PART 2
Extract from essay, The Below, and Other Great Mysteries!: A Concise History, by Prof. Archibald Frost (available only from the Smithsonian’s secret archives):
Timeline of events, as best determined through careful examination of surviving records:
1897: Self-proclaimed entrepreneur Warwick Thomas discovers a hidden network of tunnels running below New York City while seeking to establish the city’s first working subway system. Investigations into the tunnels lead to the eventual discovery of what is to later become known as “The Below”. After several attempts to break through the membranous wall of light fail, members of the initial team eventually manage to break through using dynamite to remove obstruction from opposing side. An advance party is quickly assembled.
During first official expedition, members of the initial reconnaissance party are attacked shortly after passing through the Gateway. The aggressors are claimed to be creatures of unknown origin, and attack in formidable numbers, driving the surviving members back through the light-wall. Under assault and fearing the worst, the team blow up the tunnel to keep whatever lay on the other side from flooding through. All further expeditions are put on indefinite hold.
1899: After much deliberation between all parties, the decision is made that, in order to safeguard against whatever lie on the other side, an organization be formed to regulate and monitor the Gateway and ensure its continued integrity.
Construction of “The Door” officially begins.
The Human Defense League is founded.
1931: Head of the New York Branch and one of the founding members of the HDL, Filius Fawn suffers a mental breakdown and attempts to open the Gateway. Is stopped by on-site staff, suffering multiple fatal injuries in the process. Flees through the Gateway, where it is presumed he succumbed to his injuries.
1932: Processing of Filius Fawn’s belongings finally comes to an end. Among his things, a diary is discovered. Investigations into the contents of said diary reveal the true depth of Fawn’s neurosis. Opinion is divided on whether his ramblings were prophetic, or the ramblings of a mad man. Fawn’s legacy is born.
1955: Second official Gateway is discovered in Cairo. Its discovery sparks major concern between all agencies involved. Investigations into possible further Gateways begins, culminating in the discovery of five more Gateways: London, 1957; Cologne, 1961; Amsterdam, 1963; Paris, 1970; and Novosibirsk, in 1979, creating what would later become known as the “Seven Seals”.
1986: First official “Breach” is recorded. Governments around the world scramble to keep its occurrence a secret from the public, through fear of creating a panic. Several more Breaches follow throughout the year, prompting major reevaluations and restructuring of the Company’s assets—what would turn out to be the largest in the Company’s history.
End of extract.
DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
It took him forty minutes to sign all the paperwork.
Declarations of Acceptance. Waivers. Nondisclosure agreements, upon which Jake was made to swear never to reveal to members of the public what he had learned about all the weird crap he’d seen so far.
Jake signed it all in the unconscious daze of a sleepwalker—he still hadn’t really had time to process what was happening. And Grandma Stella? Holy crap. All this time he’d thought she was just some little old lady, one who possibly enjoyed cribbage and needlework, but instead she’d been here, wrestling Hell’s best and being, quite frankly, pretty darn awesome.
Vogel blinked. ‘Oh, that reminds me—’ He raised his wrist to his mouth and pulled back his sleeve. ‘Moss, would you please come in here for a moment?’
Moments later, a man appeared through the doorway.
He was some big guy, so big he made the gun in his shoulder holster look tiny, even though it wasn’t. Skin like mahogany, with eyes that looked like they had seen terrible things. Hell, his biceps alone were bigger than Jake’s head.
He glanced at Vogel, one eyebrow raised. ‘You called for me, sir?’
‘Indeed.’ He turned back to Jake. ‘Jake, meet Moss. He was the chauffeur for your late grandmother, as well as her, shall we say, “protector”. Wherever you want to go, Moss will ensure you get there safely.’
Moss glanced at Jake, offered a curt nod. ‘I am at your disposal, boss. Just say the word.’
‘Uh… thanks.’
