by Dana Mentink
Had he been the one who left her trapped? Sage saw from the tight set to his lips that she was not going to get any more information from him. A bead of sweat rolled down his wrinkled forehead and he swiped it away with the back of his hand. She would find out what she could about Fred Tipley and definitely mention him to the police that afternoon.
She felt Trey’s gaze on her. He quirked an eyebrow. Done with your interrogation, detective? his eyes seemed to say.
Not anywhere close to done. Not until I find Antonia.
A metallic clank startled them all. Fred whirled in the direction of the stage. “You hear that? Someone’s there.”
“It’s probably Antonia,” Sage said, starting down the stairs again.
“What is she doin’ backstage? I heard she was hired to paint the frescoes in the lobby only,” Fred muttered. “Don’t nobody do what they’re told anymore?”
“Maybe she got disoriented in the dark,” Trey said. He tried to edge ahead of Sage but she elbowed him back.
“Now you gotta stop right there,” Fred said, stepping in front of them. “Miss Rosalind said no one is to be messing around here. I could lose my job.”
Trey called over his shoulder as they went around him, “Fred, I’ll take care of things. We’ll locate this other trespasser and I will personally escort all of us out of this place.”
Fred made no attempt to follow, but his voice carried along the stairwell. “It ain’t right. I’m gonna have to call Miss Rosalind. It ain’t right. Wally, come here.”
The dog barked and darted off again, eliciting an angry tirade from Fred.
Trey kept pace behind her and Sage felt a twinge of guilt. She called to him. “Rosalind may not take this well. I don’t want to cost you your job or anything.”
“A job is a job. I can get another one. I’m mostly just biding time, watching my brother’s place while he’s away.” He paused. “How about you? Where do you call home?”
“Nowhere,” she said, angry at herself for saying it out loud. “Not here, anyway. I’m just in San Francisco for Barbara.”
“Kind of risking your relationship with the Longs, aren’t you? Chances are you are going to be out of Derick’s good graces after Fred makes his report.”
She nodded. “I’m willing to take the chance. After I talk to the cops this afternoon, I don’t think Mr. Long is going to ask me in for tea.”
They took the rest of the steps as fast as they dared until they found themselves at tall metal doors that marked the stage entrance. Her skin prickled as she imagined the walls closing in on them, the darkness reaching out from behind to snatch them. Anxiety burgeoned in her belly like the clouds of dust that erupted under their feet. No panic attacks now. She could not stand the humiliation of turning into a helpless hysterical lump in front of Trey.
After a deep breath, Sage grabbed the handle and yanked.
“It’s locked,” she groaned. “Antonia must have gone to the other side. We’ll have to double back.”
Trey took her hand before she could leave. He pulled her closer and she felt the warmth of his body, the scent of soap on his skin. Her pulse quickened.
“Hang on, there. I think I can help with this.” He fished something out of his pocket and bent over the lock, his back blocking her view. In a moment, he pushed the door open and turned to her with a cocky grin.
She gaped. “How did you do that?”
“I have skills.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged and held up the key ring. “Fred gave me a spare set so I could get in and check on the dog. He forgot to take them back.”
She grinned, her face unaccustomed to the expression. “So I guess you really do have skills.” For a moment, things were easy between them and she wondered what it would be like if he really was just a carpenter and she just a photographer meeting for the first time. Silly thought. Too much hurt. Too much anger. Her heart was a twisted, blighted thing that would not be salved by daydreams.
His grin turned serious, swallowed up as they stepped through the double doors into the tomblike darkness.
THREE
Trey felt a surge of cold air against his face as he eased open the door. Sage pressed against him and his breath caught. She felt just like he had imagined many times when she wasn’t aggravating him, soft and warm, like a delicious breeze trickling through an Arkansas summer day. He cleared his throat and pushed through the opening. Blackness enveloped them. He groped his way to the wall while Sage held the flashlight. The small glow did little to fend off the cavernous blackness.
“Gotta be a switch around here somewhere.”
“You haven’t been in this part of the theater?” she whispered.
“No. Fred knows it like the back of his hand, so he showed me the places I needed to see.” He found himself replying in an equally hushed voice. “Seems I was hired to repair the front lobby and that’s it. Got my orders not to explore except to check on Wally.”
Sage made a thoughtful sound. “That didn’t seem odd to you?”
“Not really. You can see the condition of this place. Not safe for a rat. Personally, I think it’s only suited to the wrecking ball.”
“Barbara doesn’t seem to think so. She’s paying you, so the Imperial must be good for something.”
He couldn’t read her expression, but he caught the tone. “As I said, I get paid through Rosalind, she’s the business manager, but if Barbara thinks there’s value here then I stand corrected. She’s smart. Figure it runs in your kin along with the stubborn streak and mouthiness.”
