by Lisa Jackson
And it was his fault.
Even now, he tasted the blood of Kristi Bentz upon his lips. All part of the show. All part of the plan. All for the greater good.
Like hell.
All part of your own personal aggrandizement.
He’d gotten to know the girls personally and told himself that they were willing participants, that the fear he’d seen in their eyes was all part of the show, that the reason they’d been paralyzed and weak was only their acting ability.
He’d convinced himself that nothing illegal had happened, that there were no victims, that no one had been hurt.
But deep down, he’d known.
But he might be able to save Ariel O’Toole and Kristi Bentz. There might still be time. He might be able to stop this horror from ever happening again. Even if he had to turn himself in for his part in the debacle—his very integral part.
Outside the storm was raging, rain lashing at his windows, and the flash of lightning lit up the sky in sizzling bursts, thunder rolling afterward.
He should have come clean when Kristi Bentz had visited his office, wanting answers. Oh, hell, he should have come clean a year ago, when he’d first heard that Dionne had gone missing.
He’d suspected that things had gone wrong then.
Over the soft music and angry storm, he heard the front door creak open and his heart clutched. He’d locked it, hadn’t he? Or had he forgotten?
They’re coming for you.
They know.
A drip of fear slid down his spine as he climbed to his feet to investigate. “Hello?” he said, disgusted with himself. He was a strong man. He’d never known real fear in his life.
Footsteps clicked determinedly down the hallway.
“Who’s there?” He was at the den door when it swung open in front of him and the woman he’d claimed to love stood before him in trembling fury.
“No more, Dominic,” Lucretia said, her voice hoarse, her eyes sunken, skin as pale as death. Her head was bare and wet, mascara tracking down her cheeks. Rainwater ran down the folds of a long black raincoat. She hadn’t bothered closing the door and it banged open against the wall, cold winter air rushing through the hallway. “No more lies. No more disappearances. No more making me think I’m crazy.”
“Lucretia, I’m going to the police—”
“Now? When they’ve found the bodies? Now you’re going?” She shook her head from side to side. “I loved you,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“I know. I loved you, too—”
“Liar!” she spat, nostrils flared.
She pulled her hand from the pocket of her raincoat, her fingers curled around a small black handgun.
He froze. “Oh, Christ, Lucretia, what’re you doing?” he asked, but he knew. In his heart, he knew. “Don’t!” His stomach dropped as she raised a pistol, the one he’d given her months before.
“You killed them,” she said, her voice trembling, her hand shaking.
“I tried to save them! I just put on a show for the others, but it was all an act, I swear!”
“No…” The pistol wobbled in her hands.
Maybe he could talk her out of this. Maybe he could take the weapon from her.
“Just listen. There might be time. Kristi and Ariel might still be alive.”
“Kristi? Kristi Bentz? You dragged her into it? And Ariel? Her, too?” Her eyes hardened as she aimed the gun at his head. “She’s missing. Has been since last week…and it’s your fault. Oh, God, she’s dead. I know she’s dead. I should have warned them, told them.”
He took a step toward her, but her fingers moved on the gun’s trigger. He stopped. Held up both hands in an attempt to calm her. “We just have to find Preston. He’s…he’s the one who got to know the girls, who helped them…. He has a place, it’s connected to the Wagner House by the old tunnels that Ludwig Wagner used.”
“They’ve been sealed for a hundred years,” she said dully. “This is another lie.”
“No, no, I swear. Preston claimed he was helping them all start over, gain new lives, disappear….”
“Helping them die.”
“Lucretia, I didn’t know. I swear, I did not know,” he said, trying to keep her engaged in conversation as he thought of a way to strip the weapon from her, to tackle her and take his chances.
“But you suspected. Just as I did.” She focused on him, the gun steady but lowered to his chest again.
His heart shuddered and for just a second, over the howl of the wind that shrieked down the hallway from the open door, he thought he heard something. Footsteps?
