CopyCat (11 page)

I turned to look at him like he was crazy, and he put a hand in the middle of my back and pushed. Not a hard push, but it was enough to make me stumble backward and suddenly realize there wasn’t anything beneath my feet. I flailed my arms and suddenly I was held aloft by what felt like the air currents below my feet. I reminded myself that it was all a dream anyway and turned in mid-air like an acrobat, falling back into an air current that cradled my body and held me up. Relaxing, I rode it down, soaring over the valley below. It was so peaceful and serene that when the first loud thump came from downstairs, I wasn’t just startled awake, I almost fell out of bed.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and trying to decide if it really had been a real noise that woke me up or just my imagination—one of the auditory hallucinations Dr. Francis claimed I was having. Or maybe I was still dreaming. I felt for Connor Todd in the darkness, but the sheets were empty and cold beside me. Alarmed, I called out softly to him and turned on the lamp on the table beside the bed. There was no sign of him, either in the bedroom or the bathroom. I glanced over at the clock. Half past three in the morning—close enough to the devil’s hour to send a chill racing along my spine.

Another sharp thump landed somewhere below me and this time I did fall out of bed in my haste to get up. I picked myself up off the floor and moved quickly to the dresser. Pulling out some sweatpants, I put them on and grabbed a t-shirt. I was surprised to find Connor Todd’s heavy flashlight still sitting on top of the dresser. I grabbed it and was gratified to feel its heavy weight in my hand.

Then moving very quietly, not turning on the lights, I opened the door and peered out. There were no lights on downstairs as far as I could tell. From below in the darkness I could hear the tick-tock of the old grandfather clock in the living room. It was so still and quiet, with that listening quality to the darkness again.

Then I heard a sound that I easily identified. It was the sound of someone dragging a heavy object downstairs.

I moved as fast and as silently as I could down the stairs, avoiding the ones I knew squeaked when you stepped on them. Still no sign of Connor Todd. I knew he hadn’t left—he said he’d stay awake listening for noises, and besides, he said he would stay all night. I knew he wouldn’t have gone back on his word.

I moved as quietly as I could into the living room and stopped in the middle of it to listen again. Voices—very muffled and low, but definitely voices came from somewhere beyond this room. Straining to hear, I eased into the kitchen and heard another thump, this time from behind the wall. I stepped in something slightly wet as I crept around the kitchen so I risked turning on the flashlight to look down at it. A small patch of blood gleamed up at me from the floor.

My heart stuttered, but I made myself step over it and follow the little trail of droplets. If the blood belonged to Connor Todd, I needed to find him right away. The thought of him lying somewhere hurt made my knees a little weak, but I pushed that aside and kept going. The droplets of blood ended abruptly at the paneled wall just inside my studio. Kneeling beside it, I felt carefully around the edges, searching for another little lever like the one upstairs in my closet. I found one on the bottom left hand side, up under the molding as the other one had been.

I pulled gently and again there was a subtle shifting in the dark as the panel swung open with a little click. Looking into a wall of darkness, I listened for at least a full minute, counting silently to myself. Still no sound at all, so I switched on the flashlight.

I was looking into a narrow passage. I trained the flashlight upward and saw old wooden beams reaching up to the second floor. Long cobwebs floated gently from the beams, and the walls above me wore a coat of gray dust. Bringing the flashlight down further, I saw that the dust didn’t extend to the lower five feet or so, but wide streaks remained, as if the dust had been wiped away. On someone’s clothing as they passed through?

It was cold inside the corridor, and I wanted nothing more than to turn away and go call for help, but I’d seen something else on the dusty floor—the little droplets of blood continued down the passage, along with a long smear of dirt. Something had been dragged through here, and recently. There was a confusion of dusty footprints on the floor as well, all leading off into pitch blackness.

Taking a deep breath, I crawled inside and stood up. I turned my flashlight down the long passageway and moved off following the trail of blood. I followed the tunnel-like corridor for a long time, and it quickly became obvious these passageways wound all through the house. I came to a bend in the hall and saw a set of narrow steps leading up to the second floor. It all seemed very old, yet the wood had been replaced in places and pale new wood gleamed up from risers leading to the upper floors. Someone had patched them and not too long ago.