‘And of course, there’s also the issue of your personal assistant,’ Vogel went on. ‘Someone to help guide you as you settle into your new role. Again, as per HDL guidelines, you are free to pick a member of staff for this job at your choosing.’
‘Anyone?’ said Jake.
He cast a glance over at Coleman.
Coleman raised his hands, his eyes wide. ‘No. Oh, no. No. No way. You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘Rules are rules, Coleman,’ said Vogel.
‘But—’
‘Yeah, Coleman,’ said Jake. ‘Rules are rules.’ He suppressed a grin. He knew he shouldn’t be pressing the guy’s buttons. But he guessed it was true what they said about power going to a person’s head—hell, it happened almost instantly. And besides, the guy had been mean to him, hadn’t he? It was only fair.
Coleman made a face like he wanted to say something, then settled for folding his arms instead.
Vogel looked down at his watch. ‘Now, I’m afraid I must take my leave. Moss, Coleman—why don’t you go show Mr. Fisher around, get him acquainted with everybody, hmm?’
He shook Jake’s hand firmly again, then, adjusting his collar, waltzed out of the room.
Jake watched him go, then turned back to Coleman. He let out a deep sigh. ‘Well, then—shall we?’
Coleman made a face like he’d tasted something bitter.
Jake scoffed.
Maybe this whole “boss” thing wasn’t so bad, after all.
*
As it turned out, it wasn’t much of a tour.
They walked from room to room, Coleman pointing at each door and barking the room’s name before hurriedly making for the next one. Moss tagged quietly along behind, taking up almost the entire corridor and causing the people seeking to pass them to have to hug the wall in a fashion Jake found more than a little hilarious.
They passed a lab. Another room, this one filled with desks and filing cabinets that Jake intuited to be some kind of administrative office. A long, cavernous room stood on the facility’s other side, filled with bookshelves that stretched floor to ceiling, that Jake took to be a library. And in not one of these rooms did he see so much as a single window.
He frowned. ‘Hey, how come there’re no windows?’ he called over to Coleman, who was marching steadily ahead, arms pumping, though he didn’t answer—didn’t so much as turn his head, in fact.
Huh—guess he doesn’t know.
Moss bent close to him. ‘The branch you are standing in is located approximately two-hundred feet below ground-level, Jake Fisher.’
‘Oh?’
‘As a consequence, in order to maintain the body’s natural circadian rhythms, you’ll notice all the lights here are full-spectrum. On top of that, all employees are required to take multivitamins to help prevent the onset of disorders such as Tuberculosis, Multiple Sclerosis, as well as a whole variety of sleep-related disorders—all linked to a severe deficiency in Vitamin D.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Also—they kind of miss the light. It gets pretty full-on down here sometimes.’
They waltzed through another room smelling richly of sulfur, filled end-to end with little booths, on the other side of which stood dozens of dummies, all lined up and peppered with holes—a shooting range. It was like they had everything here. Jake wondered if they had a bowling alley, too. Or a movie theatre. He thought that would have been frickin’ awesome.
They zigzagged into another room, this one small, with dim lights and coffee-colored walls. The sound of what Jake presumed to be, but probably wasn’t, Mozart, floated softly through t
he air toward him, slipping almost undetectably into his ear like the tongue of an eager and somewhat sneaky lover. Jake looked around at all the suits on the walls, all the countless rows of shoes, so incredibly polished he had the odd sense that simply looking at them would make them dirty.
He tilted his gaze toward Coleman. ‘Um… where are we?’
‘Henry’s.’
‘What’s in Henry’s?’
Before he could answer, a man came striding out from somewhere in back.
He was a big man—and in practically every sense of the word, too. Six feet and counting. A stomach like he’d eaten a beach ball at some point recently, and was having trouble digesting it. Beneath his bulbous nose hung a moustache of the type you’d expect to see on the face of a villain in some old foreign movie; all long and twisted at the ends, like the guy spent a lot of time tugging at it while laughing maniacally.
