Reggie shrugged his massive shoulders. “She came looking for you.”
Annoyed at being referred to in the third person, Lindsay found her tongue. “I’m Lindsay. Lindsay Sterling. Remember, from high school—”
He cut her off. “I remember.”
His hostility stunned her, and despite her normal eloquence, Lindsay stumbled over her words. “Oh…yes…well…”
“What do you want?”
“I need your help.”
His mouth twisted. “This about your niece?”
What was going on?.“You know her?”
“She came to me about four months ago. Dropped your name. I take it she’s in trouble.”
Seline had gone to see Jack—four months ago!—and hadn’t said one peep about it. “She came to you? How did she find you?”
“She met Reggie at Grand Central and my name came up. Said she heard all about me from you.” He made it sound as if she’d spread slanderous gossip.
“All I ever said about you was the time we visited the tunnels when we were kids and… and what we saw. I told her that to try to stop her from going down.” That had backfired. It had only made Seline sit bolt upright on the couch and demand what Jack had meant by ‘They’re real.’ Lindsay hadn’t been able to answer, because Jack had never told her. Whenever she’d brought up the subject, he’d always become distant—and then fall quiet. During her last few weeks with him, he last thing she’d wanted was a silent Jack. She had wanted him full of life, wanted him happy around her and because of her. And if that meant not talking about their experience in the tunnels, then so be it.
Jack brushed at his face, as if ridding himself of a crawling fly. “Looks like it didn’t work.”
“No, it didn’t.” At twenty, Seline had more courage than brains; she assumed that a knack for dealing with street people gave her impunity in the tunnels. The people who lived beneath the city’s streets were steeped in dark urban legend, and even the most ignorant New Yorker knew that the world beneath their feet was one of danger.
Jack had his eye on Reggie’s pan of eggs. “Leave any for me?”
Reggie pointed his thumb behind him at the plate on the plank-wide counter. Jack slid past him into the narrow kitchen and practically disappeared behind the black man. The grocery bag rustled, a drawer opened and then the draw of a knife through bread.
Lindsay crossed the room to him and raised her voice to make sure she was heard. “Seline’s been missing for the past week. Eight days, to be exact. She’s in the tunnels, I know it.”
“She could’ve come up and not come back home,” Reggie suggested.
“No. We had rules.”
After the first time Seline had gone down, Lindsay had kicked her out but had relented a week later, when she spotted her niece outside Grand Central with an empty guitar case and singing about paving paradise for a parking lot. Two weeks after that, Seline went down again. So ground rules were established. “She couldn’t stay for more than two days, and she had to call within an hour of re-surfacing. She always did.” Lindsay didn’t add that each time she’d picked up to her niece’s cheery voice she felt as if she were drawing breath for the first time in two days. Eight days now, and every breath was an effort.
Reggie scanned Lindsay up and down through a squinted eye. “You don’t look old enough to be her aunt.”
Her eyes locked on Reggie. “She’s my brother’s kid. He and his wife were killed in a car accident twelve years ago. So were my mom and dad. I’m not Seline’s aunt. I’m her whole fucking family.”
There was dead silence, Lindsay’s chest tight with the ache of her chronic grief. She wrapped her arms around herself, an instinctive act that had she’d developed into a deliberate, self-comforting one. It was a way of recognizing the pain without giving in to it. And this was absolutely one of those times that she couldn’t let it run the show. Reggie blew out his breath in a long gust and slowly pivoted on his heel, like a door opening, so that nothing stood between Jack and Lindsay.
There was the Jack she’d known, the real Jack. The sympathy in those deep golden eyes was unmistakable, and hit her to the core. Lindsay suddenly felt more weak and vulnerable than she had in a dozen years, and more than anything wanted to walk straight into his arms. Then hardness crept over his features and the imposter was back.
