The Sinner (20 page)

“We'll have to break the hinges,” Kendrick said. “Or figure out how the cat got down there in the first place. I can still feel that draft. Maybe there's another way in.” He moved the flashlight to a different angle as he searched the confines of the pit. “I'm guessing it's at least twenty or thirty feet deep. Maybe more.”

“Can you see water?” I had visions of a wet and trembling kitten desperately clinging to the walls to keep from drowning.

“It's not a well.”

Something in his voice made gooseflesh pop on my arms. “What is it, then?”

“A cylinder.”

“Like a silo?”

He hesitated. “I don't think it's a silo, either.”

“What do you think it was used for, then?”

He met my gaze over the grid. “From what I can tell, the walls are solid. I doubt we'll find another opening.”

“You're saying our only way in is to remove the grate?”

“I'm saying there's no way a cat could have gotten into that hole of its own volition. Someone put it down there.”

Twenty-Six

I
stared at Kendrick wide-eyed as his revelation sank in. Even the yowling had stopped, as if the kitten could sense my horror. I could picture that looming shadow hammering the floorboards back into place, admonishing his feline prisoner that no one would come looking after all this time.

My heart started to pound in agitation. “But the hinges are rusted in place. The cobwebs haven't been disturbed. You said yourself there's no sign that anyone has been in here in years.”

“I realize that.”

“Then how...”

His gaze was still on me. “I don't know.”

I bit my lip, trying to quell a terrible trembling. Who we were up against...
what
we were up against...

How did one combat spells and witchcraft and a reality that transcended concrete walls and a metal grate? How did one catch a killer that left no footprints and buried his prey alive?

I was as frightened as I'd ever been by the prospect of confronting Atticus Pope in whatever body he now occupied. But as I stared down into that swirling darkness, visions of his mutilated victims flashed through mind, stirring another emotion. The same thirst for vengeance I experienced in the church ruins with Darius Goodwine.

“Why would he put a kitten down there? Why would he harm such a defenseless creature?”

I never expected an answer and Kendrick didn't offer one. Instead, he set to work on the hinges, using both hammer and crowbar to break the rusty fasteners. With that done, we were able to lift the grate a few inches and slide it aside so that we now had access to the pit.

I called down to the animal, trying to soothe its fears along with my own.

“I saw a coil of rope earlier,” Kendrick said. “I'll fasten it off to one of the table legs and lower myself down.”

“No.”

He glanced up. “No?”

“It has to be me.” The last thing I wanted was to go down in that hole. I could hardly catch my breath just thinking about the confines of those circular walls and the layers of cobwebs that obscured the bottom. But it had to be done and it had to be me.

“Why you?” Kendrick asked with a scowl.

I couldn't explain my rationale. I hardly understood it myself. But I somehow knew I was still being tested. My fears and phobias were being prodded by Pope in order to strengthen his magic. The only way to thwart him was to overcome my weaknesses.

Or maybe I just needed to prove something to myself. Maybe confronting whatever lurked in that hole was a way to strengthen my own magic.

“I'm still waiting to hear why it has to be you,” Kendrick said.

“I'm lighter and you're stronger. Judging by your performance on those beams earlier, you have a lot of upper body strength. You'd have a much easier time pulling me back up.”

“But I don't have claustrophobia.”

“Who says I do?”

His gaze swept over me. “You don't have to say it. I can tell by your body language and by the look on your face. You're trembling at just the thought of being lowered into that hole.”

“Maybe I am, but I can control it.” I took another deep breath and gritted my teeth. “I can do it.”

A part of me hoped he would find a way to talk me out of such folly. I wouldn't have taken much convincing. But instead he nodded. “Okay, if you're that determined, we'll do it your way. But if anything happens or you panic, just scream or yank on the rope and I'll pull you back up.”

He scooted out from under the table and disappeared. I pushed myself up to the verge of the cylinder, calling down to the trapped kitten as I tried to peer through all those restless shadows. Did something stir at the bottom? Was the draft we'd felt earlier a manifestation?

