The Devil, the Witch and the Whore (The Deal Book 1)

by Amy Cross

  I try to look up at him, but the flashlight is too bright, almost blinding me. Instead I stare at the rope, and I can't quite bring myself to climb.

  “Because if you're a whore,” he continues, “maybe you should stay down there. Maybe you're the whore he's been looking for. I checked your friend after I picked her up at the diner, and she wasn't a whore. That surprised me a little, she looked the type, but I saw the evidence for myself.”

  Shielding my eyes as much as possible from the flashlight's glare, I look up toward the hole, but I can make out no more than the fainest outline of the figure.

  “Who are you?” I ask cautiously. “What's your name?”

  “I'm the man offering you a rope so you can climb up,” he replies, “but first, I need to know if you're a whore. If you're a whore, then I'm thinking you should stay down there with the devil and the witch.”

  “With the who and the what?” I stammer, starting to worry that this guy might be seriously out of his mind. “I want to talk to Leanne. Can you get Leanne from the truck for me? I really want to talk to her and make sure she's okay.”

  I wait for a reply, but now he seems to have fallen silent.

  And then, finally, he sighs. A moment later, the rope is yanked back up, leaving me standing in a circle of light at the bottom of the hole.

  “What are you doing?” I shout.

  “I can't take any chances,” he says, still shining the flashlight down at me. “If you're not a whore, he'll take care of you anyway. But if you are a whore, and I think you might be 'cause otherwise you'd let me check, then I guess there's just the smallest of chances that you're the one he's after. It's definitely worth a shot, so I'm gonna give it a try and see if we've struck lucky. Wouldn't that be something, huh? Striking lucky on a night like tonight!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I stammer, trying not to panic as he suddenly aims the flashlight straight at my face. “Send the rope back down! I want to get out of here! I'll do anything, just get me out of here!”

  He tilts the flashlight a little more.

  I pull back, turning away as the beam hits my eyes.

  “Where's Leanne?” I ask. “I want to talk to Leanne.”

  No reply.

  He tilts the flashlight again, as if he's trying to get a better view of me, and then suddenly he turns and I hear him walking away. All he leaves behind is an un-obscured view of the stars.

  “Where are you going?” I call after him. “Where's Leanne? I want to talk to Leanne! Let me talk to her so I know she's okay!”

  A moment later, I hear the engine roaring, and then the roof of the tunnel shudders slightly as the truck starts moving away across the field. There's a loud bang, I think caused by the engine misfiring somehow, but after that it seems to keep running.

  “Stop!” I shout, figuring I can deal with anything once I get out of this hole. “I've changed my mind! I want to come up!”

  At first I assume this asshole is simply driving away, but then the engine sound starts coming closer again. Finally, something large and dark starts grinding over the hole, as if the truck is pushing some kind of heavy cover in place to seal me down here. More soil rains down on me as the hole's edges are disturbed, and I step back as several rocks tumble to the ground right in front of me.

  “Wait!” I yell, but the cover is already more than halfway across, blocking out the stars. Finally I'm stranded in darkness once more, listening to the sound of the truck high above as the cover seals me down here.

  A moment later, I hear a heavy clunking sound, followed by more vibrations as the truck drives away.

  “Come back!” I scream, suddenly filled with panic at the thought that I'm trapped in the tunnel system. “You can't do this! What's wrong with you? Where's Leanne?”

  I wait, but the vibrations are dying down and finally I'm left in silence. Clearly the truck is gone now, and I'm all alone.

  “Come back!” I scream again. “You can't leave me down here to die! You have to get me out of here!”

  Seventeen

  Liam Cane

  “It might be her. You did the right thing. It might be her and you couldn't be sure, it's not your place to be sure, so you left her down there for him. He's the one who can test her, and he'll be pleased with you for the opportunity. He was already pleased with you tonight, but if you've found the whore for him, you'll finally get your reward.”

