Catacomb

by Madeleine Roux

  Cleaning. Found in Dad’s old desk. Could be wrong, but it looks like you.

  He looked younger, happier, than the echo of the man Dan had seen in the Arlington School. But it was definitely the same man, and it was as if Dan was looking at his own face, but more mature, with a tidy dark goatee and a suggestion of dimples under the sharp cheekbones. The woman next to that man was looking over her shoulder, slightly off-camera, her dark red hair bouncing over one shoulder. Well, now he knew where he’d gotten his pointed chin.

  “Why did your dad have that?” Dan texted back, shaking. “Why did he have a picture of my parents?”

  Dan managed to slip out the door without alerting Jordan or Abby.

  As he crept down the hall and made his way silently down the stairs, he heard soft music coming out from under the door of the guest bedroom. Abby and Jordan were probably in there complaining about him right now. Well, fine.

  Dan followed the directions on his phone, heading southeast down Decatur toward the heart of the Quarter. He passed row after row of low, two-story buildings with businesses occupying the first floors and housing sitting above. The colors alternated between brown, darker brown, and then peach, brown, brown, peach.

  Heavy clouds gathered overhead, making it feel later than it was. The humidity from earlier had only intensified, and the first sprinklings of rain darkened the sidewalks, sending pedestrians huddling under well-used umbrellas.

  It was a longer walk than he expected, and Dan couldn’t help glancing behind him as he hurried down the blocks; maybe it was lingering fear from being followed and photographed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

  A line out the door greeted him at the hip little coffee joint where Oliver had wanted to meet—something called Spitfire that had a small, simple sign hanging from the walkway over the greenish-black door. Trying to poke his head inside, Dan nearly ran headlong into Oliver and Sabrina.

  “Hey there,” Oliver said, handing Dan a to-go cup. “Not many places to sit inside. We can head to the square and find a bench.”

  Dan didn’t argue, openly staring at the folder tucked under the boy’s arm. The picture of his parents was inside, and he didn’t care if they made him run a marathon through the city, he would get his hands on it.

  Coffee was really more Abby’s thing, but he sipped the strong brew anyway, noticing that they had dumped a good amount of sugar and cream into his.

  “It’s not bad,” Dan said. “Thanks.”

  “You didn’t strike me as a black coffee kinda dude,” Sabrina said, smirking. She looked tired. Come to think of it, so did Oliver. Apparently none of them had slept very well last night.

  “So what do you think your dad was doing with a picture of my parents? And why did you only find it now?” Dan asked. He couldn’t quite keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

  They walked quickly down St. Peter, the foot traffic growing thicker and thicker until they hit a constant wave of tourists heading toward the famous Jackson Square. The tall, majestic, three-towered silhouette of the Saint Louis Cathedral thrust up toward the rain clouds.

  “Cutting right to the chase, I see,” Oliver said.

  “Can you blame me?”

  “Not at all, man. I get it. Shocked me, too. Wasn’t sure I was seeing things right, but Sabrina has an eye for faces. She said there was no way in hell you weren’t related to those people somehow.” He paused, lowering his head over his coffee cup and breathing in the bitter steam. “Guess this means Micah’s not our only common bond.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Why did your dad have it?”

  “No, I suppose it rightly doesn’t, but I also don’t have a good answer for you,” Oliver said with a shrug. “Not yet. Three heads are better than one, though, right? Or six heads. Where’d your friends get to? Not that I mind. Don’t think they like me much.”

  “We needed a little space,” Dan said. “I mean, I’d like to keep them out of this. I have a way of getting people into trouble.”

  “Oh, lucky us,” Sabrina said with a snort.

  “It’s not like that,” Dan hurried to assure her. He drank his coffee a bit too fast, scalding his tongue. Swearing, he followed Oliver and Sabrina to a shaded bench, sitting and squinting into the hubbub of the square. Artists had already set up kiosks and stands, trying to push their wares on wandering tourists.

  “I’m not even here for very long,” he added. “I just know they want to have a relaxing time before we leave Jordan here. It wouldn’t be fair to get them wrapped up in my problems.”

