There was a door to her right, heavy wood overlaid with twining metal designs. There was a picture of armor over the key plate, but like the other doors she'd come across upstairs, it was unlocked.
There was no one inside the well-lit room but she hesitated, suddenly reluctant to continue her search for whoever else was wandering the area. Two walls of the large chamber were lined with full suits of armor, eight to a side, and there was a small display case at the back – not to mention a large red switch set into the middle of the gray tiled floor.
Another trap? Or a puzzle…
Intrigued, she walked into the room and headed for the glass fronted display, the silent, lifeless guards seeming to watch her every move. There were a couple of mysterious grated holes in the floor, one on either side of the red switch, for ventilation perhaps and she felt her heart speed up a little, suddenly sure that she had found another of the mansion's traps.
A quick inspection of the dusty display case decided it for her; there wasn't any way that she could see to open it, the glass front a single thick piece. And something in one shadowy niche at the bottom glinted like dull copper.
I'm supposed to push that button, thinking that it will open the case and then what?
She had a sudden vivid image of the ventilation holes sealing off and the door locking itself, a death by slow suffocation in an airless tomb. The chamber could fill with water, or some kind of poisonous gas.
She looked around the room, frowning, wondering if she should try to block the door open or if perhaps there was another switch hidden in one of the empty suits… … every riddle has more than one answer, Jilly, don't forget it.
Jill grinned suddenly. Why push the button at all?
She crouched down next to the case and took a firm grip on the barrel of her handgun. With a single firm tap, the glass cracked, thin lines spidering away from the impact. She used the butt of the gun to knock out a thick chunk and reached carefully inside.
She withdrew a hexagonal copper crest, engraved with an archaic smiling sun. She smiled back at it, pleased with her solution. Apparently some of the house's tricks could be worked around, provided she ignored a few rules of fair play. All the same, she found herself hurrying back to the door, not wanting to call it a win until she was clear of the solemn chamber.
Stepping back into the blood-hued corridor, she stood for a moment, holding the crest as she weighed her options. She could continue to look for whoever had closed that door, or head back to the puzzle lock and place the crest. As much as she wanted to find her team, Barry had been right about needing to get out of the mansion. If any of the other S.T.A.R.S. were still alive, they'd surely also be looking for an escape.
Her thoughtful gaze fell across the fetid, broken creature that she'd killed, lingering on the slowly spreading pool of dark fluids surrounding its scabby head and she realized suddenly that she desperately wanted to leave the house, to escape its tainted air and the pestilent creatures that stalked its cold and dusty halls. She wanted out, and as soon as was humanly possible.
Her decision made, Jill hurried back the way she'd come, gripping the heavy crest tightly. She'd already uncovered two of the pieces that the S.T.A.R.S. needed to escape the mansion. She didn't know what they'd be escaping to, but anything had to be better than what they would leave behind…
Richard! Rebecca immediately dropped to her knees next to the Bravo, feeling his throat for a pulse with one trembling hand.
Chris stared mutely down at the torn body, already knowing that she wouldn't find a heartbeat; the gaping wound on Richard Aiken's right shoulder was drying, no fresh blood seeping through the mutilated tissue. He was dead.
He watched Rebecca's slender hand slowly drop away from the Bravo's neck and then reach up to close his glazed, unseeing eyes. Her shoulders slumped.
Chris felt sick over their discovery; the communications expert had been a positive, sweet guy, and only twenty-three years old…
He looked around the silent room, searching randomly for some clue as to how Richard had died. The room they'd entered just off the second-floor balcony was undecorated and empty. Except for Richard, there was nothing.
Frowning, Chris took a few steps toward the room's second entrance and crouched down, brushing at the dark tile floor. There was a dried crust of blood in the shape of a boot heel between Richard's body and the plain wooden door ten feet away. He stared at the door thoughtfully, tightening his hold on the Beretta.
Whatever killed him is on the other side, maybe waiting for more victims.
Chris, take a look at this.
Rebecca was still kneeling by Richard, her gaze fixed on the bloody mass of his torn shoulder. Chris joined her, not sure what he was supposed to be looking at. The wound was ragged and messy, the flesh discolored by trauma. Strange, though, how it didn't seem very deep.
See those purple lines, radiating out from the cuts?
And the way the muscle has been punctured, here and here? She pointed out two dark holes about six inches apart, each surrounded by skin that had turned an infected-looking red.
Rebecca sat back on her heels, looking up at him.
I think he was poisoned. It looks like a snake bite.
Chris stared at her. What snake gets that big?
She shook her head, standing. Got me. Maybe it was something else. But that wound shouldn't have killed him, it would have taken hours for him to bleed out. I'm pretty sure he was poisoned.
Chris regarded her with new respect; she had a good eye for details and was handling herself remarkably well, considering.
He searched Richard's body quickly, coming up with another full clip and a short-wave radio. He handed both to Rebecca, tucking Richard's empty Beretta into his waistband.
He looked at the door again, then back at Rebecca.
Whatever killed him might be back there.
Then we'll have to be careful, she said. Without another word, she walked to the door and stood there, waiting for him.
I've gotta stop thinking of her as a kid. She's outlived most of the rest of her team already, she doesn't need me to patronize her or tell her to wait behind.
He stepped up to the door and nodded at her. She turned the knob and pushed it open, both of them raising their weapons as they edged into a narrow hallway.
Straight ahead were a few wood steps leading to a closed door. To their left, an offshoot of the hall, another door at the end. There was blood smeared on the walls bordering the steps, and Chris was suddenly certain that it was Richard's; his killer was behind that door.
He motioned down the offshoot, speaking quietly.
You take that room. You run into any trouble, come back here and wait. Check back in five minutes either way.
Rebecca nodded and moved down the narrow hall.
Chris waited until she'd gone into the room before climbing the steps, his heart already thudding solidly against his ribs.
The door was locked, but Chris saw that there was a tiny shield etched next to keyhole. Rebecca was turning out to be more useful than he could have possibly imagined. He took out the key she'd given him and unlocked the wide door, checking his Beretta before moving inside.
It was a large attic, as plain and unassuming as the rest of the mansion was ornate. Wooden support beams extended from the floor to the sloping ceiling, and other than a few boxes and barrels against the walls, it was empty.