  The clip on the truck's loading panel is stuck, and I left my flashlight on the front seat, so I have to jiggle the fastener until I'm able to slide the bolt across and pull the panel down. I'm so cold and tired, I just want to go into the farmhouse and get some sleep, but I can't be lazy. I was lazy for so long, for all my life until I was saved, and slipping back into that way of being is not an option. I have to push through, despite my aching arms, and I have to do my job.

  Reaching forward into the darkness, I fumble for a moment before finding one of the buckets. It's heavy as I lift it down, but I grab another and then I carry it over to the patch of concrete that I always use for rinsing.

  “He can see you, you know. All the time, even when you think you're alone, he's watching you. He's never truly gone. You're never truly alone. He can see you right now. Did you know that? He's in the -”

  Suddenly a scream rings out from inside the farmhouse. I flinch, but the scream continues until I turn and look up at the dark, unlit windows. I watch for a moment, waiting in case I see any shadows moving. Finally, after a couple more seconds, the scream cuts out as abruptly as if somebody had just switched off a recording, except I know nobody switched off a recording. I know it doesn't work like that.

  “Good morning, Liam,” Doctor Ericsson said to me once, when I was in his seminar room. “How are you feeling today? Are the nightmares any better?”

  A moment later, there's a faint cry from inside the farmhouse. It's Dad, shouting for the pain to stop, but he's too late. He was always too late. A shot rings out and I know that's the moment his head gets blasted clean apart.

  “Don't listen to that. Focus on the task at hand. And get the flashlight. You can't work in darkness.”

  “It's okay, Liam,” Doctor Ericsson said. “Tell me about the voices. Do you still hear the voices?”

  I stay completely still, with my eyes fixed on the windows.

  “I hear the voice,” I told him, all those years ago. “It's not lots of voices. It's just one. And why wouldn't I hear it? It's real. It's talking to me all the time.”

  “Get the flashlight! This is not the time to let yourself become distracted! Those doctors were idiots and you have a job to finish! Remember what I just told you! He's watching!”

  Heading back to the truck, I grab the rest of the buckets and carry them to the concrete. I still can't really see anything, but I don't mind working at night. Daylight is always so harsh and unforgiving, and there are always people rushing around, asking questions and demanding things from me. I know I need more sleep, but there'll be time for sleep when I'm done. That's what he tells me, anyway. I mean, if I'd slept tonight, I'd never have spotted those two girls and their dog poking about in the yard, and I'd never have chased them down.

  Besides, bad things happen sometimes while I'm asleep.

  Reaching into the first bucket, I feel the girl's almost-cooled intestines slithering and slopping between my bare fingers. Her sausage-like guts are still very slightly warm, but not by much, so I figure I might as well get to work.

  “Fetch your flashlight. You'll work better with it.”

  “The voice isn't real, Liam. You know that, don't you?”

  “Stop thinking about the past! Focus!”

  I struggle to find one end of the intestines, but finally I'm able to start carefully and slowly feeling through every inch, searching for the marker. I know I'll find it one day, even if I have to hunt down so many girls that my feet really start hurting. I just have to be patient.

  “You just have to be patient. And fetch your flashlight. You
really need your flashlight.”

  I crouch down as I continue to work on the bucket of intestines. Any moment now, my fingertips might feel something small and hard lodged in the meat, and this hope is enough to keep me going despite the biting cold of the night air. It's the same hope that gets me out of bed every day, and the same hope that makes it so I'm able to face the world. It's also the same hope that keeps me from sobbing as I hear the scream from the farmhouse yet again. I start mumbling under my breath, counting the segments of the girl's intestines, and then a moment later I hear Dad's voice crying out seconds before the gunshot. That's when his head gets blasted, leaving not much behind except a bloodied stump. Even from out here, I can hear his lifeless body thudding to the floor outside the bedroom.

  “Go get your flashlight.”

  “You think a lot about the night your parents were murdered, don't you?”

  “Stop! Get your flashlight!”