  “Why are you here?” Sabrina asked. Sitting on the end of the bench, she swiveled to watch him over Oliver’s shoulder.

  “Road trip,” he said carefully. He still hadn’t revealed that he’d heard them in Shreveport. He was waiting to see if they’d mention it on their own. “We’re moving Jordan in with his uncle and having one last hurrah before we go off to college in the fall. Well, before Jordan and I go off to college.”

  Apparently satisfied with his answer, Sabrina sat back, rubbing one hand thoughtfully over the surface of her shaved head.

  “I won’t make you wait anymore,” Oliver said, setting his coffee down on the bench and opening the folder. He handed Dan the photo, then cupped his coffee with both hands, his knees bouncing as he studied Dan’s reaction.

  “I didn’t know if I’d ever get to see something like this,” Dan admitted. He ran his thumb lightly over his mother’s face. She was beautiful, pale, and almost fragile looking, but with steel in her eyes. “But I’m glad to have this. Thank you.”

  “My pop sometimes did favors for certain buyers and friends,” Oliver said, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. He scratched at a day or two’s worth of stubble. “You run a shop like ours, you get all kinds of folks coming by.”

  Dan nodded, still gazing down at the photo of his parents. He barely heard what Oliver was saying to him.

  “When the old man died a few years ago, I kept most of his stuff just the way it was. Didn’t even touch the storage boxes he held for clients and friends. I finally worked up the courage to start looking in them over the past few months, just in case there was something valuable, or something of his,” he said. He nodded toward the photograph. “That was in one of the boxes. But there were other things, too. Not sure if they belonged to your folks or not. Nothing was labeled very well. They spend any time in New Orleans?”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed, and Dan shifted an inch away from him on the bench. He thought of what Maisie Moore had told him, about the fatal accident that had ruined the city for her. “Yeah. They did. Do you think maybe my parents knew your dad?”

  “It’s looking that way,” Sabrina said. “Still no way of knowing if the junk in that box Ollie found is theirs.”

  Dan pulled the photo closer to his body, protecting it. “What if I took a look at it? There’s still a lot I don’t understand about my parents, but maybe something will stand out.”

  Sabrina snorted into her coffee. For the first time, Dan saw her expression soften. Elbowing Oliver, she said, “Why didn’t you just bring that junk?”

  “Money’s tight these days,” Oliver said, flushing and ducking his head. “I wanted to have everything in my dad’s storage boxes appraised. I’m sure that sounds greedy.”

  Dan shrugged. “You don’t really know me, I get it. I would like to see it, though, even if you won’t let me hold on to any of it. Or I could pay you.”

  “That doesn’t seem right,” Oliver replied sullenly. “If I was in your spot, I’d feel entitled to that box. If it was my dad’s stuff I’d believe it to be mine, and it’d matter.”

  Well, that was thoughtful of him. Still, it wasn’t like Oliver had brought the box along. If there really were valuables inside, it would be best to get on Oliver’s good side and raise the chances of walking away with that box down the line. “Can I ask how your dad died?”

  “Car accident,” Sabrina said, answering for a visibly
uncomfortable Oliver. “Drunk driver ran him off the road and into the river a few years back. We got a real problem with drunk nonsense in this town.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s . . . weird. That’s how my parents went, too,” Dan murmured. “I thought knowing how they died would make it easier, but it doesn’t. Not at all.”

  “Dan!”

  He turned, startled, spilling hot coffee down one side of his pant leg. Abby and Jordan jogged up from around the corner. He recognized that particular shade of scarlet rage on Abby’s cheeks.

  “Busted,” he heard Sabrina whisper.

  “Hey.” Dan stood, wiped lamely at the stain on his jeans, and, not knowing what else to say, gave a sheepish, “Sorry.”

  “Any reason in particular you felt like sneaking out on us?” Jordan shot a cool look at Oliver and Sabrina. His glasses were fogged from running in the humidity.

  “No need for the side eye.” Sabrina stood, placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “If we were up to mischief we wouldn’t invite your friend here out to a giant public square.”