“You’re guilty, Dominic. We’re both guilty.”
“No! Lucretia, just wait. Listen to reason. I’ll call the police and tell them all about Preston, about the girls, about my part in it. I’ll confess. Please, my love, just give me a chance,” he said, changing tactics, smiling at her, stepping toward her. She wanted to believe he still loved her, so he would give it his all. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said in the voice that always had made her melt. “I’ve always loved you. You know that. I’ll tell the police about Preston and the plays and the tunnels from Wagner House. They might be able to find Kristi and Ariel. They could still be alive. Come on, honey. Trust me.”
She flinched, then looked him straight in the eye.
“Lucretia, baby—”
“I’ll see you in hell, and when I do, I’ll remember to spit on you.”
She pulled the trigger.
Jay didn’t wait.
He and Mai had seen Grotto’s open door and considered it an invitation. They ran through the rain, up the steps of the front porch. Weapons drawn, they surged into the building. A light emanated from the end of the hall where voices rose in an argument that could be heard over the rise of the wind and the slamming rain.
Mai signaled to him to stay back, that she would handle it, but he was right beside her, hearing every word of the conversation, hearing Kristi’s name and mention of tunnels running from Wagner House. Grotto’s statement, “They could still be alive,” propelled him. Glock raised, he pushed open the door.
Bang!
A gunshot boomed through the house.
Thud!
“FBI!” Mai yelled, rushing the room behind him. “Drop your weapon!”
Bang!
Jay watched helplessly, yelling to no avail, as Lucretia fell to the floor. The weapon slipped from her fingers, blood oozing from a self-inflicted wound to her head.
Grotto was down, bleeding from the chest, a red stain spreading over the carpet. His eyes were open, staring blankly toward the ceiling.
Jay punched 9-1-1 on his phone as he knelt beside Grotto. “He’s still alive!” he yelled, finding a pulse as the emergency dispatcher answered.
“She’s gone.” Mai removed her fingers from Lucretia’s neck and came to Grotto’s side.
Jay stayed on the line with the operator, giving the address, explaining what happened.
“Stay with me, Dr. Grotto,” Mai said. “Hang in there.”
Sirens shrieked over the keening wind, and through the window Jay, still talking to the operator, watched police vehicles, lights flashing, screech to a halt in front of the house. An ambulance and fire truck arrived in tandem.
“They’re here,” Jay said into the phone, his mind still racing. “Thanks!” He dropped to a knee as footsteps thundered through the hallways.
“Back here!” Mai yelled.
“Where is she?” Jay demanded, leaning over Grotto, his face only inches from that of the wounded man. “Where’s Kristi?”
“With…Preston…”
“Where?” Jay demanded.
“Tunnels…” Grotto wheezed, his voice faint.
“Out of the way. Step back.” An EMT muscled in, taking over, trying to save the bastard’s life. “Get these people out of here!”
Frustrated, Jay backed away from the wounded man, his fear for Kristi more acute than ever. He stepped into the hallway—right into the path
of Rick Bentz.
“Where the hell is Kristi?” Bentz demanded.
“With Preston.”
“Who’s he?”
“Dr. Charles Preston. A professor at the college, English Department,” Jay explained. “Grotto says Preston has her, maybe somewhere in Wagner House. I’m guessing the basement, which is always locked. It leads to old tunnels, at least that’s what Grotto claims. Kristi was convinced there were some kind of weird vampire rituals taking place there.”
Mai Kwan joined them. “Those tunnels have been sealed for a century. I know. I checked. We’ve looked into Wagner House.”
“Who the hell are you?” Bentz demanded, ready for a fight.
“Mai Kwan, FBI. And you?”
Jay wasn’t interested in pleasantries. While Bentz, Montoya, and Kwan straightened out jurisdiction, levels of authority, and fucking protocol, he walked into the night.
If he ran, and cut across campus, he could reach Wagner House in less than five minutes.