  Forcing myself to stay calm, I continue to feel my way slowly along the girl's intestines. Leanne, I think her friend called her, but the name doesn't really matter. What matters is finding the marker, although so far I'm not having any luck. Maybe it's not in this girl, or maybe it's hidden too deep, or maybe it's in one of the other buckets. There are so many possibilities, as many possibilities as there are stars in the vast and heavy sky above, and I know that only patient work will let me find what I'm looking for. I can't be lazy. Not anymore. I have to check every inch of her meat.

  “You need your flashlight.”

  I just -

  “Go get your flashlight right now! Move!”

  I hesitate for a moment, before letting the intestines slip from my hand. Getting to my feet, I wipe my fingers against the sides of my shirt and then I make my way around to the front of the truck. I should have fetched my flashlight right from the start, I was lazy not to. Those little impulses and habits are still in me, and I have to constantly be on my guard, but at least I'm feeling small improvements each day. Reaching the truck's door, I lean inside and take the flashlight from the seat, and then I pause to glance out at the vast fields that spread beyond the farmyard. Right now, the second girl is out there somewhere, down in the tunnels, probably panicking and screaming.

  Or maybe she's already been found by the others, in which case she'll be panicking and screaming in a whole other way.

  “Don't worry about her. He'll deal with her, he knows how to do his job. Now you must do yours.”

  Turning, I head back over to the concrete and crouch down. I hesitate for a moment, maybe because I'm a little scared, and then I switch the flashlight on. The beam is bright, and the first thing I see is the dead girl's bloodied head in the nearest bucket. Her face is staring up at me and her eyes are wide open, and there's blood smeared across her features. Reaching down, I dip a fingertip into the blood and then I carefully mark the sign on her forehead, so that she won't be seen if he comes up to the farm. There. She's safe now. It's the other girl who's in danger, 'cause she won't notice she's being hunted until it's too late.

  The ones who aren't whore, they become mine. They're my reward.

  Inside the house, Mom screams again, and then Dad shouts out, and then there's another gunshot. Thud. I'm going to have to go inside soon, but not yet. Even when I'm done with the contents of this bucket, there are still six more buckets to check.

  Eighteen

  Ramsey Kopperud

  Tripping suddenly on some kind of thick tree root, I stumble forward in the darkness, but I quickly manage to steady myself against the tunnel's rough wall. I pause for a moment, stranded with no light at all, and then I start making my way forward again. I don't know where I'm going, but I do know one thing:

  If I stop, I'll die.

  So far, I've been walking along these tunnels for several hours, but I've seen nothing to suggest that I'm getting any closer to an exit. I'm pretty sure, based on the stars, that I set off toward the west after the hole was covered, although there's no guarantee that I'm still heading in that direction. For all I know, the tunnels could have been slowly twisting this way or that, sending me miles off course, and I've had to take a couple of turnings at junctions that have left me even more disorientated. In fact, as I stumble along and almost trip on another root, I'm finally forced to admit to myself that I'm truly lost.

  If I find my way out of here, it'll be pure luck.

  “You make your own luck,” I whisper. “The more you try, the better luck you have.”

  Great. I'm talking to myself. I guess I'm going to lose my mind if I'm down here for too long.

  Forcing myself to stay focused and positive, I try to think back to everything I read about this tunnel system. I know it runs for miles and miles, beneath not only Devil's Lookout but also Marston, Pellow's Peak, Scottsgrade and several other large areas near Deal. I know nobody really knows who built the tunnels or when, and I know that while some parts of the system have been comprehensively mapped and strengthened over the years, other sections are basically unexplored and have even collapsed in places. I know these tunnels have been compared to the catacombs beneath Odessa and Paris, which isn't a thought that fills me with optimism.

  I also know there are stories of people disappearing down here and never being found again. Urban legends, hopefully, but still perfectly possible.

  “Damn it!” I hiss, almost tripping yet again. There are so many roots and packs of solid mud all over the ground, I feel like I'm making my way through an obstacle course.