“Heard about that from Seline. Sorry.” He might as well as have laughed at her for all the tenderness in those trite words. “So your niece went down into the tunnels.” He was changing the subject because he didn’t care about her tragedy. And why should he? There had been twelve blank years between them. He was now someone she’d once known.
“Yes. Monroe said you might be able to help me find her.”
Reggie shook his head in disgust, obviously offended by the very name of the police captain. Jack’s expression remained neutral. He dished the eggs onto a slab of bread, covered it with another and took a bite. “I warned her what might happen if she went down there. I’m not responsible for her stupidity. You neither.”
Lindsay’s mouth went dry. What had happened to that kind, adventurous boy? For the first year after he’d left, they’d fired postcards and letters back and forth, Lindsay marking down a different address every time as Jack and his father moved so much. They kept it up for five years with phone calls on their respective birthdays. They’d even talked about her flying to London after her graduation from design school. Then the accident had happened, and she’d known that her old life was over. She didn’t call on his birthday, left a couple of postcards unanswered, and after the sale of her family home, she herself changed addresses. No, she couldn’t blame Jack for losing touch. It was she that had shut the door. She had changed. Only—only she hadn’t expected him to.
“Look, Jack, I know I’m the one who dropped the connection with you. I can see my showing up here today isn’t what you wanted. And I know you’re not responsible for my sister. But I need your help. The police don’t have the men to search for Seline, and none of the private investigators I’ve contacted will take the case.”
“Can’t spend the cash if you’re dead,” Reggie interjected grimly.
Lindsay ignored the comment, took a step towards Jack. “I can pay you well for your time. I can hire a search party for you to lead. Anything you need. Anything at all.”
Jack laughed, a dry, derisive sound. “Didn’t you hear Reggie? I value my life more than money, too.”
Irritation spurred by disappointment shot through her. She swept her arm around the barren place. “Looks to me as if you don’t value either.”
Reggie let out a low whistling breath, as if his favorite boxer had got a blow to the midsection. For a long moment, Lindsay and Jack glared at each other, then without breaking eye contact, Jack spoke fast and clipped. “A search party wouldn’t be any use unless it was huge, and you’re never going to get enough experienced people underground to make it worthwhile. I spent twenty-three months under this city. I know what I’m talking about when it comes to the tunnels, and odds are excellent your niece is dead. The chances of finding her remains are slim to none, and very good that you’re going to get yourself killed looking for them. You need to face the truth.”
Lindsay felt her stomach twist, and it took a huge effort to keep her voice firm. “I’m not a bimbo, Jack. I know damn well she’s probably dead. But if there’s a one percent chance that she’s still alive then I need to try. I’ve done my best to get help over the past week, and you’re my last option. If you won’t go then my only choice is to go down there myself.”
Reggie looked aggrieved. “Then you’ll die.”
“We all do. Better that it be for the right reason,” Lindsay snapped.
Jack shook his head. “Reggie’s right. No sense getting yourself killed, too. There are people who need you alive.” His eyes skimmed over her. “Like the shops on Fifth Avenue.”
It was a calculated dig, and Lindsay struggled to keep her temper in check. With as much gr
ace as could pass through her clenched jaw, she asked, “Do you know anyone who would help me, then?”
“No. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Because?”
“Because you’d go to them, sucker them with your money or your looks, and they’d go down and that’s the last we’d ever hear of them.” Jack finished his egg sandwich in two more bites and one swallow and sent the plate clattering into the sink. He rounded on her again.
“People like you have no idea what’s living under their feet. Not even the street homeless know the truth. There are things down there that you wouldn’t believe, and I’m not talking about ghosts or bogeymen. I’m talking about monsters. Real flesh-and-blood monsters.”
If he intended to frighten her, it was working. She remembered the blood, the animate darkness that had shadowed them, and a chill descended on her colder than the New York winter. Under Jack’s anger, she felt his fear, as palpable as if it rippled through her own soul.
She spoke softly. “Jack. You found out who got Tim, didn’t you?”