He held open his arms, smiling, looking genuinely pleased to see them.
‘Why, if it isn’t my favorite customer!’ he said, beaming at Coleman. His voice held a faint hint of an accent, though which one, exactly, Jake couldn’t tell. It was like a combination of several. ‘Come in, come in! Let me look at you!’ He ushered them in with a wave of his gigantic arms. ‘Now, what’ll it be? Shoes? Perhaps a new suit? I hear gray is in fashion again. And you know you’ve always looked fabulous in gray...’ He batted his not-inconsiderable eyelashes.
Coleman held up a hand, looking, from what Jake could tell, not nearly as uncomfortable as he should have been just then. ‘Not for me today, Henry. It’s for—’ He hooked a thumb over at Jake.
Henry gasped. ‘Of course! The new big cheese! How silly of me!’ He suddenly danced over—literally danced, pirouetting and everything—before coming to an abrupt stop, his face uncomfortably close to Jake’s own. ‘Yes. Hmm. I see. Oh dear.’ His face was pinched hard in concentration.
Jake stared back, unable to look away. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘Measuring you,’ said Coleman.
‘Like this?’ True, he’d never been measured before, but he had always assumed there’d be some measuring involved—some tape, at the very least. Maybe the guy was European or something. ‘Anyway, I don’t need a suit. I look fine.’
Coleman observed his ripped jeans, his holey Thundercats tee-shirt, all those countless soup stains down the front of it. ‘No, you don’t. Besides, it’s company policy. Everybody gets a suit.’
Finally, Henry leaned back. ‘Okay. Yes. I may have something. Come with me—!’
Before Jake could ask where they were going, he was suddenly dragged into another room, this one with a small curtain—a changing room, presumably—where after several terrible, uncertain moments, he was left to get changed.
When he stepped out again, Henry was waiting. He clasped his hands in front of him, so very, very happy. ‘Oh, look at you! Just look at you! I really am a miracle worker!’ Jake noted there were tears in his eyes.
He turned to the mirror. He had to admit, he didn’t look too shabby—even if he did feel more than a little like some wannabe James Bond impersonator. Crisp, black suit. White shirt, with a tie made from some sleek material, one Jake hoped had not once belonged to something both living and endangered. It occurred to him this suit probably cost more than everything inside his apartment. The realization made him feel oddly guilty.
They left Henry’s, the man in question waving them off from the doorway with a hanky like a woman seeing off her lover as he sails off to war, and, presumably, death. Jake looked back at the corner, turning just as another man entered, heard Henry’s voice loudly proclaim, ‘Why, if it isn’t my favorite customer!’, before falling finally out of earshot.
They continued on with the tour, Jake staring down at his new suit like it was the skin of some exotic alien.
They turned into another room, this one filled with bright lights—
Jake let out a scream and immediately threw himself behind Moss, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. ‘G-guys! Quick! It’s a—’
He frowned.
The monster stood there just inside the room, glaring across at Jake with its big, black shark’s eyes. It was similar in appearance to the monster that had attacked him back at his apartment, Jake noted, only he knew instinctively this was not the same one—not least of which because it didn’t have a hole the size of a football in its side. Same face, though. Same long, gangly arms.
It didn’t attack him and tear his throat out as Jake had just automatically assumed it would. It stood there instead, not moving so much as an inch, just staring at Jake with that same hateful expression as the other had done.
Jake stared back at it, so very, very confused.
Coleman rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, don’t be such a baby. They can’t hurt you—see?’ He stepped up to the creature, raised a fist in front of its face—
DONG.
It was then Jake understood—glass.
Tentatively, he stepped further into the room. It was some kind of holding area. Large glass cells lined either side of the room, probably fifty, in all, stretching all the way to the back. Looking through them he could see creatures of varying shapes and sizes, all gross beyond description. Big ones. Little ones. Ones with weird appendages jutting from their bodies, the application of which Jake had no idea. Others with tentacles. Wings.
