“We’ve found the Butler House crypt,” Pang said.
That explained the concrete floor, walls, and crosses. Frank counted at least ten burial vaults, and then he had to stop to throw up again. When he finished, he sat on the floor and resumed crying.
Sara stayed with him, patting his back. He must have been the most pathetic, unsexy man on the planet right then, but she didn’t leave his side.
“Did you see see see the movie Titanic?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Remember, after the ship sinks…”
“Bro, I haven’t seen it yet,” Pang interrupted. “You gotta spoiler alert that shit.”
“After it sinks,” Frank continued, “and Jack tells Rose that getting on the ship was the best thing that ever happened to him, because he got to meet her?”
Sara nodded.
“Well, Sara, meeting you may have been the best best best thing that has ever happened to me. But coming to Butler House was a really bad move.”
“What’s with the bells?” Deb asked.
Her voice was still raspy, but it had gotten a lot stronger. Frank had no idea what she meant until he saw her pointing at one of the vaults. Each had a tiny brass bell mounted in the corner.
“Safety coffins,” Pang said. “In the 1800s, people had a huge fear of being buried alive. So they began interring people with a string that attached to a bell on the outside of the casket. If they were still alive, they could ring the bell and be rescued.”
Frank filed that information tidbit under didn’t need to know and then tried to will himself unconscious.
“At dinner,” Sara said, “Dr. Forenzi said you actually met Satan. Did you really?”
“It’s complicated. And I’m delirious with pain. But short answer, yes.”
“And?”
Frank closed his eyes. “He wasn’t very nice.”
“When I…” Sara’s voice trailed off.
“When you what?” Frank asked.
“When I was on… the island. It was bad. There was this guy. Lester Paks. He’d… filed down his teeth to points. I still have nightmares. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“In order to survive, I had to kill. I don’t regret it. I did what I had to, to save me and Jack. But sometimes I think about the afterlife. What happens to us after we die. We’re being chased by spirits—”
“Alleged spirits, Sara. Nothing has been proven.”
Pang laughed at that. “Nothing proven? Are you crazy, bro?”
“Frank, after meeting the devil, don’t you believe in the afterlife?”
Frank thought about the question. He’d seen things that defied scientific explanation. But not having the answers didn’t mean the answers had to be supernatural.
“I believe in the indomitable strength of the human will,” he said. “I believe good can conquer evil. And, even though it has been a long time for me, I believe in love.”
Sara didn’t answer. But he knew what he said resonated with her, sure as he heard the soft, gentle tinkling of the wind chimes.
No, not wind chimes.
Bells.
Bells?
Frank’s eyes opened in alarm, and he saw Sara with her jaw hanging open, eyes wide as saucers.
She was looking at the wall full of vaults. Frank followed her line of vision.
All of the bells were ringing by themselves.
“They were slaves, buried alive,” Pang said, sitting up with his face buried in his hands. “Sealed in by Jebediah Butler for minor infractions. Through the holes for the bell strings, he fed them food and water. Some lasted for weeks before they died. He let their family members visit them. An object lesson, to keep them meek and afraid.”
Deb had backed away from the ringing bells, her expression as horrified as Sara’s.
“But when they died,” Pang went on, “their spirits were released. They led the revolt that killed the Butlers. And now they roam Butler House, looking for people to possess.”
Pang lifted up his head and smiled.
His eyes had turned completely black.
Deb screamed.
Sara screamed.
But both of their voices were drowned out by Frank, who screamed louder and shriller than both of them combined. Sara somehow found the courage to help Frank to his feet, and Deb added her hands to the effort as well. Then the trio was running out of the crypt, back into the tunnels.
“Which way?” Sara screeched.
Without Pang leading the way with the light in his camcorder, they couldn’t tell which was the way they’d come.
Deb took the lead, Sara and Frank following her. But when they turned the corner, Deb was gone.
And then someone leapt out of the darkness, tackling Frank and Sara, pinning them to the ground.
Moni
A wooden crossbeam, old and weathered.
A dim lightbulb, hanging from brown wires.
Rusty iron shackles, bolted to the wall.
What Moni saw when she opened her eyes.
She blinked, yawned, tried to roll over.
Couldn’t.
The memory came back, jolting.
She’d been following Tom through the hallway, trying to stick close, but he was moving so fast and it was so dark.
And then something grabbed her. Something big and strong.
Moni remembered the needle going in. Tried to fight for a bit. Tried to scream with a hand over her mouth.
And now…
Her hands and feet were tied to some sort of bed.
No, not a bed. Beds don’t have thick metal cranks on them. Cranks meant to pull the ropes tighter until the human body stretched and broke in half.
Moni was on a rack. in a torture chamber, filled with all sorts of other horrible devices meant to inflict suffering.
Then she noticed the figure standing in the corner of the room. Staring quietly at her. Pale. Thin. Long, black hair.
It can’t be. But it looks like…
“Luther Kite,” Moni said, her voice cracking into a whimper.
“Hello, Moni.” He was whispering to her. Soft. Gentle. “It’s so good to see you.”
Luther came to her, ran a finger across her cheek. He looked different then the last time she had seen him. Thinner. Frailer. Sharper cheekbones.
And his eyes were now completely black.
“Remember this?”
He held up a metal cylinder. On the bottom were six metal spikes, each half a centimeter long. On the top was a knob.
An artificial leech. When pressed into the skin and twisted, it shredded flesh.
“It’s bleeding time, Moni.”
Luther smiled, revealing black teeth.
Moni began to scream for help.
No help came.
Tom
Tom opened his eyes to the smell of burnt pork.
He was hanging from the rafters by his wrists, the rope tight and cutting off circulation to his hands. He was tall enough that he could touch the floor on his tiptoes, taking some of the weight off.
Tom spat, hacked, and spat again until he was sure he got all of the roach parts out of his mouth. Then he took in his surroundings.
The tiny room appeared to be carved out of dirt, with railroad ties bracing up the walls and ceiling. A root cellar, maybe. There was some low light, partly from a low wattage bulb on the overhead rafter, partly from a cast iron woodburning stove in the corner of the room, its chimney rising up into the ceiling.
Whatever drug he’d been given had left him foggy, but still very much afraid. His leg hurt from where he’d stepped in the spike hole, and his arms were cramped. Tom visually followed the length of the rope that bound him, and saw it was attached to a pulley and tied to one of the beams, near the doorway.
And standing in the doorway…
“Tom…”