people don’t. Some feel creeped out, and others are certain they see ghosts. Paranormal garbage notwithstanding, it’s the fact that it harkens back to a simpler time that draws me. And if you listen closely, you can hear the echoes of the past. I’ve always found a pleasant charm about the Underground.
But not tonight. Tonight there is nothing charming or simple about it. Tonight the Underground may become a tomb. I just know that it won’t be a tomb for Blake. I’m going to get her out of here if it kills me.
Up ahead of me, I see a faint green glow on the ground, so I walk to it. I squat down and pick up the green glow stick. I look up the corridor and see another. This is obviously the path Perry wants me to follow. And so I do. I follow the trail of green glow sticks and quickly realize we’re veering off the normal path laid out for the tourists. I’m entering areas that are restricted from customers, as they’ve been deemed too dangerous.
The winding path takes me about ten minutes to navigate, and when I step through a large hole in a brick wall, I see Blake tied to a chair at the other end of the room. She looks up at me with wide eyes, but the gag in her mouth prevents her from communicating with me. I scan the room but don’t see Perry anywhere. Blake is shaking her head vigorously though, tears glimmering in her eyes and spilling down her already wet cheeks.
The sight of Blake in tears stops me in my tracks. A wave of trepidation flows through me. She is not the crying type. I’ve never seen her cry before. And I know she is crying for me. Because I may not come out of this alive.
“Welcome, Paxton,” comes Perry’s voice. “And thank you for arriving on time.”
“I’m a man of my word,” I throw his words back at him. “Now, let Blake go.”
“All in due time.”
The walls of this room have plenty of holes and are collapsed in some places. I narrow my eyes, trying to see through the darkness that hangs thick and deep in the cavernous emptiness. He could be standing anywhere beyond that veil of pitch, and I wouldn’t be able to see him. And the acoustics in here distort his voice, making it seem like it’s echoing in from everywhere, adding to the confusion. I can’t pinpoint his location by his voice because of it. That’s probably why he picked this room.
“You got me here, Perry,” I call into the darkness. “Now cut her loose. That was the deal.”
“This is true. And I will not renege on it, I assure you,” he replies. “But I wanted to make you an offer before we do that.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“Do not be so sure about that, Paxton.”
Blake keeps shaking her head vigorously. She’s trying to warn me off about something, I can tell, but until I can get that gag off her, she can’t tell me what. It makes me un
easy, but it’s also making me more vigilant than I already am. Keeping my back pressed to the wall, I start to circle the room, edging toward the other side where Blake is. I keep my eyes moving, taking in the room around me as best as I can.
“Tell me something, Alvin, did you murder your parents before or after you murdered Delia Johnson and Alex Ellison?”
His laughter and slow applause ring out, coming at me from every direction, but I keep going, half worried that I’ll catch a knife in the back from one of the holes in the wall before I get to Blake.
“Congratulations on putting together the mystery of my life,” he says, punctuating it with loud claps. “It sounds like you have me all figured out.”
“Not completely. It’s like I told you, we all need our secrets,” I tell him. “But I have a pretty good idea of who you are and why you do the things you do.”
“Bravo, Paxton. Bravo,” he says. “As far as my parents go, it was Delia who allowed me to kill them. It was her sacrifice, her contribution to my becoming, that gave me the skills and confidence to hunt them down and begin my work.”
“Yeah, that’s not twisted or anything.”
“Do not be so quick to judge,” he scolds me. “Not all of us grew up with the privilege you did.”
That is very true. I acknowledge that. But the brittleness of his voice when he said it tells me that I was right about him. He’s jealous of how I grew up. I am more of a symbol to him, a reminder of the life he wanted so badly. This game was never about me. It was all about him.
“You did not have parents who harangued and beat you daily,” he goes on. “You did not have parents who deprived you of the basics.”
“That’s true,” I acknowledge, still trying to keep him talking and find his location. “But it’s not like I grew up in Nirvana either. Even people with money have problems, Alvin.”
“Do not compare your upbringing with mine,” he snaps. “They are nothing alike.”
“You might be surprised, actually.”
I make it to Blake and squat down to assess the cuffs. Plastic zipcuffs. But just as I’m about to reach for my knife to cut them off her, I notice the box underneath the chair. It’s square, made of metal, and has a timer on it. The red glowing numbers show ten seconds.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
I pull Blake’s gag down and stare into her eyes. She looks back at me, her face drawn and pale, her green eyes alight with both fear and rage.
“Stay very still,” I tell her. “There’s a bomb under your seat.”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Yeah, duh. I know,” she snaps. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Oh. Well…”
I get to my feet and turn in a circle, turning my attention back to deciphering where Perry is. But he remains invisible to me.
“A bomb, Perry? Really?” I hiss. “You said you were a man of your word.”
“I am,” he replies. “I’m not going to do anything to her. You will decide whether she lives or dies.”
“Fine. She lives.”
“Not so fast, Paxton.”
A low growl escapes my throat, and I narrow my eyes. “What?” I snap.
“The deal I was set to offer you before. It’s time,” he says.
“What deal?” I ask, barely able to keep the hostility out of my voice to comply with Perry’s ‘pleasant demeanor’ and politeness rule.
“It’s simple, really. I know you’re not satisfied with the conclusions drawn in your wife’s death,” he says. “You don’t believe the conclusions.”
“Wow, genius-level detective work, Perry. Good job.”