What if those piteous cries were another trick to lure me into that pit? What if Kendrick couldn't or wouldn't pull me back up? My stomach churned with the realization that I was literally placing my life in the hands of a man I barely knew.

All too soon, he returned with the rope. He fashioned a sling and then slipped the loop up my legs and over my hips. He wrapped the other end of the rope around a table leg so that he could control the speed of my descent.

Once he had everything in place, he rechecked all the knots. “Ready?”

I swallowed and nodded. We crawled back under the table and I hovered at the edge, staring down into all that blackness.

“Just remember, the rope is secured around the table leg and that table isn't going anywhere. Even if were to drop you, which I won't, you wouldn't fall far.”

“That's some comfort.”

“When you get settled, I'll hand you the flashlight.” He checked the knots one last time to reassure me. “Just ease yourself over the side and then let go whenever you're ready.”

I went into the opening backward, my heart racing and my breath shallow. When I let go of the edge, the rope jerked and I fell a few feet before Kendrick was able to take out the slack.

“You okay?” he called down.

His voice bounced off the walls as I swung back and forth. I was seated on the sling, grasping the rope with both hands as I tried to calm my thudding pulse. “I'm fine.”

He appeared over the edge. “I'm going to hand the flashlight down to you.”

I nodded even though I had no idea if he could see me. I clutched the rope so tightly I could feel the abrasive fibers burn into my palms. This was not a good idea. Test or no, I was sorely tempted to have Kendrick pull me back up, but then I heard the echo of those tiny cries below me. I needed to do this. Not just to thwart Atticus Pope or even to face my fears, but to rescue a tiny being whose life had become precious to me.

I reached for the flashlight. Clinging to the rope with one hand, I shined the beam all around the cylinder and then down into the pit. I could still see very little and the sway of the sling disoriented me. I drew in several breaths and tried to focus on the mission. As long as I could hear those cries below me, I could do this.
I could do this.

“Hold tight,” Kendrick called from above. “I'm going to lower you down, okay?”

“I'm ready.”

I splayed the beam over the walls as I began to descend. Cobwebs clung to my clothing and hair and I didn't want to think about the size and proximity of all those spiders. I didn't want to think about the purpose of that hole or why a helpless kitten had been left in there to die.

It seemed as though I had been descending forever and I began to think we might run out of rope before I reached the bottom. But as I tunneled through those cobweb clouds, the cries from below grew louder. I angled the beam down through the gossamer threads and saw glowing eyes staring up at me.

“Almost there,” I called up. My feet touched the floor and I swung the light quickly around the space to make sure that nothing else lurked in the darkness. The cylinder widened at the bottom and I breathed a little easier now that the walls didn't seem so close. But I still had to watch my step because the floor was littered with debris, giving the terrified kitten plenty of places to hide until he decided whether he could trust me.

“You okay?” Kendrick called down.

I angled the light up, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. “Yes. I'm at the bottom now. Just taking a look around.”

“Is the cat down there?”

“Yes, but he's hiding from me.”

“I'll toss down a box,” Kendrick said. “If you can trap him inside, we'll have an easier time getting him out of there.”

I backed out of the way, keeping the rope around me as I flattened myself against the wall. The concrete felt cold and moist against my back. I could smell dirt and mold and the unmistakable musk of old death. I thought about all the snakes that might be hiding in the cracks and crevices of the concrete and all those spiders weaving their webs above me.

A small box landed on the floor at my feet. I stepped out of the harness and bent to retrieve it. Then I shined the beam all around the cylinder, searching for the kitten until the light once again caught those glowing eyes.

I knelt and called to him softly. “Here, kitty. Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I'm going to get you out of here.” But as I slowly advanced, he darted behind another pile of debris. This wasn't going to be easy. His self-preservation was strong.

I started to hum an inane tune that was meant to soothe us both. As I knelt there waiting for him to get used to my presence, I once again lifted the light to the walls to take stock of that strange, circular room. Amid all the cracks and discoloration in the concrete, I saw something that made my heart still.

“Someone's been down here,” I said. “There's writing on the wall.”

“What does it say?” Kendrick called down.