Who had built this maze of passageways? It could only have been the original owner of the house, Sebastian Brooks, from the age of the thing. This house had to have been a significant part of the Underground Railroad in the area, and the abolitionist Brooks a major player.

It quickly became obvious that someone had been using this long tunnel more recently. But who? My mind immediately went to the missing paintings. Had Miguel somehow discovered the passages and hidden the paintings here? It seemed farfetched, but it was possible. We’d spent a lot of time here in the old house while we were together, and though most of the time I was around somewhere, Miguel never went places with me or did anything so mundane as to push around a shopping cart.

I kept moving and found a kind of landing ahead, leading to another set of steep stairs. These led down into what I thought must be the basement. I could smell a musty dampness in the air. I’d never liked the basement and tried to stay out of it as much as I could. When my grandfather was still alive, the washer and dryer were down there, and from time to time I’d have to go down and do laundry by myself. There was only one light—more of a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling with a cord so the basement always stayed dim and shadowy. I hated it.

When my grandfather passed I sold the old washer and dryer down in the basement and got someone to install a stacked unit in the closet off the kitchen. It was part of the renovations I had done, and one of my favorite additions. It had cost a lot to get the plumbing done, but well worth it in my opinion. Still the trail of blood led down into the basement, so I took a deep breath and followed it down.

The basement was just as dark and creepy as the last time I’d been down there, only more so knowing there were people roaming around my house in the dark. I saw what looked like a pile of clothing by a narrow, low doorway and hurried over to it. It was Connor Todd all right, and my heart skipped several beats as the flashlight picked out a big, bloody gash on the back of his blond head. I turned him over carefully and saw his beautiful, familiar face gone slack and pale. Searching frantically for a pulse on his neck, I thought my heart might stop again until I finally located it, weak and thready, but
there,
and for the first time in my life I knew why people thanked God.

He was deeply unconscious, though, and I knew I had to get help for him and quickly. I looked through his pockets for his cell phone, but it was missing. Not wanting to leave him down there, but not knowing what else to do, reluctantly I got to my feet and opened up the door beside him. Stygian darkness looked back at me, and since I had no idea where it might lead, I decided to go back up the narrow staircase. If I could make it back the way I’d come and then get to the front door, I thought maybe I could flag down a passing car. That was the plan anyway, and it might have worked if I hadn’t heard the footsteps coming back toward me from the direction I’d come in.

They were loud, making no effort at all to be quiet, so I knew that whoever was coming toward me was in a panic, running back down the passage. I could see their light bobbing ahead and I froze for a second, unsure of what to do. I didn’t relish a fight here in this narrow corridor and besides, I knew there had to be two of them from the swarm of footsteps in the dust and the voices that had murmured to each other earlier. It sounded like only one of the intruders was coming toward me now, but the other one probably wouldn’t be far behind. I looked wildly around for a place to hide and saw an opening in the hallway I hadn’t yet explored. I hurried toward it and saw that it led upward to the second floor.

Climbing the steps, I thought it would still be okay. I’d go up about halfway and hide there until whoever had been coming toward me had passed by. Then I’d creep back down and find the exit again. To my horror, I heard the footsteps turn at the opening to the corridor I crouched in, heading straight for me. I jumped to my feet and blindly crawled up the steps, feeling my way. The intruder was too close behind me to risk using my flashlight.

Finally the steps seemed to end and I found myself crawling out onto a kind of landing. I was at a dead end and trapped there with the intruder heading up the narrow steps below. If I could have found the entrance to the rest of the house, I might have been able to crawl through and hide somewhere inside, but it was far too dark to locate it. The footsteps were right below me now, so I did the only thing I could do. Slipping over the side of the railing, I held onto the post with both hands, gripping as hard as I could, my body dangling over a two-story drop below. I held my breath, knowing that if I betrayed my presence in any way, it probably would mean my death.