“Watch your attitude, please,” he replies. “What if I told you I had information about that night? About her accident that might put things in an entirely different context for you? What if I showed you that you are correct to question everything?”
“I’d say you are full of crap,” I fire back. “I’ve been digging into this for two years. You’ve been on it for two days. I think I’ve covered everything and highly doubt you uncovered something I didn’t.”
He laughs softly. “Are you willing to take that chance? Are you willing to let me walk away, not knowing whether or not I have some information that might blow your wife’s case wide open?”
“I don’t believe you,” I tell him.
“I can see that,” Perry replies. “But on my word, on my honor, I vow to you that the information I am holding puts the entire accident, if it was that, in an entirely new light.”
“You know he’s trying to get into your head, right?” Blake whispers to me.
I nod my head, but deep down, I wonder. He puts a lot of stock in his word. In his honor. I don’t think he’d offer those up if he wasn’t being sincere.
“And what do I have to do to get that information from you?” I ask, trying to sound completely bored and unconvinced.
“You will come with me. You will let me guide you onto the path that will allow you to build upon my legacy,” he says. “And also, you will pull the trigger that will set off the bomb underneath Special Agent Wilder.”
I open my mouth to reply but hesitate. All of a sudden, I can’t seem to form the words. The idea that I could finally put Veronica— and my mind— to rest once and for all, is appealing. It’s something I’ve desired for so long. All those sleepless nights. All those lingering questions that have haunted me for the last two years. They could all be put to rest. I would have the answers I need to move on with my life.
And here’s Perry, dangling that in front of me.
“Pax, you know he’s full of crap, don’t you?” Blake hisses, a note of worry in her voice. “He’s trying to play you.”
I give her a small smile, but it does nothing to reassure her. Instead, her face becomes even more pale, and she looks at me like I’ve already pulled the trigger on the detonator.
“On your honor, you say you have information about Veronica’s death? Where did you get it?” I call out.
“That doesn’t matter and is not your concern,” Perry replies. “All that matters is that I have it and am willing to give it to you.”
I look down at Blake again, giving her a look of pure sadness, and try to convey my silent apology to her. Her eyes widen, and her lips tremble. She stares at me in stunned shock, unable to conceive of a world where I’d do this to her.
“Pax,” she stammers. “Pax, don’t do this. Please.”
“You know how bad I want those answers, Blake. How long I’ve been searching for them?”
“You’re going to kill me, Pax,” she cries. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks. “You’re going to murder me. You’ll be just like him.”
“But I’ll have the answers I’ve been driving myself crazy over for the last two years.”
“Paxton Arrington—”
I lean down and kiss the crown of her head, cutting off her words. Instead, she breaks down into a series of wild, loud sobs.
“I’m sorry, Blake. Please forgive me.”
I wrench my eyes shut and turn away from her.
“I want the information, Perry.”
He steps out of the shadows, a wide smile on his face. I was right. He is nondescript, of sorts. But I recognize him clear as day. He was the IT guy Brody hired. He was the cable guy at the Morgans’.
And he’s the man who’s ruined my life.
He laughs, and for all the world, looks at me the way a proud father looks at his son.
“I knew you would,” he says. “I even told her you’d choose Veronica over her.”
“I already did once before,” I reply, drawing a wide-eyed stare from her.
“That’s where the chemistry I sense between you two comes from,” he responds. “An unrequited love. Sad.”
“Give me the information about Veronica,” I demand.
“In due time. Right now, you need to prove yourself to me, Paxton,” he says. “I need to see that you are committed to ascending. To transforming.”
>
“I’m committed enough,” I snap. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
He pulls a triggering device out of his pocket and hands it over to me. I reach for it, only to have him yank it away at the last minute. Perry gives me a beatific smile.
“She will be your Delia Johnson, Paxton,” he says. “She will be the one who sets you free with her sacrifice. And she will help you start your metamorphosis. Don’t forget to thank her for her contribution to your becoming.”
I nod and take the trigger out of his hands and turn to Blake. I give her a small smile. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and her eyes are red and puffy. She sniffs loudly, and I see her entire body trembling.
“Thank you,” I say.
“What are you thanking her for, Paxton?” he asks me from behind.
“Thank you, Blake Wilder, for showing me who I truly am.”
I whip my head around now to a confused and shocked expression on Perry’s face. But he recognizes the threat instantly and starts to react. I see the snarl cross his face, but his motions are too slow. I round on him and drive my fist flush into his nose with a sound like hitting the old leather of a mitt. Perry’s head snaps backward. He staggers back a couple of steps, and blood flows from his nose, running down his neck and painting his light blue shirt with streaks of crimson.
I press my advantage and rush him, but Perry is ready for me. He swings the blade I never saw him palming. I barely jump backward in time to avoid being totally disemboweled. As it is, I’ve got a long, shallow cut crossing my torso, and I already feel warm, tacky blood flowing down my stomach.
Before he can get his blade back around though, I grab him by the wrist and start to bend it backward. He lets out a squeal of pain, and so I drive my other fist into his face again. This time, I hear his nose snap. The blood flows freely, giving him a gruesome visage.
Somehow, he manages to buck me off of him and spin away. Perry lunges at me, blade first, and as I dodge it, I realize too late that it was a feint. And before I can react, I feel his blade sink deep into my arm. The pain is excruciating. I let out a howl of agony.