She huffed. “And I’m sure the women in your family are all delicate flowers.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you about my mom sometime,” he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice that always kicked up when he considered his mother. Sage could learn a thing or two about quiet strength from her.
“I’m beginning to agree that this place may be beyond repair,” Sage said, her words swallowed up by the cavernous space.
“It’s a little late for that realization,” Trey said. Finally, his fingers found what he sought. He pushed up the lever and the overhead lights flicked on, at least the three that still had working bulbs.
The stage was empty in spots and crammed full in others with boxes piled into crazy stacks. Rising above the boxes was the massive wooden cutout of a clipper ship and several smaller bundles swaddled in sheets. “How did all this stuff get here?”
“The Imperial was purchased about twenty years ago by a man who sank a small fortune into mostly cosmetic repairs. They went bankrupt after only a few shows. Other people bought it, but most of the time it just sat here rotting until Barbara became involved.”
Trey whistled and the sound echoed strangely. “Wonder why the Longs would want to take on such an expensive wreck? Why not demolish and rebuild?”
“Barbara’s always been in love with architecture and the opera. This must have seemed like a dream opportunity for her when she married Derick and he bought it for her as a wedding gift.”
Trey heard the sad lilt in her voice. “An opera house is a pretty big gift. Why would he turn around a year later and make her disappear?”
Sage locked her eyes on his. “Things can change in a year.”
But some things don’t, he thought. Some things last, like faith and memories...and love, at least he used to think so. A restless feeling coursed through him. The darkness pressed in on them both until he could stand the inactivity no longer. He stepped forward, but Sage grabbed his wrist. He turned, struck by the way her hair shone, a strange luminosity granted by the eerie light. “Problem?”
“I did a little studying up on the theater.” She pointed to the floor. “There’s a series of trapdoors built into the stage, triggered by a lever system underneath.”
&nbs
p; He squinted at the floor. “Don’t see any open ones.”
“Me neither, but this building has stood without any major repairs since 1919. That’s a lot of time gone by for things to rust and fail.”
He grinned.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Risk assessment. You sound like a platoon leader.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t hear Antonia.”
He nodded. “Dust on the floor looks undisturbed here. Let’s check back by the rear entrance in case she made her way in that direction.”
Sage stepped in close behind him, her hand on his back as they crept around the perimeter toward the thick folds of curtains.
Something skittered by Sage’s feet and she jumped.
“Just a rat,” he said, repressing a shudder of his own. He’d die content never having to clap eyes on a rat again.
Her fingers clutched at his shirt, balling it up. A sensation on the back of his neck made him stop and pull farther into the velvet drapery.
“What is it?” Sage whispered, her breath tickling the side of his face.
What was it? Nothing concrete, just a feeling, a sensation of eyes following his progress. He looked up at the catwalk far above them. No sign of movement, but plenty of places to conceal a watcher. What for? If it was Antonia she had no cause to climb up the catwalk and even less to stay there and spy on them. So who would be watching? And why?
He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess.” The sad by-product of combat was the paranoia, the inability to fit properly into a normal world again after the shooting stopped.
Lord, help me put that behind me. Way behind.
As he scanned the shrouded shapes festooned with cobwebs and smelling of mold, he decided this was definitely not a normal situation.
As they eased toward the rear exit, his neck prickled again, the instinct that kept him alive through two tours of duty flaring to life.
Someone is watching.
Waiting.
Instinctively, he reached for the M16 that wasn’t there.
He blinked hard and looked up again at the catwalk, where his eyes found nothing but shadows.
You’re losing it, Black. Probably just rats up there.
As if on cue, a fist-size rodent darted along the floor a mere three feet from them.
He expected her to scream, chauvinist that he was, but she didn’t. She tightened her grip on his shirt and he heard her sharp intake of breath, but she did not cry out.
She never had.
Even when the bullets started flying and one of them found the jugular artery of her friend.
When machine gun fire nearly deafened them.
When she climbed into the transport aircraft to carry Luis home for burial.
She’d never screamed.
Maybe things would be better between them if she had.
* * *
Sage steeled her spine against the shudder that rippled up and down her back. Rats. She wondered how many of them were peering at her right now from their burrows deep in the rotted walls and floor of the old place.
Her stomach quivered. She clamped her jaws shut, stuffed the fear down deep and pushed the curtain aside as they went, hoping nothing hairy would meet her searching fingers. Antonia was not hiding here, she was sure. After witnessing the poor woman nearly pass out from fright when she’d seen a mouse skitter across the front walk of the Longs’ home, she knew Antonia was not likely to linger deep in these rodent-infested shadows. She must have exited through the back door.
If they made it there quickly enough, she might be able to stop Antonia from leaving until the woman came clean.
Where is my cousin?
That’s all she needed to know.
Derick’s words echoed through her ears.
She never did see things my way.
Derick was lying. He’d made up the email.
