the catacombs were actually the worst place to be on a gloomy summer day.
There are various darkened passageways that lead away from the main tunnel at any given time. They all have NE PAS ENTRER and STOP signs, warning people not to enter. Some have doors that are locked; others are just long, dark cracks that disappear into the limestone.
I shiver when I hear the wet smack of footfalls behind me.
I whirl around, but see only a round column of bones rising from the middle of the slimy floors. No one at all.
It must be the water dripping from the ceiling, I tell myself.
I take a deep breath and keep walking, relieved to turn the corner and see an older couple reading one of the plaques on the walls.
Still, again I hear the sound of footsteps and feel the wash of a cold breeze, goose bumps prickling my arms. I swear I see a shadow move backward, deeper into the other shadows.
“Hello,” I call out, but the only response I get is a curious “Hello?” from the couple in front of me.
I give them an awkward wave and then walk past them, wanting now to get the hell out of here.
But there’s only one way out of the tunnels, at least for the public, and the exit never seems to come. I keep walking, sometimes through rooms with a few people in them, sometimes through spaces with no one else.
And all this time I have the disturbing feeling that I’m being followed.
And, yeah, of course I’m being followed. There are always tourists coming up behind me, though at my pace I’m passing everyone.
No, this feeling is something else.
It’s shadows that won’t stop moving.
It’s the gleam of eyes before they disappear into the dark.
It’s knowing deep in my core that I am being watched.
Hunted.
When I get that feeling for the millionth time, I whirl around, prepared to face my attacker.
I don’t see anyone but a lone kid at the very end, touching a skull.
Then I turn around and see it.
This time in front of me, not behind me at all.
A man passing across the tunnel and disappearing into the dark, going to and coming from a place he shouldn’t.
I walk forward and peer around the corner.
There are two passageways, both with DO NOT ENTER signs. One is completely dark. One has a dim light hanging from somewhere farther inside, like it’s a large cavern.
I know I should keep going.
I know I should get out of this place.
But now I’m curious, more curious than afraid.
I carefully walk through the narrow passage, ignoring the sign, my fingers brushing along the damp limestone walls.
And then I see it.
A small room carved into the stone.
A stack of busted crates in one corner.
Piles of broken bones.
A single swinging bulb giving off a dull sepia light.
And Pascal, standing right below it.
Waiting for me.
I should have expected to see him, I should have known it was him following me. This place looks like the sort he’d emerge from, somewhere between the real world and hell.
Yet, I’m surprised.
Surprised enough to freeze in place, my breath catching in my throat.
“You’re a hard girl to get ahold of,” Pascal says in a low voice. He steps forward, the light of the bulb hitting his eyes, making them gleam with intensity.
“And you don’t seem to take a hint very well,” I tell him, raising my chin and fixing him with my most confident glare, even though inside I want to run, maybe throw up somewhere.
I turn around and start out the way I came, because I may have been stupid enough to come in here, but I’m not stupid enough to stay.
“And you don’t seem to take threats very well,” he says sharply. There’s such an edge to his voice that I have no choice but to stop. “You’re a smart girl, Sadie. You know what’s going to happen to you, to Olivier, if you don’t start making the right choices. You can walk out of here and pretend you never saw me, but I’ll make sure to follow you wherever you go. Wherever your loved ones go. Wherever your loved ones are.” He pauses. “I’ve heard Seattle is lovely this time of year.”
My heart booms loudly in my ears, and I slowly turn to face him.
He can’t be serious.
Did he just threaten my mother?
But he is serious. He’s more serious than I’ve ever seen him. That mask he sometimes wears is gone, and there is nothing but ice-cold ambition, the kind