Violet Darger | Book 7 | Dark Passage

by Vargus, L. T.

  When she got close enough, she kicked the gun away from the prone figure. Watched it skitter deeper into the mouth of the cave, into the dark.

  That felt a little better.

  Then, keeping the assault rifle trained on the body, she backpedaled toward the weapon. Plucked it off the ground. Checked the magazine and found it empty. Tucked it into her holster.

  Better still.

  She took a few breaths. Crept back toward the body.

  It hadn’t moved in all this time. That seemed more plain, more real, now that she was up close.

  She hovered over it a second. Felt faint breaths flutter in and out of her quavering chest.

  She toed the sprawled figure. Sunk the front of her shoe into the lower back. No response. No movement at all. If he was breathing, she could detect no sign of it.

  Maybe her guess had been right — DeBarge had got him and got out. It seemed more plausible now.

  She knelt. Prodded the body with the barrel of the gun. When that, too, elicited no response, she dared reaching out a hand.

  She grabbed him by the shoulder. Rolled the torso up, the face peeling off the ground, angling into the light.

  Except there was no face. Not really.

  The visage was blown out. Cratered. One eye. No nose. Not much of a top lip or pallet left. Just a bloody chasm where the features used to be.

  Darger gasped and shuffled back. That sharp intake of breath echoed around the room, sounding warbled as it rolled out over the dark water.

  The body slumped out of her grip. Slapped down in a new position, his skull rolling to one side and going motionless again. And now the light touched some of the shadowed places on one side of his head — the entry wounds were revealed at last.

  Two neat bullet holes punctured the flesh behind the ear. Both bullets had clearly exited through the center of his nose, each taking a scoop of head out with them. Venting. Leaving a pit where DeBarge’s face had been.

  Yes. DeBarge. She was sure of it now.

  The black tactical pants and SWAT issue boots still adorned his legs and feet. Worm had killed him. Probably put two bullets into his skull at point-blank range after the fact to destroy his face, obscure his identity.

  There was no puddle of blood here beneath the body. No bits of bone or brain or skin. He’d been moved here.

  Still squatted down, Darger shuffled back a touch as the revelations kept coming.

  Worm had slid his own shirt onto the corpse and laid him out here on display, once again trying to obfuscate, trying to cover his tracks, buy himself some time.

  Time for what, though?

  There was nowhere left for him to go there, was there? Nowhere to run now. He must be nearby. Perhaps waiting around the corner in the next section of cave. Tucked back in a cluster of stalagmites, a spidery thing waiting for his next victim to come along.

  Darger slowly stood, and her ears perked up. She listened to the screaming void beyond the steady dripping of the water, that immense stillness once again seeming to overwhelm this rugged cavern, swallowing it whole.

  She took the flashlight from her teeth and thrust it into that gaping tunnel before her. Swung it around like a cutlass, slicing up the dark.

  No movement showed in the flashlight’s gleam, though. Only that chiseled rock face on all four sides. Barren.

  Darger swallowed. Backpedaled a few paces toward the edge of the subterranean lake.

  And then Worm burst out of the water behind her.

  Chapter 80

  Darger spun. Stumbled backward.

  Worm’s slimy figure rose out of the water. Looked black and shiny in the half-light of Darger’s swinging flashlight.

  She moaned.

  He dove for her. Runnels of water drizzling down from the looted Kevlar vest strapped to his chest.

  She swept the automatic gun in front of her. Elbow locked against her hip bone, forming a pivot point. Squeezing the trigger again and again. Gun stock battering into her as the weapon popped over and over.

  The shots went high. A wild spray of them roaring over Worm’s head. Pelting the surface of the water in the distance. Sending dark ripples and eddies in all directions.

  His shoulders clubbed into her knees. Drove her straight backward, her legs pitching out from beneath her, tipping her forward.

  And then his arms clutched around her calves. Wrenched upward. Helped gravity to rip her down, down, down.

  The force laid her out flat. Arms going wide. Floating for a second.