Another possibility struck her.
Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Barbara had sent the email, trying to convey a message to her without alerting her husband.
Only a few yards to go before they reached the exit. Trey picked up the pace. She felt the corded muscles of his lower back tense as he moved, lithe as a tiger through the dark. Some part of her was grateful that he put enough stock in her theory to follow along.
Why was he helping? For old times’ sake? Guilt about what happened to Luis? No, he was on another mission, to deliver her from a dangerous situation, just like he’d tried so hard to do in Afghanistan, like he would try to do for any hapless stranger he happened to find wandering around. He was a machine, duty above all.
Their feet stirred up puffs of dust that whirled and eddied through the stale air.
From above came the loud squeal of wood. Trey grabbed her arm so tightly she almost cried out. They looked wildly up into the darkness, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, which grew louder and louder along with a whoosh of air that stirred the curtains behind them.
Trey yelled something and shoved her hard, sending her flying into the recesses of the stage. His body landed next to hers as a half dozen wood crates smashed to the floor around them, splinters of wood hurtling through the air. The flashlight sailed out of her hand and clattered to the floor, dousing the light.
Billows of dust whirled past her face, making her cough. She covered her mouth to keep out the filth as she sat up.
“What...what just happened?”
Trey was already on his feet, crouched low, peering into the darkness. “Boxes fell from the top of the pile. You hurt?”
“No.” She clambered to her feet. “We were almost crushed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She saw a dark trickle of blood on his arm. “You’re bleeding.”
He didn’t even look at the wound, but continued to stare upward. “Scratched.”
“Those boxes fell at just the right moment, didn’t they?” she said.
“Or the wrong one.”
Something in his voice alarmed her. “Do you think the earthquake destabilized them?”
“I think they had help.” His gaze was still riveted to the catwalk above them.
“Trey,” she said, her voice low. “Who would do that? Fred? Somebody else? What are you thinking?”
He shook his head and pulled her back into the covering folds of the curtain. “I’m thinking that we need to leave this theater right now.”
“I’m not going without Antonia.”
He straightened to his full height, a good head and a half taller. “She’s probably gone already.”
“I need to know for sure.”
“No, you don’t. You need to get out of here.”
“Is that an order, Captain?”
“A strong suggestion,” he muttered.
“And if I don’t comply?”
“Then I will help you to do that.” His eyes glittered in the darkness.
“You’re not army anymore.”
“No, ma’am. Just a carpenter, but I will see you to the exit, one way or another.”
“If I don’t cooperate, what do you intend to do about it?” She fired off the challenge, her gut tightening at the look that rose in his face.
He stood, feet slightly apart, hands loose at his sides. Though he kept his voice just above a whisper, every syllable was clear. “Sage, you need to leave this theater for your own safety. If I have to carry you out kicking and screaming, I am prepared for that contingency.”
She heard the hardened resolution in his quiet voice. Dimples and charming drawl aside, she knew he would not hesitate, and she was no match for his size and strength. She would lose this battle.
But not the war.
“Fine. I guess I have no choice if you�
��re going to be a bully.”
He did not smile. “Great. Let’s move.”
Was he right that someone had helped those boxes to fall on them? The same person who’d found her trapped and left her? Swallowing a surge of fear, she crept behind him back the way they had come. Trey’s body was wire-taut as he led them toward the stage door.
She peered past the proscenium arch into the rows of empty chairs. A flicker caught her eye.
“Trey,” she whispered. “I just saw a light. Out there.” She pointed.
“Might be Fred or maybe Derick has arrived,” he whispered back.
“No, I’m sure it’s Antonia.” She called out. “Antonia? Is that you?” No answer. “Maybe she didn’t hear me. I’m going to go check.”
“No, Sage.”
There was warning in his voice, but she didn’t listen. Instead she darted ahead of him toward the stairs.
He was after her in a moment.
She pushed against the metal door as he put a hand on her from behind.
Her knees trembled, a shaking that spread throughout her body.
Confused, she pushed the door harder but the shuddering kept on, rippling through her body until she could hardly stand.
Fighting for footing, she looked at Trey, unable to see his face clearly.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, the realization hit.
Earthquake.
The floor bucked and rolled under her feet like a live thing.
Trey went down on his back as the wood gave way.
“Get out,” he yelled. “Sage, get out now.”
Suddenly he was snatched from her view.
She tried to reach out to him, but she was being tumbled about as the surface continued to undulate. The sound of distressed wood shrieked and groaned around her. That’s when her mind put it together. This was the moment every Californian held in the back of their mind. The reality that was heightened by the 1989 Loma Prieta quake and captured in faded black-and-white photos from 1906.
This was the day scientists and doomsday broadcasters had predicted would come.
She heard the theater rattle around her, the beams coming loose from their supports, bits of plaster beginning to fracture and fall.