Portia Laurent had spent all day going over information from the school concerning their employees. She’d found several who owned dark vans and, of course, she’d immediately thought of Dr. Grotto, Professor Vampire himself, as the primary suspect. But it just didn’t make any sense. Why would he be so blatant? He’d never struck her as an idiot. An egomaniac, yes, certainly, but not a cretin.
So she’d dug deeper, finding nothing, hoping for another shred of evidence that hadn’t come through. She’d placed calls and e-mails, searched the Internet along with criminal and banking records, DMV, anything she could think of.
“Strike three hundred and three and you’re out,” she told herself, and placed a call to Jay McKnight. He didn’t pick up. “Story of my damned life,” she thought. Then she glanced up and saw an e-mail that had been written earlier in the day but, probably because of all the spam filters, had taken hours to get to her.
She read the damned thing three times before she realized what it was saying. It was from a private college in California and said simply:
You must have made some mistake; the person you’re asking about is deceased. We’re sorry to inform you that Dr. Charles Preston passed away on December 15, 1994.
Portia immediately checked the Internet, finding the obit and confirming the story. Preston had died in a surfing accident. The photograph was clear and there was no way that he was the same man who taught writing at All Saints.
On her way to the car, she called Del Vernon and left him a message. No way was she waiting for him. She and Charles Preston—or whoever he was—were about to have a heart-to-heart.
The door to Kristi’s prison opened silently. She didn’t move. Her heart was slamming into her ribs and she had to force her muscles to go slack. Her eyes remained closed except for the tiniest crack that she allowed herself, just a glimpse of her surroundings.
Until a flashlight was trained on her face.
“Hey!” A man’s voice echoed through the chamber. “Wake up!”
Dr. Preston?
The surfer-dude writing teacher?
Not Grotto?
Her head still pounded, but her mind was beginning to clear. She knew her arms and legs worked, but not completely. She’d never be able to overpower her captor. But Dr. Preston?
“Kristi! Wake up!” he yelled at her as he approached. He bent down, grabbed both her arms and gave her a little shake. “Wake up. Come on.”
She let her head loll forward, then back as he shook her. Though she wanted to kick his teeth in, she knew she had to wait until just the right moment, when her faculties were sharp, when her body obeyed her mind.
But what if it’s too late? What if he kills you first? Are you going down without a fight?
She thought about trying to overpower him and knew she should wait. She had to, if she wanted to escape.
“Dumb cunt,” he muttered, and left her on the floor. He closed the door again and turned the key.
You missed your only chance! You should have fought, tried to run!
No…she knew that wouldn’t have worked. Shaking inside, she took deep calming breaths. She had to outsmart the son of a bitch.
She remembered little of the previous hours. She had fuzzy memories of being nude on a stage of sorts and Dr. Grotto biting her neck, but after that, after she’d passed out from fear, from the drugs she’d been given, or whatever else, she remembered nothing.
She tried her legs again. They wobbled, bound as they were, but she could move her hands, and if she could somehow untie the ropes…no, not ropes or chains, but tape, thick duct tape that held her ankles together.
She sat on the floor and wished for the first time in her life that she had sharp nails. But her fingers were nearly useless as she tried and failed to tear at the plastic-coated tape.
She thought of Jay. Why hadn’t she told him she loved him? Now, there was a chance, a very good chance, that she might never see him again and he’d never know how she felt, how she’d fallen in love with him.
You have more important things to think about.
Again she tried to rip at the tape, but to no avail. But her body was responding now; she could give it commands and her muscles did as they were bid.
She levered her legs upward, pulling her ankles as close to her torso as possible, then leaned forward. She was flexible from years of athletics. Tae kwon do and swimming had helped. She stretched her spine and positioned her mouth over the tape between her ankles. Then she bit down hard and flung her head backward. Her teeth skated over the tape. No purchase.
Damn!
She tried again.
Failed.
