slightly ajar, and John eased it open with a toe, half dreading what he might find. Was Sarah in here or had she been in here recently? If she was here, why was the door unlocked? Had they killed her here and left her body?
When the door swung open and he shined his light inside, he blinked in surprise—the room was empty. Just a week earlier, the room had been used to imprison the Coven's most recent victims. He remembered a filthy blanket crumpled in one corner and a bucket that had reeked of feces a foot or two from the door. Now both items had been taken away and the floor appeared to have been mopped.
They pushed on, going past three similar doors, all of them ajar and all of them mopped out and empty. None of them held any sign that a person had recently been held as a prisoner. Ahead, opening another door on the right, he looked in at a bathroom with white tiles on the walls and floor. It too was empty and appeared not to have been used for some time.
Up ahead the passage dead-ended in a door different from all the others, being made of richly polished wood with ornate carvings, in the center of which a demon's head stood out in bas relief. Again, John felt his breathing turn ragged and his pulse kick into high gear as he pictured the room on the other side of the door.
"Do you want to stay here?" he whispered to Amy.
When she said nothing, he turned to glance at her. Her face was pale and her eyes had a haunted look, but she shook her head no.
Forcing himself to keep moving forward, John grabbed the knob, turned it, and shoved the door inward. The last time he had gone through this door, he had come face to face with the leaders of the Salem Coven and seen an unimaginably gruesome scene.
Unlike the last time he was here, the room was dark, and its silence spoke of emptiness. Even before the lights on the walls came on, he flicked on his flashlight and panned the beam over the gleaming mahogany table, the ornate fireplace mantel against one wall, the polished wood plank floors, and the dark beams across the plaster ceiling. The wall sconces slowly lit the room, and as they did he heard the breath rasp in Amy's throat and felt her fingers like claws as she gripped his arm.
After another second, his hand now trembling and causing the light to shake, John turned to his left and shined the light into the room that opened just off the underground dining room. Amy whimpered as the flashlight beam lit the room's white tile walls and white tile floor with the large drain in the center, used for sluicing away the blood that pooled after the Coven's sacrifices.
John choked back his own moan because he half expected to see Sarah's body hanging suspended by the shackles in the tile wall. The whole time he had been walking through the underground passage his dread had been building, imagining that he was going to find that his daughter sacrificed like the two young people he had found here the night he saved Amy's life.
Only he saw nothing. The tile walls were clean and white, the tile floor glistening in his flashlight beam, and to his astonishment the shackles had been removed from the walls and their screw holes patched with white grout, and there was no sign of Sarah. He stood there breathing heavily, his legs shaking, not sure whether he wanted to cry with relief or collapse in confusion.
He felt Amy's arms come around him as she pulled herself against him and whispered, "Thank God." He could only nod in response, unable to trust his voice.
After a few more seconds he turned, walked out of the room, and started to lead the way back down the passage as they retraced their steps and made their way out of the underground lair.
Walking out the unlocked gate at the back of the cemetery and finally climbing into their car, John looked over at Amy. "I really need a drink."
"That makes two of us."
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT MORNING, HAVING DRUNK ENOUGH bourbon the night before to finally calm down and get himself to sleep,
When the door swung open and he shined his light inside, he blinked in surprise—the room was empty. Just a week earlier, the room had been used to imprison the Coven's most recent victims. He remembered a filthy blanket crumpled in one corner and a bucket that had reeked of feces a foot or two from the door. Now both items had been taken away and the floor appeared to have been mopped.
They pushed on, going past three similar doors, all of them ajar and all of them mopped out and empty. None of them held any sign that a person had recently been held as a prisoner. Ahead, opening another door on the right, he looked in at a bathroom with white tiles on the walls and floor. It too was empty and appeared not to have been used for some time.
Up ahead the passage dead-ended in a door different from all the others, being made of richly polished wood with ornate carvings, in the center of which a demon's head stood out in bas relief. Again, John felt his breathing turn ragged and his pulse kick into high gear as he pictured the room on the other side of the door.
"Do you want to stay here?" he whispered to Amy.
When she said nothing, he turned to glance at her. Her face was pale and her eyes had a haunted look, but she shook her head no.
Forcing himself to keep moving forward, John grabbed the knob, turned it, and shoved the door inward. The last time he had gone through this door, he had come face to face with the leaders of the Salem Coven and seen an unimaginably gruesome scene.
Unlike the last time he was here, the room was dark, and its silence spoke of emptiness. Even before the lights on the walls came on, he flicked on his flashlight and panned the beam over the gleaming mahogany table, the ornate fireplace mantel against one wall, the polished wood plank floors, and the dark beams across the plaster ceiling. The wall sconces slowly lit the room, and as they did he heard the breath rasp in Amy's throat and felt her fingers like claws as she gripped his arm.
After another second, his hand now trembling and causing the light to shake, John turned to his left and shined the light into the room that opened just off the underground dining room. Amy whimpered as the flashlight beam lit the room's white tile walls and white tile floor with the large drain in the center, used for sluicing away the blood that pooled after the Coven's sacrifices.
John choked back his own moan because he half expected to see Sarah's body hanging suspended by the shackles in the tile wall. The whole time he had been walking through the underground passage his dread had been building, imagining that he was going to find that his daughter sacrificed like the two young people he had found here the night he saved Amy's life.
Only he saw nothing. The tile walls were clean and white, the tile floor glistening in his flashlight beam, and to his astonishment the shackles had been removed from the walls and their screw holes patched with white grout, and there was no sign of Sarah. He stood there breathing heavily, his legs shaking, not sure whether he wanted to cry with relief or collapse in confusion.
He felt Amy's arms come around him as she pulled herself against him and whispered, "Thank God." He could only nod in response, unable to trust his voice.
After a few more seconds he turned, walked out of the room, and started to lead the way back down the passage as they retraced their steps and made their way out of the underground lair.
Walking out the unlocked gate at the back of the cemetery and finally climbing into their car, John looked over at Amy. "I really need a drink."
"That makes two of us."
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT MORNING, HAVING DRUNK ENOUGH bourbon the night before to finally calm down and get himself to sleep,
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