“It's hard to make out. The ink is faded and flaking. It must have been here for a long time.” I moved in closer, mindful of the skittish kitten. “I can still feel a draft, but I don't see any other way in. It's odd.” I glanced over my shoulder, shivering from the chill of my own uneasiness.

“Maybe you better come up out of there,” Kendrick said.

“Good idea.” But that writing worried me. I had a feeling I was missing something important. A clue or a message. I moved closer still and now I could detect scratches in the concrete that looked like claw marks.

The chill deepened as I studied those scratches. A premonition tugged. That draft...where was it coming from...?

I said urgently, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

The light shimmered in those glowing eyes as he crawled out of his hiding place to stare at me warily.

“It's okay, it's okay,” I whispered.

I crept forward, my hand outstretched. This time he didn't dart away, but folded into a tiny bundle as if he could disappear from sheer force of will. When I was only a few inches away, I paused and continued to murmur to him. I couldn't tell if he was hurt, but he was certainly frightened and possibly starved. Setting the flashlight aside, I eased nearer until I could cup my hands around him. He resisted, but I held him fast, feeling the quiver of his frail little body as I lifted him. Then I placed him against my chest so that he could feel my warmth and the beat of my heart. He was still frightened, but he clung to my shirt like a lifeline.

The flashlight beam was still directed at his hiding place and as I knelt there, holding him close, my gazed moved over the mound. I thought at first it was just a bunch of old rags, but then I saw bits of bone hidden within the folds of the fabric. Human bones picked clean by rodents and insects and a grinning skull with hanks of grayish hair sprouting from the cranium.

I must have made some involuntary move or sound that frightened the kitten even more. Tiny claws dug into my flesh as he climbed from my chest to burrow underneath my chin. I cradled him there with one hand as I picked up the flashlight, refocusing the beam on the writing. Now I understood why the words were faded and flaking. They had been scrawled there in blood by the same person who had gouged those claw marks into the cement. By the same someone who had been thrown down into the pit and left to die.

So intent was I on deciphering those cryptic words that I hadn't registered the sudden drop in temperature. As the cold seeped through me, I turned to glance over my shoulder. Mary Willoughby was there in the pit with me. Not the ghost of the seductive sycophant I'd glimpsed in Annalee's memory, but the wraith of a woman driven mad by a slow, agonizing death.

She wore the same dress from Annalee's memory, but the fabric was now filthy and torn and much of her hair had been pulled from the roots in her madness. I could smell her. Phantom scents were not unusual for ghosts and my keen senses had become adept at picking up the eerie perfume that was unique to each manifestation. Mary Willoughby's was very unpleasant. A dank foulness that I had come to associate with evil.

Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her. Drawn by my warmth and energy, she reached out a hand to me. Her spirit had been trapped in that pit for a very long time and I could sense her hunger. I could feel her iciness as she tried to touch me, tried to crawl through my skin.

The light inside me was an irresistible lure, but I felt no rushing wind, none of that strange suction that I had experienced in Kroll Cemetery. The souls that had been trapped behind the walls of that graveyard had been desperate for release, but Mary Willoughby's spirit resisted the pull. She craved my warmth and coveted my humanness. She might even regard my vessel as a means of escaping her prison. But she did not want to move on.

She remained earthbound, I suspected, because of her fear of the unknown. Her association with the likes of Atticus Pope and her complicity in the brutal murder of children and the abuse of her own daughter had surely destined her soul for a place even worse than this pit.

The thought of such a dark presence entering my body even to pass through terrified me. I backed away, pressing against the wall as if I could somehow sink through the concrete. The kitten clung to me and I clung to the kitten. We were both quivering now. I placed the flashlight on the floor and reached for Rose's key.

The manifestation faded until she was nearly transparent, but I could still see her features. Her lips continued to move frantically as if repeating the same missive over and over and I thought of that chant in the woods. Those twelve caged graves in the clearing. Was she trying to summon Pope's disciples?

My gaze flicked back to those scrawled words on the circular wall of her prison and suddenly I knew what she had written. I knew what she was trying to tell me. It was neither a message nor a warning, but a terrifying reminder.

Memento mori.

Remember to die.