A Guardian of Innocents (19 page)

With the front door locked, I decided to creep along the perimeter with my binoculars dangling from my neck, checking out anything that looked like a possibility. After almost a full lap around the house, careful to stay out of sight, I spotted my most promising chance.

There was a pair of cellar doors that didn’t really appear to fit with the house. They had been painted white to match the walls, but they still looked out of place against the modern architecture of the mansion. They seemed almost rickety, like the cellar doors a rural family would flee into when an F4 tornado threatened their small one-story home. It occurred to me then this property had once supported a more humble house, one that had been razed so this white monstrosity could be erected.

But apparently it had only been leveled to the foundation. No reason to get rid of a perfectly good cellar. Might even have a secret passageway built from the cellar to the house.

I approached the wooden doors and noticed the absence of a padlock. I almost opened the doors just then, but caught myself. I scanned the area and my stomach rolled over when I found out the children were being held near the cellar until showtime. They were in a different part of the basement, however. It had been added onto when this house was built and was now quite extensive, like a miniature underground maze. These doors were unlocked because there was another heavier door where they were to prevent their escape.

There was a quick flash of headlights as a vehicle entered the driveway and turned down a side road that headed towards the back of the mansion. I had to hide somewhere now or I’d be seen. Do I go into the cellar and risk someone hearing me or do I make a lightning sprint to the outer perimeter away from the lights or do I just drop onto my stomach and pray I’m not noticed and that whoever’s coming won’t be headed for the cellar? And do I also pray that my black face paint doesn’t reflect the light of its headlamps?

I had about a second and a half to think it over, but my body reflexed and made the decision for me before my brain could even comprehend the consequences of what might happen if I was discovered on this property. My hand groped for the door handle of the cellar while my eyes were still transfixed by the oncoming headlights. My left arm was opening the left door while my right arm braced against the right door and my legs seemed to be picked up by some will other than my own and I was dropped into the damp dungeon of Jebediah Milton’s residence, letting the door fall shut behind me.

I stayed put for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, which did little good since there was absolutely no light to see by. I stretched out my arms, feeling for anything I might bump into as I made my way further into the basement.

My fingers happened upon a wooden plank, which I discovered to be the end of a shelf. I had to fight back a vicious urge to sneeze as I disturbed the dust on what I guessed were some aging bottles of wine.

I knew there was a way from the wine cellar to the interior of the house, but how was I supposed to find it when the room was so pitch black that I might as well be perfectly blind? Although I knew I was alone in this room, I still didn’t feel comfortable pulling out the heavy commercial flashlight from my duffel bag.

I decided to find a wall and see if I could feel my way towards a door. The underground walls were cold; I could feel the chill even through my thick gloves. My mind stretched out and I located Troll and the kids. The entrance to their chamber was only a short distance away. I was grateful they hadn’t heard the sudden entrance I’d been forced to make.

I found a passageway that led out of the wine cellar, but I got confused when I found a staircase that led downward. It reminded me so much of the recording studio, I actually jumped slightly because I thought I felt Galen’s hot breath against the nape of my neck.

There was a sliver of light seeping from a crack at the bottom of a door. I knew they were all in there. There was a man standing next to the door on the other side. He was armed, but his gun was in a shoulder holster beneath the blazer of his suit, an outfit that made him feel uncomfortable and itchy. This man hated suits, but his boss had insisted he wear one tonight. He preferred to wear his gun right above his ass, tucked into his jeans.

I knew this was Troll (he was currently thinking about how he felt like an overdressed babysitter) what I didn’t know was whether or not this door was locked. I quickly formulated a gameplan: I would thrust open the door and grab the handgun out of his jacket before he had a chance to react. I didn’t really want to kill him in front of those kids, but I knew I’d have to if he made me.

I’d have to take a big gamble this time. If the door was locked, I’d lose the advantage of surprise and there would likely be a gunfight, of which I stood a decent chance of not surviving.

I extracted a long hunter’s knife from my duffel bag, another Army-Navy purchase, then put it back. I would need both hands free if this was going to work. I took a few deep breaths, psyching myself up, trying to force myself not to surrender to the growing cowardice that was wrenching my stomach like a dishrag. With my right side against the door, I grabbed the knob and turned it...

I felt it give and turn, then I pushed the door open and shot my left arm through the air and into Troll’s jacket.

“—the fuck!” I heard him yelp.

My fingers found the handle of his gun and I yanked it upwards. The gun itself came out easily, but the barrel seemed exceptionally long and it caught in part of the holster.

Troll reached up and took hold of my wrist, trying to retain possession of his weapon, but when he hit my wrist and forced it upward, it dislodged the gun. My index finger felt for the trigger as my hand positioned the end of the long barrel against his white button-down shirt.

The gun went off with an airy, zipping sound. Blood seeped through a small hole in Troll’s shirt and the red stain began to spread rapidly. His grip loosened as he stared into my eyes. His final thoughts revealed that he never expected to get killed by a cop; he always thought it would be by someone he’d fucked over in
the
business
. Maybe it was all the black I was wearing, maybe the face paint. Personally, I thought I looked more like a Navy SEAL than a raid cop.

Troll’s feet went out from under him as he tried to step forward. He went down face first as his mind slipped into unconsciousness from the sudden loss of blood. I figured he’d be dead in another minute or so.  

I gazed down at the gun in my hand and noticed the lengthy barrel was actually a silencer, the forward half now crimson-coated.