  There are other legends about these tunnels, too. Stories that people only dare whisper at night, and weird tales that are used to scare kids away from the entrances. Everyone knows about the devil supposedly coming up and poking his head above the ground at Devil's Lookout, but at least that story is too absurd to be true. It's the other stories that always bothered me as a kid, like the tale of a witch who's supposed to live somewhere down here. I know witches aren't real, and I'm not exactly a big believer in the paranormal, but it's easy to be skeptical when you're above ground and in somebody's well-lit, safe bedroom. Or when you've got Mom and Dad to tuck you in at night.

  It's another thing entirely to be down here, stumbling through the darkness, lost and alone and struggling to hold back tears as you search desperately for an exit.

  “There has to be some kind of logic,” I mutter to myself, figuring that talking out loud might actually help me to keep my sanity. “The tunnels can't just be random.”

  I try thinking back to the maps I saw online, and to the maps on my phone. Damn it, this is one time when I really wish I had a photographic memory. I sure didn't notice any kind of pattern at the time, but for the next few minutes I try to come up with some kind of rule I can use as I navigate my way blind through this underground labyrinth. What if I always take left turns? Would that help me find an exit? Minutes turn into hours, and I lose all track of time as I stumble along and mutter under my breath, but – for all I know – I might have accidentally doubled back on myself by now and ended up walking along the same tunnel several times.

  That's how lost I am.

  I'm also starting to get tired, and thirsty too, but I keep going, forcing myself to -

  Suddenly my right foot catches on something and I trip again. This time I'm not quick enough to catch myself, and I slam down hard against the rough, rocky ground. Letting out a gasp of pain, I roll onto my side and take a moment to get my breath back, and then I realize my foot is still resting against whatever caused me to stumble. Reaching down, I try to grab the tree-root, only to find instead that I fell due to something hard that seems to be wrapped in a kind of fabric.

  In pitch darkness, I let my hand run along the fabric's edge, until I feel a section that's slightly rumpled.

  A seam.

  Clothes.

  My chest tightens as I move my hand just a little further across the fabric. I can feel a hard, distinct shape under the clothes, and a moment later my fingertips brush against a section that feels suspiciously l
ike the collar of a shirt.

  I freeze.

  This isn't what it feels like. It can't be.

  Every atom in my body is screaming at me to just get up and keep going, but at the same time there's a voice in the back of my head that tells me I have to be sure. I slip my fingers past the collar, and finally I feel something cold and dry. I don't want to believe that it's human flesh, but as my fingertips move a little further along I finally feel the unmistakable shape of a neck.

  I pull my hand away.

  Leanne.

  No, wait, it can't be Leanne.

  Leanne wasn't wearing a collared shirt. Leanne was wearing a t-shirt and a jacket, so whoever this is, it's definitely not her. I feel a brief moment of relief, before realizing that it's still a dead body.

  “Come on,” I whisper, hoping against hope that it might turn out to be a fake, something left here to scare people away. “Just stay calm.”

  I force myself to reach out into the darkness, and it takes a moment before I find the neck again. Moving my hand slowly along, I feel the dried and desiccated face, with the mouth wide open. I want to pull away, but I'm still clinging to the hope that this isn't real and -

  Suddenly I hear a faint clicking sound, and then something crawls over my hand. A bug or something, but it's enough for me to scream and pull back.

  “Get away!” I stammer, panicking like a scared little bitch. “Don't touch me!”

  Staring straight ahead, I still can't see anything at all, but I know I felt tiny legs scurrying over my flesh for a moment, and there's no way I'm going to try touching that thing again. Still feeling the tickling sensation on my hand, I brush at my skin just in case the bug is still there, and then I get to my feet and stumble back against the tunnel wall. I look down at the patch of darkness where the body lay, and I take slow, deep breaths as I force myself to stay focused.

  “Gross,” I whisper. “Gross gross gross...”