If the intruder looked carefully, he would have been able to see my hands gripping the rail. But thankfully, he never even paused. I heard the footsteps reach the landing, and then a click and a scrape and the passage door closed behind him.

It took a few moments to regulate my breathing again, and then I had a bad moment when I thought I might not be able to pull myself back up. I made it, though my arms were trembling and my hands were a little numb. I crept back down the way I’d come, careful to shield the light from my flashlight with my hand, in case the other intruder was around somewhere. As I got to the opening at the main corridor, I heard voices again and went back down the basement steps. I had no real plan at that point. I was thinking that maybe the door beside Connor Todd would lead outside eventually or I could somehow pull him into it and barricade the door from the other side—like I said, no real plan. Certainly no
real good
plan.

I realized I was running out of time as I heard the voices not too far away. They were so close I could even make out a word or two, like my name and Connor Todd’s. Something about the police, though I didn’t think they were talking about calling them. Crouching down beside Connor, I shook him desperately, but he only groaned and tried to curl his body up, probably in an effort to protect himself. Frantically I searched through his pockets again, looking for a phone or a gun or anything I could use to help us both, but I found nothing.

The voices had stopped right at the top of the landing to the basement now and I heard a familiar voice say, “I can’t find the little bastard anywhere. Do you think he heard us and ran outside?”

Another deeper voice, also familiar, replied. “The front door’s still locked from the inside. No, he’s hiding somewhere. Let’s get Todd upstairs and put his body by the front door. When we find the kid, we can put his body next to him.”

Frantically, I grabbed Connor Todd again, knowing he was too heavy for me to move, but maybe not thinking all that clearly in my desperation. When I pulled at him this time, his legs fell apart and I saw a leather strap over one ankle. I pulled up his pants leg and said a silent thanks to whoever was looking out for us, because the leather strap was part of an ankle holster, and a big gun was gleaming up at me from inside it. I pulled it out and cocked it just as the two men made it to the bottom of the stairs and pointed their flashlights right at us.

I heard a gasp and then “Gavin!” I looked up to meet Steven Oswald’s anxious gaze. Beside him stood Jim Allen, Connor Todd’s partner.

Jim Allen recovered first. He pasted a smile on his face and held out a hand toward me. “Give me the gun, Gavin. I’m here to help you. Mr. Oswald and I came in to check on you and found the passageway open. We’ve already called the police, and they’re on the way.”

“Stop right there,” I said, shaking the gun at him. “You’re a liar. Both of you. Get the hell away from us or I’ll shoot.”

“Gavin,” Steven Oswald said in a soft, shocked voice.

Jim Allen took another step towards me. He was about fifteen feet away. “Gavin, don’t be ridiculous. We’re here to help you.”

I leveled the gun at him again and shook my head, “No, you’re not.”

For a moment Jim Allen’s mask slipped. He grimaced at me, and I swear I heard a soft growl. “Give me the damned gun, you fool!” he shouted and lunged towards me.

He didn’t think I’d shoot him. I could see that thought pass across his face clearly in the second or two before he collapsed, a bullet hole blossoming like a red flower in the middle of his forehead. Steven Oswald screamed. At least I think it was him. He turned so quickly and ran up the steps I couldn’t be sure. From where I crouched beside Connor Todd a few seconds later, I heard the front door slam and I knew he was gone.

Still shaking, I got to my feet and went over to check for a pulse in Jim Allen’s throat. His blind eyes stared up at me, surprise and something like disappointment still in their depths. I found his cell phone in his pocket and called 9-1-1. The operator kept me on the phone until I heard the sirens stop outside, and then I had to go up to lead them in.

Everything got crazy for a while after that. The paramedics came in and when they saw Jim Allen was beyond help, they concentrated on Connor Todd. The police kept talking to me, but I wouldn’t answer, no matter how much they yelled, until I saw them take Connor Todd out on a stretcher, and one of the EMTs promised me he’d be okay. Then finally, I told them to call Angela Jones, so I could shut down and block out all the voices.