  “How did you find me?” Dan put his coffee down on the bench. It was too strong and too caffeinated, and it had soured his stomach.

  “You didn’t exactly dump all your points into stealth,” Jordan muttered.

  “What?”

  “We followed you,” Abby interpreted impatiently. “Steve’s house is like a bajillion years old. Everything creaks.”

  Dan hadn’t noticed that, but then, he had been pretty focused on getting his hands on the picture of his parents. A picture that Jordan now noticed him clutching.

  “What’s that?”

  Jordan reached for the picture, and Dan felt a strange, roaring jealousy flare inside. There was a dull hum in his ears, like a distant live wire that buzzed and buzzed. But he let Jordan take the picture, and the feeling subsided. It was just a picture.

  “Whoa, damn.” Jordan glanced between the picture and Dan, and a second later Abby joined in. “Your dad was a stone-cold fox.”

  “Thanks?” Dan shifted, uneasy. “Oliver found it in his father’s shop, in some storage bins. I think it’s possible my parents might have known his.” He didn’t know if that was information that should be shared, but after their earlier fight, he was feeling the need to show some loyalty to his friends.

  Oliver didn’t seem to mind. He leaned in to the conversation, rubbing again at his stubble-darkened jaw. “Lots of folks have stored things at the shop. We’re still not clear on the connection, but I thought Dan ought to see it.”

  “Your mom,” Abby was saying softly, her brows knit together. “She looks . . . she looks . . .”

  “Happy,” Dan finished. “I know. It looks like they were pretty close to whoever took this picture.”

  “Huh. Who says Oliver’s dad isn’t that whoever? Maybe he was the kind of creeper who gets close to people so he can photograph them without them realizing it. Maybe that runs in the family,” Jordan said pointedly.

  Dan ignored him. “Can we look at the rest of that box you cleaned out? Like I said, I’m happy to pay you for whatever is inside.”

  Oliver started to respond, but Sabrina tucked her mouth under his ear, whispering something quickly. He nodded.

  “I’ll let you have the box. No money required.” Oliver leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t necessarily an intimidating guy, but he was tall enough to look down his nose at Dan. “But I want something in return.”

  “Ugh. The creepers always do,” Jordan muttered darkly.

  “Dan,” Abby warned.

  Dan hoped the look he gave Abby was suitably apologetic. He really did feel terrible for dragging them into this—for making the trip all about him, as usual. But he couldn’t stop himself. How could he? There was part of him that needed to follow this thread, tug on it, unravel it until it all made sense. Why had his dad looked so frightened at Arlington, and why did that make him feel simultaneously sick and hopeful? Like maybe his parents hadn’t had a choice in abandoning him? Like maybe there was a crumb somewhere, anywhere, that would finally satisfy his curiosity?

  “I want that box,” he said again, firmly. “What do you want for it?”

  “Your help,” Oliver replied. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and navigated to something, then held it out for Dan to take. “These were sent last night. Three solid hours of messages. Not like the old ones. They’re like yours now. I don’t know what this means, but damn it, he was my friend. I need to find out.”

  Dan took the phone, his spine tightening until his shoulders recoiled. He could feel Jordan and Abby breathing on either side of his neck, craning to see the message, the single line repeated hundreds of times over.

  Micah might have let Dan rest for one night, but Oliver wasn’t nearly so lucky.

  the yha ve m y bon es

  th ey hav emy b o nes

  they have my bones

  “And just what are we supposed to do with that thrilling bit of information?” Jordan demanded, tearing his eyes away from the phone and the messages. “Who is he talking about, ‘they’?”

  “I told you,” Oliver said, tugging the phone out of Dan’s grasp. “The people Micah and I got mixed up with were evil. When you’re involved with them, it’s for life. And beyond, it looks like.” He sat back down, puzzling over his own words while chewing his lower lip.

  “And do you think these messages are really coming from Micah’s ghost or spirit or whatever?”

  Oliver nodded.

