by Glenn Porzig
"To be honest, we are looking into the violence in the city, but this is an isolated incident. A lone killer that is unpredictable and could happen anywhere. It isn't a reflection of our city, or how safe the streets are at night. We have made great strides in recent years to step up the police presence in high crime areas and I believe all of that hard work is paying off. I'm sure the mayor's office will be issuing an official statement shortly. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."
***
He'd been studying too long. His eyes were hazy and his neck was stiff. He needed to stretch, to get away from all of the books and move. Keeping his mind sharp and focused, knowing as much as possible about his enemies was important, but he didn't work a desk job. Drake knew from experience that his job as a homicide detective often lead to physical confrontations. Not just a gunfight, he'd spent plenty of time at the range to keep proficient with his sidearm, but he'd had to fight off Lee Miller and others before him in hand-to-hand combat.
That's why he needed to stay in excellent physical condition. Unfortunately he'd let himself go a bit. The last six months of boozing instead of healthy meals, and late nights instead of restful sleep, had taken a toll on him. And this new case hadn't helped him rest, or relax, at all.
He stood up and walked around for a few minutes, rocking his shoulders and rubbing his neck. He was tempted to sit back down and continue reading, but he forced himself to look away from the books. Now was the time to focus on his body. He started by dropping to the floor and doing push ups. He was a machine, rhythmically pumping up and down like a piston.
His muscles complained from the exertion, the routine was much harder now that he was out of practice. His pace slowed. A burning coursed through his arms, but his shoulders were loose now. He rolled over and began to do sit ups. They were his least favorite exercise. His elbows alternated touching his knees as he twisted his torso with every upward motion. He tried to just concentrate on his form, relax in the zen of repetition. Still his mind raced.
He couldn't stop thinking about the case. About the girls who had died. About the girls who would die. He wondered what they had been through. What sick torture they had endured in the dark days leading up to being butchered. And for what? He knew, deep down, that there was something—some devil that was engorged with their life essence. They had been sacrificed. He didn't know why, or to what, but he would know. And he would know soon.
The clock was ticking. In a matter of days another girl would be abducted. And roughly a week after that she would be killed. If he couldn't stop that from happening… Underwood had already told him that he'd be taken off the case. He couldn't let that happen.
Exhausted both physically and mentally he knew what he needed to do next. He'd sharpened his mind with reading, his body with exercise, now it was time to take care of his spirit. Alexander Drake wiped the sweat from his brow and then settled the towel across his shoulders. He knelt down and began to pray.
He prayed for the souls of the girls who had been killed. He prayed for their families. He prayed that he would have the strength and determination to find and stop the killer before he could strike again. There were three more girls on the killer's list. He prayed for Sister Marian. He prayed for a world that was slipping away from God's Grace and into madness. He prayed for his own tormented soul.
***
A taxi pulls to a stop near some abandoned buildings. "You sure this is where you want to be let out?" asked the cabbie. In the back seat Solomon Price turned to look like he was listening to someone sitting beside him and then nodded at the driver.
"This is the place. You can let me out here." Price paid the man and the taxi sped away.
Price slowly wandered down the street looking around at the crumbling buildings, they must have been over a hundred years old, the fading vestiges of a bygone era.
"Abigail. It's so good to have you back helping me again after all of these years. I'm sorry if I had upset you in some way… but the important thing is that you're back again." He smiled broadly. "You're back and you're helping me… and helping those poor girls taken before their time."
He had been startled to be contacted by Abigail during the séance. She had abandoned him years ago, right after he first got his big break. He thought that maybe she was upset that he was using his gifts to acquire fame and fortune, instead of only using them to help others. He was worried that he'd lost her forever.
But now she was back. And for the first time since that man had stood up during his show and accused him of fraud, he felt like he had a future. Maybe this life he had built for himself wouldn't slip between his fingers. This was his chance, and with Abigail guiding him, he was sure he would be back on top again. He followed her guidance to a door that had a no trespassing sign.
In here…
Her gentle voice coaxed him to enter the building, despite the notices that clearly marked the structure as condemned. He pried at the door, while nervously scanning up and down the street to avoid detection. He needed in, but he couldn't afford to get caught. That could have dire consequences.
Paint flakes showered down as the old warped door finally gave way under his weight. He was in. Debris littered the floor and crunched with each step. He worried about his designer shoes and whatever filth he was stepping in. He crept along quietly. Having his spirit guide here emboldened him, but he didn't want to be reckless. He was the one in the real world. It was his life on the line… she was already dead.
The windows had long ago been painted over. The only light came streaming in from the panes that had fallen loose from the rotting frames or that had been broken by the carelessly tossed rocks of vandals.
"Okay, We're in. Did they die here? Is this where the girls were killed?"
No… down… you must go down to the basement…
"Great. Why is it always the basement?"