None were moving.
It was then Jake noticed the contraption tied to each of their “feet”.
He frowned. ‘What are those?’
‘Manacles,’ said Coleman. ‘Sends a not-so-small current of electricity shooting through them in the event they get rowdy and attempt to break the glass.’
‘Oh.’
‘We keep them here for observation, so that we can learn more about them. “Know thy enemy”, et cetera.’
They stepped back out of the room, Jake feeling relief wash over him the second they were outside.
Coleman turned to him. ‘Right. So that’s the tour—unless there’s somewhere else you’d like me to show you around, of course?’ Jake noted his tone was more than a little sarcastic.
He turned to Moss. ‘I don’t know—is there?’
‘We have still yet to visit your place of residence.’
‘My what?’
‘Your house, boss.’
Jake blinked. Holy crap, of course; Grandma Stella’s house! In all his excitement, he’d completely forgotten about it.
He cleared his throat. ‘Very well. Take me to my house—you too, Coleman. You can be point man.’
Coleman did that thing with his forehead again. ‘I hope you know this is all temporary,’ he said, again in that sarcastic tone. ‘You. As commander-in-chief. The Board will never agree to this. And the second they find out, you can bet you’re going to be gone faster than a doughnut at fat camp.’ He smiled darkly.
Jake smiled back. ‘You know what? Just for that, you can drive.’ He snuck a hand behind him, which Moss promptly slapped. He thrust a finger at Coleman. ‘Now go, driver—to the Bat Mobile!’
Coleman balled his hands and stalked out of the room, jaw working, steam billowing from his nose.
Jake followed, laughing all the way.
*
They stood in complete silence as they waited for the elevator to bring them topside. Jake watched the elevator’s little electronic display panel, expecting it to start rapidly counting through floors, but it didn’t. Just the two—B1, and 1ST. Jake guessed when you were situated two-hundred feet below ground, two was enough.
He hadn’t yet thought about where the elevator might bring them up, his mind having been too preoccupied with thoughts of demons and secret organizations and what may or may not have been Hell to pay it any mind. But now that they were nearing the surface, he found himself beginning to wonder. Probably some plush office—which, if nothing else, would have at least gone in line with what lay below them.
So it was with some surprise then when, the elevator doors finally opening,
he found himself staring at what looked suspiciously like a restaurant kitchen.
He frowned. ‘Okay, call me crazy, but I think we may have gotten off on the wrong floor...’
They stepped out of the elevator and onto a tiled flooring of a color that may once have been white.
It was indeed a kitchen. There were ovens and stoves and stainless steel counters, and what looked to Jake to be several large deep fat-fryers, all lined up next to a sink at least three times the size of the one they had back over at Pete’s. He heard a humming, and looking above his head he saw a large extractor fan, a splash of dark-something stained all over it that he took to be old grease.
As he stood there gawping, a pair of Asian-looking men stumbled past, hefting a bag of what Jake hoped was not human meat between them. A couple of short guys in stained white coats. Their jackets read “The Tainted Goose”. They saw the three of them standing there and nodded.
For some reason, Jake found this very confusing.
‘A Chinese restaurant?’ he said.
Moss nodded. ‘When it comes to camouflage, it is always better for one to hide in plain sight.’ He thought about it. ‘Plus, it means we get free food.’ He smiled like he thought this was about the best thing in the world.
Jake couldn’t argue with that.
They stepped out through the dining area—a quaint little space, a lot less extravagantly decorated than its below-ground counterpart. Few tables. Some sort of porcelain statuette thing in the middle—what may or may not have been a dirty goose. Everything decorated with that typical red and gold trim.
When they emerged onto the sidewalk, Jake was similarly surprised to find a limousine waiting for them.
Dark. Sleek. Black-tinted windows, with not so much as a smidgen of dirt on it.
We Hunt the Night: (Tales from the Supernatural Frontline) (Imperium Book 1) Page 4