  Jordan had started to pace. Now he grabbed Dan’s unfinished coffee and started to drink it. “We saw Micah die. In New Hampshire. Whatever shenanigans you two got up to here in high school have nothing to do with it.”

  “Maybe not,” Abby reasoned, “but remains are usually returned to a family for burial. If Micah didn’t have any family up there to take them, then maybe they ended up back in Shreveport. Or . . . or, well, in a place that he doesn’t like. As a dead person. God, I can’t believe I just said that aloud.”

  That drew a chuckle from Sabrina. “I’m inclined to think it’s BS, too,” she said, cocking her hip to one side. “But I can’t deny sixty-three messages from a dead kid on Ollie’s phone.”

  “Is there any way to get in touch with your former employer? The Artificer, you called him? I know that was years ago.” Dan joined Oliver on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees. He had taken the photo of his parents back from Jordan, and he smoothed it carefully.

  Oliver thought about this for a moment. “I’ve tried calling the number we used,” he said. “It’s been disconnected for a long time. If there was anything online or another number, I don’t know about it. Micah was the one who set it all up.”

  “There was a drop spot, though,” Sabrina said. Her bright, hazel-green eyes widened, catching the sun as she added excitedly, “A mailbox, yeah? You told me you two would use some mailbox in the middle of damn nowhere to communicate.”

  “Not really ‘communicate.’ We did get our assignments there when we were first starting out, and they’d always come with instructions for where to leave what we found. I suppose it’s something,” Oliver said. He didn’t mimic her enthusiasm. “Long shot, if you ask me.”

  “Better than nothing.” Dan shrugged and stood, watching Jordan chug the last of his coffee. “So how do we do this? Where’s the mailbox?”

  “It’s on Roman, but it’s a drive. We’ll have to take my car.”

  “That’s fine. Let’s go,” Dan replied.

  “Can’t, not now—gotta get back to the shop before I lose a full day of business. But we can head over after closing. If things are slow I’ll shut the place down early.”

  “Of freaking course it has to be at night.” Jordan rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just give us the address and we can go now? You know, streamline the process a little.”

  Sabrina burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Yeah. No. You three should not be going anywhere near the Ninth Ward alone. You’re touri
sts. Just trust me, it would not go well for you.”

  “And you’re gonna be, what, our bodyguards?” Jordan shot back defensively.

  “Look, the French Quarter it is not. It’s better if Ollie’s there. One quick look and then we can go.”

  For a second, Dan was certain Jordan was going to press the idea of going without their help. Dan didn’t relish the idea of exploring a grave robber’s old stomping grounds without a getaway car in close proximity, and somehow he didn’t think Uncle Steve would be game to chaperone.

  “You’re here on vacation, to have fun,” Oliver said gently, pleadingly. “So have fun. Put all this out of your head for a few hours and enjoy the city. We’ll catch up with you tonight.”

  They managed to take Oliver’s advice, for the most part, at least. Abby and Jordan seemed more than happy to forget all about Oliver and Micah and hit the outdoor market again to shop for souvenirs. A short trip back to Uncle Steve’s had allowed Abby to grab her camera, and she didn’t hesitate to drag them all over the historic areas she wanted to capture.

  Dan remained a million miles away. Or maybe just eighteen years away, back to when his parents had uncovered the corruption at Trax Corp. and died because of it. Was it really worth Dan risking all their lives in the same way to find out what was happening here now? He knew he should at least tell Jordan and Abby about the connection he’d found from Trax Corp. to Brookline, so they’d know how deep it all ran. But like the picture of his parents, he was jealous of the information, holding it close as if it was a prized possession.

  Plus, even with Abby photographing and Jordan giving a nonsensical, made-up guided tour of everywhere they went, Dan already sensed their unease. Not with each other, but with him. No one brought up what had happened with Maisie Moore that afternoon or the picture of his parents. It was like they were determined to pretend none of it was happening.

  Just before dinnertime, they returned to Uncle Steve’s. The door to the building was open, and a man and a young woman stood on the stoop, chatting with Steve. Jordan’s uncle leaned against the door to prop it open, a half-smoked cigarette tucked behind one ear.