  And then she crashed down on top of him. Landed on his back. Their torsos pounding together hard enough that she felt her ribcage jolt and flex.

  They struggled in the dark once more, taut things wriggling against each other like snakes. Limbs entangling.

  The flashlight was pinned between them, its glow blinking and shifting and mostly smothered by their heaving bodies.

  Darger saw flashes of him. Writhing wet body parts visible in fits and snatches in the fractured light.

  She didn’t see the gun. Didn’t feel it. She couldn’t dwell on that now.

  She fought to stay on top. Felt her way along his twisting form. Found herself face to face with him.

  She swung. Clobbered him in the jaw with a short right hook.

  His head snapped to the side, and he flinched hard.

  But his eyes stayed hard. Stayed mean.

  He tried to swing back, his fist thudding into the side of her neck, but he had no leverage. The shot connected cleanly, but it felt hollow.

  When she caught him with another punch, a right cross that thumped the back of his skull into the stony floor, he changed tactics. Snaked his arms around her ribcage. Gripped her tight. Clenched her in a hug that squeezed the breath out of her. Tried to roll her. Wanted to pin her underneath him.

  And then his fingers scrabbled at her jaw, climbed along her chin. A curved finger jammed into the corner of her lip. Ripped out hard in a fish hook.

  Red flashed inside Darger’s head. Pain, bright and hot. It felt like her cheek was being torn off, plucked away in one clean flap of skin.

  An uncontrollable scream crawled up her throat and jetted through her clenched teeth. Raspy and shrill.

  She twisted away from his finger. Jammed her face into his person as hard she could to keep her mouth safe from his roving hand. Worked her arms around him and clenched him back. Blinked hot tears down over her cheekbones.

  They grappled like that for a while. Bodies mashed together. Arms and legs working. His crooked fingers still digging at her, seeking her mouth or eyes, searching for something soft to penetrate and destroy.

  She slid her face away from his hand. Over and over. Mouth and nose gliding upward over his chest, over his collarbone.

  She felt his skin against her lips, then felt the protrusion against the corner of her mouth. Something almost spongy.

  She parted her lips. Sunk her teeth into that dangling bit of skin and cartilage. Biting hard and deep.

  Then she wrenched her head away and ripped off most of his ear.

  Chapter 81

  Worm screamed.

  His arms released her ribcage. That boa constrictor grip retreating all at once, letting her breathe freely again.

  He scrabbled back. Slid out from under her. Kicking. Flailing. A wild animal now. Feral and fevered. Acting totally without thought.

  Darger sat up. Fists bobbing to chin level. Ready to defend herself.

  As he moved away, the flashlight came unblocked, tumbling down to the cave floor to light the scene once more. The grayscale smear around Darger slowly repopulated with color and detail, reality seeming to re-congeal into solid substance before her eyes.

  Worm got to his feet in choppy thrusts. Both of his hands pawed at the tattered remnant of his ear, a ragged flap set over a dark hole that wept blood now.

  His eyes were wild. Big and wet. The eyelids pulsing around them.

  He bounced from foot to foot. Vaguely sidling back from her against the wall.
It was like his whole brain was on fire. Idiot panic overtaking his limbs, moving him along without purpose.

  Thrashing. Hysterical.

  When he backed into the cave mouth, though, some shred of reality seemed to snap back for him at last. He turned and ran, disappearing into the circle of darkness. Faint whimpers spilled from his lips, the mewling sounds trailing away as he vanished into the murk.

  Darger stood. Spit out the misshapen chunk of cartilage at last. Watched the flap slap down to the cave floor and go still. All of the lobe and part of that curled seashell outer ear stared up at her.

  She smeared her sleeve at her lips. Took a big breath.

  Then she gathered the AR-15 and the flashlight and followed him into the darkness.