With quick glances, I visually assessed the room (it was more like a tunnel) and realized there were no children in here. Thinking they must be in the next room (or corridor or antechamber of whatever) I proceeded into the darkness of what appeared to be a medieval dungeon. The walls were made out of stones that varied greatly in size, like the masonry of an ancient castle. It had a gothic feel, enhanced by a wrought iron torch holder sticking diagonally out from a wall coated with a very thin layer of scum. The flickering light of the torch it held cast a ghostly luminescence through the lurid passageway, which curved around and opened up into a doorless room.

I followed it around and was shocked by what I found. I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it.

There was a boy and two girls locked in a cell of black iron bars. The older of the two girls appeared to be about fifteen. The other two kids were both about fourteen, possibly thirteen. It was so damn hard to tell when the only light you had to see by was constantly dancing around, throwing undulating shadows about.

The boy looked up at me and began to inhale a large breath as he staggered backwards away from the bars, eyes focused on the gun in my hand. Thinking on my feet, I put a finger to my lips in an attempt to still the shriek building in his throat and whispered, “I’m a police officer. We’ve raided this place. I’m here to get you outta here. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” As I said this, I slid the duffel bag off my back, partially unzipped it and tucked the gun away.

The hope I felt radiating from them at that moment was overwhelming. It was like staring into an eclipse just as the sun peeks out to blind you.

“Do you have the key?” the older girl asked.

“No. Who locked you in here?”

“Some man,” she replied, “Kinda old, with a beard.”

Troll’s face was clean shaven.

“He said he’d come back for us soon, but it’s been hours,” the boy said.

“What did the key look like?” I asked.

The girls shrugged, but the boy answered, “Kinda long and black, like a key to a castle.”

Thinking that maybe whoever locked them in here had handed the key to Troll, I told the kids to wait a few seconds while I tried to find it. I went back to find my third murder victim lying face down in a puddle of his own blood. I rolled him over with the heel of my shoe and felt disgusted when I saw how much blood was still coming out of him, his upper body was drenched with it.

“My third killing, my third victim,” I whispered, feeling only a small trace of remorse.

I didn’t really want to touch him, but I knew I had to find that key. I patted the pocketed areas of his jeans and jacket, careful not to touch any blood. No luck. My gut was telling me that Troll never had the key in the first place. Whoever locked up those kids had kept it.

I rolled the body over, peeled his jacket off and stretched it sideways over his face and chest, like a makeshift shroud.

“Okay, what did this guy look like?” I asked, “The one who had the key. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

I wasn’t listening to what they were saying so much as I was peering into their minds to get a clearer picture of him. As soon as they began to collectively focus on their memories, I knew exactly who it was. Milton. No real surprise there. He was apparently wearing an oldie-style Count Dracula costume (painfully unoriginal, yet super-detailed) with his hair slicked back. He didn’t seem to think it important enough to complete the costume’s effect by shaving off his neatly trimmed beard.

“Alright, look, I have to go find the man who locked you in here to get you out. But I promise I’ll do everything I can to come back to you as soon as possible.”

“Sir?” the little girl spoke up for the first time, “Please don’t leave us here.”

Man, it broke my heart just to hear her say that, but when I felt the hopeless sincerity with which she uttered her plea, I damn near wept. My eyes actually got misty. My brain was absorbing visions of her past. Everyone who had ever claimed to care about her had either abandoned her or exploited her.

I had to leave. Now. My heart couldn’t take this. I wanted so badly to put some bullets into at least some of the people who had hurt these children. I didn’t see a door that connected this dungeon to the house, and, as if
he
was picking up
my
thoughts, the boy nodded towards the torch.

“The guy pulled on that thing and a secret door opened up over there,” he said, pointing to the wall that came to a dead end behind their cell.

Before I attempted anything, I stepped close to the wall in question and scanned for anyone who might be on the other side. All clear. All the men in the house were now convening in the theater. Common sense told me someone would be down for them shortly, probably in a matter of minutes.

I walked to the torch and grasped the black wrought iron holder and pulled it down towards me. The firelight seemed to dance more lavishly, as if in protest.

What the kids had failed to inform me was that there would be a series of loud noises created by the gears that slid the stone wall upwards, which left me trying to dislodge my heart from my throat. When the din finally stopped, I prayed that no one else besides the four of us had heard it. I nodded towards them and said, “See you in a bit.”

“Wait,” the oldest girl whispered, “There’s another girl that was with us. They took her somewhere else.”

“Ah, shit,” I cursed under my breath. This complicated things considerably.

“Her name’s Tessa,” the girl added. My mind’s eye absorbed the mental projection of a girl of about twelve with soft blonde curls that fell just past her shoulders.

I sighed and took off into the gaping hole in the wall. It turned out to be a staircase that spiraled up. More torches lit the stairwell, spaced approximately every twelve steps or so. The walls were still of
ye olde
gothic castle style.

It ended at about thirty or forty steps, and the doorway at the top looked as though it was made of glass. The room beyond appeared to be a study, probably more like a library judging by all the tall wooden shelves neatly stocked with thick books.

A woman in a black and white French maid’s uniform appeared in front of me. Her eyes seemed to lock with mine. I think if I hadn’t been young and in decent shape I would have suffered a cardiac arrest at some point that night.  

The cowardice I’d been fighting now somersaulted to the forefront, demanding that I haul my ass back down the stairs and get the fuck out of this place without even sparing a glance at the imprisoned children on my way out.

That was until I observed the maid stick her face close to the glass and finger a mole on the side of her chin. She thought about how much she would really like to have that removed. She was pretty sure it had gotten bigger over the past few years and she was beginning to think it might be pre-cancerous, like her mother’s was.