One more time, concentrating hard. Straining. Sweating. She had to get herself free before he returned. If so, if she could stand, catch him off guard, sweep his legs out from under him.
Do it, Kristi, just effing do it!
She bit down hard. Drew her head back fast. This time her tooth scraped through the plastic, caught and she was able to make a little tear. She grabbed both of the tiny ends with her fingers, which promptly slipped off the tape. Damn! She was damp with sweat, her heart knocking, time running out.
She grabbed the ends of the tape again and pulled.
Rrrriiiip.
She was through!
She flung herself to her bare feet just as she heard the sound of footsteps in the hall beyond.
Come on, you cocksucker, she thought, still slightly unsteady. She clasped her hands together, intended to use them like a club once she’d knocked the bastard off his feet. Come on, come on. She was keyed up. Ready. Every muscle taut when she heard keys rattling on the other side of the door.
As soon as the door swung open she rounded on him, her bare foot slamming into his shins.
He howled in surprise, but didn’t go down. Kristi didn’t bother hitting him, just sprang through the open door and yanked it shut behind her.
Locks tumbled into place.
Breathing hard, she felt a rush. She’d turned the tables on him! But for how long? She took off down a darkened hallway and didn’t look back. She only had a few seconds.
He still had the keys.
Jay flew up the back steps of Wagner House and tried the door.
Locked.
No problem. He kicked in the nearest window and flung himself through just as he heard other footsteps clamoring up the porch: Bentz, Montoya, and Kwan. Jay found the doorway to the basement and tried it.
Another damned lock.
This time he kicked at the panels, but the door wouldn’t budge. He swore, looked around the kitchen, and found a metal stool. He was about to crash it into the knob when Mai Kwan climbed through the window he’d just broken.
Mai rolled to her feet and shouted, “Stand back.” Her weapon was already out of its holster. She shot at the handle of the door, springing the lock and shattering wood as Bentz, too, heaved himself through the broken window. Montoya was on his heels.
Jay didn’t wait. Using a penlight, he hurried down the s
tairs, half expecting a sniper to be waiting, ready to pick him off. But with Mai one step behind, he made it unscathed.
Bentz hit the lights and everything came into sudden, sharp relief.
The large, open room was filled with crates, old furniture, boxes of knickknacks, even photographs. A behemoth of a furnace with ducts stretching upward like metallic arms filled one corner, an empty coal bin another, a fuse box, wires long cut, sat next to a newer electric panel.
“Search the walls,” Mai ordered. “Look for another way out.”
There were several doors, all boarded shut, dusty and obviously unused. None that would open. Mai shook her head in frustration. “I told you we already searched down here.”
“There has to be a way.” The dead air of the basement filling his nostrils, Jay shoved a hand through his hair and stared at the doors. He started trying each one again, more slowly and deliberately, but none of them would budge. Bentz was shoving boxes and crates, and Montoya stalked the perimeter of the room.
Had Kristi been wrong?
Jay checked his watch, felt time slipping away. He’d pinned his hopes that he would find her here, but now…what?
“We need to talk to Father Mathias. Kristi seemed to think that he knew something.”
Mai nodded. “He lives just behind the chapel. I’ll go.” She was already heading up the stairs.
Montoya followed after Mai. “I’ll back her up.”
Jay and Rick Bentz looked at each other across the dusty, moldering basement. “If Kristi said something was going on down here, then something was,” Bentz said. He squinted as he eyed the window casements placed high, near the rafters, where spider webs and old nails were exposed in the ancient beams.
Jay, too, was eyeing the perimeter of the building, looking for something they’d missed, something right under their noses. He studied the furnace and began to sweat as the minutes ticked by. Nothing seemed out of place. Bentz moved a stack of crates out of the way to study the floor while Jay made his way to the electrical box. Inside all of the circuit breakers were thrown to the “on” position. He tried a few. Nothing happened except that the basement was thrown into darkness for a second.