Price pulled a penlight from his pocket and began to wave it around. Eventually he found the stairs leading to the basement. The way leading down looked like it may have been used more recently than the other areas he'd passed. The stairs in particular seemed to be more clear of debris than the surrounding area. It looked like he was on the right path. He steeled himself and then began his descent into the basement.
Knowing that he was walking into the den of death itself made him break out in a cold sweat. But every time he considered turning back, he remembered that he had supernatural help. He just needed to get in there and find some evidence that he could take to the police. Then he'd be a hero. The idea made his mind swell with pride and blocked out any rational thought of self preservation.
Then he hit a dead end. The basement was big, but it was mostly empty. There were no signs of struggle down here. No blood. Was Abigail wrong?
A shock went through him and he began to twist his ring as his mind wandered. What if Abigail had never come back? What if she was a figment of his imagination? Could he have needed her so badly that his subconscious just made her up as a way for him to cope with the stress? He began to shake.
"Abigail? Abigail, are you there?"
Silence greeted him.
"Abigail, there is nothing down here. Have you lead me to the wrong spot?"
You must go down…
Price wiped the nervous sweat from his upper lip and then tried to reason with the ghost of the dead girl in his mind.
"But I'm already in the basement… there's nothing here… nothing but dust…"
Look… the bookcase…
Price's dim light shown on the decrepit case. When the beam reached the floor he finally saw it. The case had been moved. Recently. An arc was drawn across the dust on the floor showing where the large case had swung open. He quickly approached it and began to feel it up and down, inside and out until he found a latch. There was a click and then the sound of an old spring mechanism. Then the large case shifted loose. It was expertly weighted so that it swung easily despite its size.
Ignoring th
e feeling that the walls were closing in on him, Price began to descend into the dark tunnel. He noticed a faint glow coming from a fork up ahead. When he reached it he saw that in one direction the tunnel stretched off as far as he could see… and there were antique fixtures with dim bulbs randomly pulsing to light the way. His throat was dry and his heart rate was up, but he was close. So close. He continued on undeterred.
***
"I'm about to lose my mind!"
Detective Drake was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers entwined in his shock white hair. O'Bannon was standing across from him. They were in Drake's kitchen. It was a mess.
"This place could really use a woman's touch. So could I for that matter…" O'Bannon snorted.
Totally ignoring him, Drake continued on with his outburst.
"What am I missing? What? We both sat there and watched the house… and still Nancy was killed that night… and her body was found in the fountain the next morning. Thomas never left… we would have seen him…"
"You know, his father has a lot of money—maybe he paid someone to dump the body."
"Maybe, but I'm not buying it." Drake thought for a moment. "You know… we aren't dealing with a typical killer. If the killer is rich that would open up a lot of possibilities that aren't available to the usual poor slob…"
"Yeah, you're dealing with old money with that Baron family. They've been rich ever since his granddaddy started bootlegging back during prohibition. I'm sure they'd like that kept quiet, what with Jackson running for office and all, but the family fortune was made from illegal liquor sales, and likely prostitution from what I recall."
"Seriously? What a self righteous fraud."
"Yeah, I doubt anyone running against him would have the balls to bring any of that up! The family used their ill-gotten gains to invest in property and became legit after the repeal. Though some say that he may still be involved in the liquor licensing racket that's still going on."
"So they have a family tradition of flouting the law. That doesn't surprise me in the least."
"People probably don't realize it these days, but prohibition started in Pennsylvania in 1919 and it lasted until 1933. Since then we've had that damn liquor control board. During prohibition Pennsylvania was described as 'the bootlegger's Elysium' and had a liquor flow that rivaled that of Chicago, and the Barons were at the center of it. Their underground bars were the life of the party, filled with drink and debauchery, not to mention a fair amount of trade in stolen goods."
"Did you say underground?"
"Yeah. Figuratively and literally. They had hidden rooms. The party was moved frequently… I guess the speakeasy was sort of the grandfather of the rave, now that I think about it…"
"Tunnels?"
"Yeah, they had tunnels to move the liquor… oh, I see where you're going there. Tunnels that could be used to move a dead body… probably plenty of that went on back then as well…"
"I'm heading to the station, going to do a records search. See if I find any properties owned by the Barons that might fit the bill."
Drake bolted up out of the chair and made his way past O'Bannon in a flash.
"No need to thank me…" O'Bannon called out after Drake.
***
"Mike?" Caroline Phipps gave a quick smile as she stepped into news director Mike Newell's office.
"Come on in. What can I help you with?"
"I just wanted to talk to you about ratings… and the 'Heartbreaker' story."
"The ratings are way up since this serial killer business started. And you've been doing a fine job, both as a reporter… and since you've been filling in the anchor chair. I know you're still fairly new, and we were all concerned when Vicki left, but you don't have anything to worry about."
Caroline relaxed a bit. But she still fidgeted before speaking.