Jack’s face became inscrutable, and he stared off into some nameless place. After a long while, his answer came low and final. “I sure as hell did.”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Is there any way you could still help me, Jack?”
He slowly came back from wherever he’d gone and looked at her, his eyes fierce and empty. “No, Linds. There isn’t.”
* * *
Lindsay upended the contents of her shopping bags in front of her Christmas tree—still up two days past New Year’s. Finding the things she’d needed in post-Christmas, post-Black Friday New York had been a challenge, and the weary shop staff had been less than helpful. Nobody cared, which seemed par for the course.
As aggravating as trying to mobilize the cops had been, at least they had had good reasons for not going down in search of Seline. But Jack’s refusal—. She could understand him not wanting to be trapped in the tunnels again. Still, couldn’t he have asked around on her behalf? Would it have been too much for him to have given her a lead or advice, or even acted as if he cared? He must’ve known he was her last real hope.
Now she was Seline’s last hope, and she’d be damned if she was going to let her niece down. Lindsay sorted the equipment, snipping off tags and reading through her list to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Halogen flashlight, pepper spray, low-light goggles, first aid kit, an extra pair of boots, climbing rope, extra flashlight, batteries, survival rations, road flares, canteen, matches, pocketknife….”
The phone rang out ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. It was Janice, her office manager, and a call she so did not want to take. Janice was her employee, although they both knew she was more, much more. Lindsay’s mother and her had been best friends. After the accident, Janice had glided in and helped Lindsay with Seline and the legalese of guardianship and transfer of property, and the day-to-day effort of looking after a bewildered and needy eight-year-old orphan. She’d co-signed the loan Lindsay had needed to start her business, and when the company blossomed into a success, Lindsay hired her to help run it. If there was one person who cared about the small Sterling family, it was Janice.
“Lindsay. I didn’t hear back from you today. You holding up okay?”
“Yep.” Lindsay injected perkiness into her voice, because that was what Janice wanted to hear. “I’m all right.”
Lindsay had no intention of telling anyone what she was going to do before she did it. She would email all the details to the office, along with the name of the attorney who handled her will. Janice would find out tomorrow morning, too late to stop her.
“How did the meeting with Jack Cole go? Did you manage to track him down?”
“He’s turned into an asshole. Told me flat out he wasn’t interested in helping.”
“Really? Your mother would be so disappointed.” Janice made it sound as if Jack’s obnoxious behavior was a deliberate insult to the memory of her departed friend. “She had such high hopes for you two. She was thrilled that you had plans to visit him, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Her mom’s affection for Jack had been part of the reason she broke her connection with him back then. Lindsay had been such a mess that she would’ve ruined their relationship and she couldn’t have borne to have one more thing fall apart. As it turned out, it had been a good call. Jack wasn’t the sympathetic sort.
“Are you sure about him, Lindsay?” Janice said. “I found an article on him on the internet. He seemed very promising.”
Trust Janice to check out Jack. She’d regularly googled both Lindsay’s and Seline’s dates. “What does it say?”
“It says he’s been beneath cities all over the world. ‘The ultimate urban spelunker’ is what they call him.”
“Does it mention how he got lost under New York for two years?”
Janice made soft clucking sounds as she presumably scanned the article. “No, nothing. The article is from four years ago, though. From the magazine put out by the Royal Geographic Society. Do you want me to dig around for something more recent?”
Lindsay grimaced. “No, my meeting with him today brought me about as up-to-date with him as I want to be.” Seeing how Jack had turned out had been like saying goodbye to him all over again.
“Do you want me to come over? It might help to talk. To have someone around.”
Lindsay eyed the pile of survival gear on the floor. “Janice, I think I need to be alone tonight.”
“Okay. You call me if you want to, though. Anytime.”
Lindsay wondered if it was Janice that needed the company more than her. Seline’s disappearance must be killing her, too. “You take care,, and try not to worry. One way or another we’ll get her back.”