  Chapter 82

  The bends and dips in the tunnel seemed to keep Worm just out of Darger’s line of sight. She could hear his wet feet slapping at the rock floor, beating out a steady rhythm that echoed all around like a smattering of applause, but she never quite saw more than a snatch of his back before it ducked or swerved away again.

  Finally, she wheeled onto a long straightaway, and he was there. A bobbing silhouette, a shadow moving beyond her flashlight’s reach.

  She dug in. Ran harder. Built speed. Gained on him.

  And slowly the beam of her light crawled over the shadow. Lit him up. Reduced him from a menacing shape in the gloom to a man. A man running for his life.

  She raised the rifle. Ready to fire.

  Something glinted over his shoulder, something that almost looked skeletal in the half-light. It took Darger’s eyes a second to make sense of the angular metal criss-crossing before her.

  The ladder.

  They’d reached the final straightaway — the place where the ladder led up into that hole in the basement floor. Darger felt an intense lightness come over her being at this realization. Excitement bubbling in her head like club soda.

  Worm leaped for the ladder. Clambered up it. Arms and legs looking loose and monkey-like as they dragged him through that hole into the vast brightness above.

  Chapter 83

  Loshak paced the basement floor. Waiting. Impatient. Listening to the buzz of the fluorescent light bulbs, the sound of his own agitated breathing.

  He’d made his way over by the steps where Ambrose and the others lingered, and the lead detective was starting to speak when the sounds began down in the hole.

  “SWAT is pulling in now. They’ll be—”

  Loshak held up a hand, and Ambrose’s words cut off. All heads followed Loshak’s gaze, turning to the concrete hole across the room.

  Gravelly footsteps pattered below. Faint rasps of the sandy floor being crushed. Quiet at first and growing louder.

  Loshak drew his gun. Felt more than saw those around him do the same. Kept his eyes trained on that dark circle on the other side of the space.

  He crept toward the hole. Slow steps. Careful and quiet. Gun extended before him.

  Ambrose fell in beside him. Both of them slinking forward.

  Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed.

  The crunch of the footsteps changed then. Replaced by the aluminum ping of weight hitting the rungs of the ladder.

  Loshak stopped a few feet shy of the hole, and the others followed his lead. Fanning out at his sides.

  He felt his arm steady. Felt his heart pounding. Felt a single bead of sweat glide down the back of his neck.

  The sounds got louder and louder, bigger and bigger, closer and closer.

  Nothing stirred in the room above the tunnel. The stillness was absolute. The tension drawn so taut it couldn’t even quiver.

  A small man appeared in the opening. Skin wet and slick-looking. He hoisted himself up and out of the hole. Seemed to levitate there. Drifting upward in slow motion.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Loshak lurched toward him first. Gun thrusting for Worm’s face.

  “Freeze! Down on the ground!”

  The circle of law enforcement closed on him like jackals. The pack drawing tight around him. Right on top of him. Everyone screaming. Snarling. Growling. Barking. All the words made unintelligible.

  Worm’s eyes stretched wide. Pupils so black they looked like pits in his head.

  He flailed his arms. Flopped forward onto his belly and sort of slid forward on the concrete like a seal doing a trick at Sea World. Skidding there.

  Ambrose and Loshak leaped as one. Grabbed him. Yanked his arms up behind his back.

  The cuffs fastened around his wrists with a percussive click and pop. Two metal loops that held him now. Restrained. Secured.

  And then it was over, and Loshak could breathe again. His eyelids fluttered. He stared at the prone figure. Watched as the others lifted Worm to his feet, no more words passing between them. Just the scrapes and whispers of them sweeping him off the floor.

  The little man’s mouth quirked. Lips shaking. Chin puckering and trembling. It wasn’t until Loshak saw the tears drizzle down Worm’s face that he understood what was happening. The piece of shit was crying. Silently sobbing like a child in trouble instead of a deranged murderer and rapist.

  Loshak turned back to the hole then, and he heard more pings on the ladder. Slower this time. Confident.