"I, uh, I've been doing some research… about the trouble they had around here… what with the cults active in the area…"
"Now you just hold it right there. That was decades ago. Vicki tried to bring that up—I know it's sensational, and I can see the appeal of delving into it—but there's no proof that the cult has resurfaced. And besides, the serial killer situation is sensational enough. And when that dies down there's still the youth violence issue. You have plenty of headlines to keep us relevant without digging up a past that nobody wants to be reminded of."
"But Mike… "
"No 'buts'. Don't mess up a good thing. The whole cult angle is just speculation. We don't need that. You've done a good job, the exclusive with Price got us numbers, and he's got an inside track with the police… but if you go stirring up fears about the cult then the police aren't going to cooperate. The city is in enough of a panic over a lone killer, they don't need to be riled up thinking that their friends and neighbors might be part of some sinister secret cult just waiting to kill them when they're least expecting it."
"But Mike…" She said even more insistently.
"Let me stop you there. My answer is no… and I mean it. Stop wasting your time on old news. You've got more than enough on your plate dealing with the here and now. This is a news channel, not the History channel."
Caroline hung her head, she wasn't used to being shot down like this. Ever since Vicki left she'd used the opportunity to lift herself into the spotlight in an attempt to secure the lead anchor's seat. And so far it had been working. But Mike wasn't going to budge on this and she knew she'd better leave gracefully before she used up all the good credit she'd been working so hard to earn over the last six months.
"Chin up, Phipps. Get out there and keep up the good work. We still haven't made a decision on that anchor position. Show us what you've got and it could be yours… screw up and they'll bring in someone from out of town. It's yours to lose at this point."
"Thank you for being so straightforward with me, sir." She said as she looked him in the eyes.
"Get out of here, I have work to do. You think this news room runs itself?" He smiled as she hurried out the door.
***
Detective Drake sat in his car fumbling through printouts of maps, and pages of notes. He looked out the car window and then back at the map in his hand. He got out a list of addresses, all of them crossed out but one. He took out his pen and circled the last address.
"This has to be it… or I'm back to square one."
He reached down in the floorboard and grabbed up his Maglite. He threw the papers in the floor and got out of the car. It was dark now, it would make it harder to find what he was looking for, but he was determined. The right thing to do would be come back with a crew and a search warrant, but he knew Underwood would never go for it; not to mention that the evidence at this point was circumstantial, and wouldn't be enough to get approval from a judge.
No, he was going to do this little trip by himself, and off the books. He'd come back later if he found anything suspicious. Besides, these were abandoned buildings slated for demolition. It's not like he was barging into someone's home. He valued individual rights and tried to follow the law, but in this case nobody's rights were being violated and the lives of innocents girls were at risk.
The building was crumbling from disrepair, but looked structurally sound enough to investigate. He was surprised that local historians hadn't acquired the building to renovate. Then again, he thought he probably appreciated it better the way it was. They'd just turn it into some trendy hipster place that overcharged for everything. The world didn't need any more of those places. He'd rather see it collapse in on itself as nature intended.
Making his way inside, he noted that the door looked to have been forcefully opened recently. It was hard to tell for sure, seeing only by the light from his Maglite and with the amount of dust and debris around. Looking closer there appeared to be a trail leading to the basement. Maybe this was where he'd find the tunnels he was looking for.
Stopping at the top of the stairs he loosened his pistol in the holster, unsnapping the l
atch, and then cautiously made his way down into the darkness. The basement was large and mostly empty but his heart skipped a beat when his light hit the case that had been left wide open. He moved closer and his new vantage point revealed a rough hewn tunnel extending out behind the wall. Without hesitation he stepped inside.
If he was wrong, then he'd likely find vagrants living here in the underground. But if he was right, then he expected the tunnel would take him all the way to the Baron estate. The next turn revealed a long tunnel with dim lights stretching into the distance.
Maybe he should call O'Bannon? It would be good for someone he trusted to know that he was down here. He pulled out his phone but he was already too deep underground. He wouldn't be able to get a signal to call for help. He was on his own. Fine. He liked it better that way.
He turned off his light to conserve the batteries and continued on.
***
"Puh-please. I, I don't know anything. I don't know who you are… I'll just go. Please let me go..." Solomon Price was wiping blood from his nose. It felt broken. Not that he'd ever had a broken nose. But this hurt. A lot. And it wouldn't stop bleeding. The blood trailed down his face, bubbling up as it crossed his lips when he spoke and eventually dripping down onto his expensive suit. It was ruined, but he feared that was the least of his worries.
He had found the lair of the killer. And they had found him.
A very large man in a slick rubber suit had stepped out of nowhere and bashed him in the face. The next thing he knew he was locked in this room with him and there was someone watching them from a window in one of the walls. The large man in black stood motionless next to him as the speakers crackled to life and the man behind the glass began to speak.
"How did you find us… Mister Price?"
"You obviously know who I am… or you wouldn't believe me…"
"Go on…"
"It was Abigail, my spirit guide Abigail. She lead me to you." Price frantically looked around the room like he was expecting to see the ghost of the girl there with him. "Why did you bring me here? I thought you would help me… protect me?" He implored her.