She opened her new backpack and loaded it up, trying to make every item easily accessible. Giving up, she zipped it close and slung it over her shoulders. She stood and adjusted her balance to the weight on her back. She forced her attention away from the glowing Christmas tree. It landed on Leo. She’d found the fifty-pound stuffed lion at a novelty store, outrageously overpriced, and had instantly bought it, forgetting to even bargain. Seline had squealed in undiluted excitement when she’d first seen it, and would lie down alongside it on the couch and stroke its mane. There’d been many a night that she herself had stretched out along its length and felt comforted.
The lion stared at her in friendly abstraction. Its golden eyes, Lindsay realized with a jolt, bore an uncanny resemblance to Jack’s. The damn man was tagging her every thought.
She cut through the Chelsea apartment she’d spent the last three years and every spare penny making over. She and Seline had replaced or redone nearly everything else, and except for the finishing carpentry, all by themselves. She’d scoured stores, auctions, and newspaper ads for the absolutely perfect rug, perfect sofa, perfect dining set. She’d wanted to make an ideal home for them, a perfect home like the one she’d grown up in.
She found herself looking at it through Jack’s eyes. His crack at her wealth stung more than she cared to admit. She loved beautiful things, because they were beautiful and not because she was materialistic. Didn’t she give to charities? Didn’t she pay her employees generously? Hadn’t she put her heart and soul into every project she’d ever worked on? Yes, yes and yes. So fuck him.
Anyway, Seline had been the one to take on good causes. From the time she was a little girl she’d been interested in social work and was determined to make a difference in the lives of New York’s poor and homeless. Charismatic, honest and caring, she had earned the trust of addicts, derelicts and petty criminals that many seasoned social workers were afraid to deal with.
Through it all Lindsay had been worried for Seline—and so very proud. Perhaps her niece’s attraction to things grim and gritty stemmed from her own aversion to them, but the point was the girl was blazing her own trail. Now Seline was the one who needed help, and here, only a few days into the
New Year, she found herself about to gamble her life in the hopes of staging a rescue.
That ought to count for something, Jack Cole. She hadn’t seen the man in eighteen years, he was living in some hole in the wall with all the success of a garbage picker and the sweet attitude of a cornered rat, and here she was worried about what he was thinking of her. “Fuck you, and the box you came in,” she added aloud for good measure.
She pulled out pen and paper from the coffee table drawer. Seline, I’ve gone into the tunnels to find you. She was about to sign it ‘L’ when she added, Wait for me and we’ll take down the tree together, like always.
She tucked it between Leo’s front paws because if, by some miracle, Seline came home, that’s where she’d go first.
* * *
Lindsay had learned from her niece that there were countless ways into New York’s underground—manholes, subway tunnels, maintenance hatches and the basements of certain condemned buildings. Since Hurricane Sandy, even more had been created by repair crews drilling new holes to pump out water. Her route would be the same as the one Seline had chosen, however. Via Grand Central Station.
The place was a kind of gateway to the underground, where both the common citizens of New York and its homeless mixed, often unknowingly, with the tunnel dwellers. According to Seline there were about a thousand people living beneath the marble floors and arched windows of Grand Central, colonizing its tunnels, ducts and passageways, and the safest and simplest way to gain access to the lower levels was through an unmarked door off one of the platforms.
This particular door was controlled by a gang of sorts, who had somehow gotten hold of a copy of the transit authority’s key. Anyone who wanted to descend merely had to pay them a toll, which varied in amount depending on the apparent wealth of the person and how much the gang liked them. Her niece had described these gatekeepers as ‘friendly’ and ‘pretty reasonable, considering’, which Lindsay took to mean that they might not rip her off too much.
Rush hour was over when she arrived at the Terminal, and being a Thursday evening, it wasn’t crowded. She spotted a few rumpled businessmen, a handful of Japanese tourists, and a chattering gaggle of teenage girls. None of them seemed to pay her the least bit of attention.
Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) Page 3