  Darger emerged from the tunnel. Lifted herself onto the concrete with a long stride that left her in a crouch, and then she stood. Her gaze went straight to Worm, locking onto the handcuffs pinning his hands behind his back.

  “You OK?” Loshak said, drawing her eyes to his.

  She blinked twice before she answered.

  “Never better,” she said.

  She smiled about halfway then, and her teeth were bloody.

  Chapter 84

  Two days later, Darger and Loshak drove over to Penn Presbyterian Medical Center to visit Cora and Lily. The automatic doors whooshed open with a faint hiss as they approached, revealing a lobby that looked more like a hotel or a convention center than a hospital. They passed a gift shop, a food court, and a huge wall of windows looking out on a lush courtyard.

  Ambrose intercepted them just before they reached the elevators and guided them to the med-surg unit.

  “I envy the two of you,” Ambrose said as they rode up to the fourth floor. “Your work here is almost done. But we’re going to be cleaning up this case for months. Agent Zaragoza called her boss this morning and told him that if he didn’t send her more techs, she was going to quit on the spot.”

  “Did she get the techs?” Darger asked.

  “Oh yeah.” Ambrose chuckled. “The funny thing is, she’d never actually quit. She thrives in this kind of chaos. And I bet her boss knows that, but no one else wants this case.”

  “Understandable,” Loshak said. “Seven bodies, if you count the four we found at the dump. Five houses to sort through. Four of them with tunnel access. Who knows how many linear feet of manmade passageways there are snaking around down there, let alone the natural cave system? Nightmare.”

  They went in to see Cora first, and the first thing Darger noticed was the way the girl’s eyes strayed to the window beside the bed every few seconds. Darger recalled Danny telling them he didn’t like being in locked rooms or not being able to see a window nearby after being underground. She thought he’d sounded paranoid then, half unhinged. But she understood now, having been down there in the tunnels herself, dirt and stone coiling around her, pressing into her. At the very least, she didn’t think she’d be venturing into any basements for a while.

  “You’re the experts from the FBI?” Cora said, turning to face them after they’d introduced themselves. “The ones who study killers?”

  Darger nodded.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then maybe you can tell me why,” Cora said.

  “Why?”

  “Why this happened. Why someone would do this. Why Chase had to die.”

  Darger glanced over at Loshak and then back to Cora.

  “I don’t think there are any answers for tha
t, unfortunately.”

  Cora’s eyes flicked to the expanse of glass looking out over the city. She picked at the wristband encircling her arm.

  “There was a part of me that knew we shouldn’t have gone there. To that house. Knew that Chase was wrong to do it.” Cora paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe this is our punishment.”

  “I don’t think it works that way,” Darger said. “Sometimes bad things just happen. Which maybe isn’t any more comforting. But neither you nor Chase deserved any of this.”

  Cora inhaled deeply, letting her shoulders sag as she let the breath out. The girl’s brow furrowed, and she went on.

  “Maybe sometimes those cold feelings you get are worth listening to. When your skin prickles. When your hands go icy and numb. Maybe some part of you knows way down deep in your bones. And maybe if I’d listened to my skin, listened to my bones, I could have talked Chase out of it, and none of this would have happened.”

  There was a knock at the door, and then a nursing assistant bustled in with a tray laden with food. Darger saw the way Cora’s eyes lit up at the sight of her dinner and after exchanging a wordless glance with Loshak, decided it was time to go.

  They wished Cora the best and exited the room.

  “She seems in good shape, medically and psychologically,” Loshak said, folding his arms over his chest.

  Ambrose nodded.

  “They’re discharging her tomorrow. All things considered, I think she got out of this pretty lucky.”

  They moved three doors down to the room where Lily was being treated. Ambrose lowered his voice.

  “This one, on the other hand…”

  He let the sentence trail off.

  Darger peered through the gap in the door, which stood ajar. Lily was a tiny, frail thing in the bed. Barely taking up space at all and so pale she practically blended in with the white sheets and pillow. Purplish half-circles marred the skin under her eyes.