At the end of that tunnel they turned left, went halfway down another tunnel, then took another right, threading their way around old wheelchairs, rolling carts, rusted gurneys, and vinyl-covered seats with belts and wheels. The farther in they went, the bigger the piles of discarded equipment grew. Moldy cardboard boxes and plastic jugs littered the floor, and shards of cement and old paint crunched beneath their feet.
“Why the hell does it stink so bad down here?” she said.
“It’s the rats,” he said. “More places to hide over here. The only reason anyone ever comes this way is to put things in storage. Most of it’s junk, but we’re not allowed to get rid of it.”
At the end of the hall stood a wide metal door that looked like the entrance to a service elevator. She breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, they were getting out of there. But instead of heading straight to the elevator, Eddie stopped, took the flashlight from his pocket, and turned it on.
“What are you doing?” she said.
He shined his flashlight into another tunnel. “We need to go that way,” he said. No lights ran along the ceiling of that narrower, murkier corridor. Beyond the flashlight beam, the walls and floors disappeared into blackness.
“Are you sure?” she said.
“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “It’s a shortcut to one of the employee parking lots that no one uses anymore.”
“What about the elevator?”
“Doesn’t work,” he said. “That’s why this tunnel’s full of junk. There’s a ladder leading up to a manhole cover at the end of this.” He pointed at the narrow, shadow-filled passageway. “Once we go through that, we’re home free.” He turned to look at her. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”
She wanted to believe him more than anything. But she wouldn’t breathe easy until they were out of the tunnels, in his car, and driving away from Willowbrook. Even then, she wouldn’t feel safe until she found out what happened to Rosemary and who was responsible for her disappearance. Her first stop would be the police station, but what if the cops didn’t believe her? What if they called Willowbrook and Dr. Baldwin convinced them she was an escaped resident? What if he sent someone to drag her back and lock her up again?
“Let’s just hurry up and get out of here, okay?” she said.
Eddie nodded, then turned and headed into the black tunnel. She followed, keeping her head down in case the ceiling was lower than it seemed. This passageway looked older than the others, with stone archways and crumbling, narrow walls that made walking side by side impossible. Clots of black mold streaked the floor, and a foul, musty stench filled the air. It smelled like something had died down there. She stayed close behind Eddie; the only light was from the flashlight beam in front of his silhouette, bouncing up and down and back and forth on the stone walls and wet floor. It was impossible to shake the feeling that someone was behind her, as if at any second, a pair of strong arms with clawed hands would come out of the darkness and pull her into a hidden pit. Then she would learn, once and for all, what had happened to Rosemary. Instinctively, she reached for Eddie—for his shirt or belt buckle or hand, anything to hang on to so she wouldn’t trip and fall or get snatched from behind. Sensing her touch, he stopped and took her hand, then kept going, his arm trailing behind him as he held on. Cobwebs brushed across her face and she wiped them away. No wonder no one used this tunnel anymore. It was creepy as hell and it smelled like dead animals. The farther in they went, the worse the odor grew.
“How much further?” she said.
“We’re almost there,” he said. “Come on.”
“I can hardly see anything.”
“Just hold on. I’ll lead the way.”
Suddenly he stopped and let go of her hand. “Oh my God,” he said. “Jesus.” His voice came out rattled. He turned around, still holding the flashlight up, blinding her.
She held up her arm to shield her eyes and he lowered the beam, standing to one side as if trying to block her view. His eyes were wide, his face white. “What’s wrong?” she said.
“It’s, um . . .”
“What?”
“We need to turn around,” he said.
“Why? Is there something in the way? Let me see!”
“That’s not a good idea. Come on, let’s go back. I know another way out.”
“Why, what is it?”
“Just do as I say, okay?”
The deep crease across his brow and the strange way he was looking at her made her heart beat faster. She had to know what he saw. She grabbed the flashlight, shoved past him, and aimed the beam into the dark void of the tunnel.
Wedged between the wall and a stone outcropping, the pale, naked body of a young woman sat on a ledge. She was facing out toward the passageway, blue eyes wide open, as if she were sitting there waiting for them. Despite the fact that it had been chopped off to mere inches, the strawberry-blond hair was as familiar to Sage as her own. She knew the slim legs and long fingers, the dimpled knees and slender toes. It was as if she were looking at her own body. But the girl’s mouth had been painted circus red, caked lipstick stretching up toward her ears in an exaggerated, clownlike smile. Black slits ran along her wrists, and streaks of blood ran like dark rivers along her thighs and calves. Another jagged, black line ran along her willowy neck, and blood dripped down her chest, striping her breasts and the soft mound of her abdomen.
Sage dropped the flashlight and her face went hot, sweat instantly coating her skin. Her limbs went slack and for a second, she thought she might fall to the ground right next to her sister. The gorge rose in her throat; she bent over and vomited until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Then she backed up, leaned against the tunnel wall, and put a hand to her neck, willing her hammering pulse to slow.
“Oh my God,” she cried. “Oh my God.” She fell to her knees and started to scream.
Eddie knelt beside her. “Don’t,” he said. “Please.”
She buried her face in her hands and wailed. She was too late. Rosemary was gone—for real this time. Murdered. But who would do such a thing? And why?
People still search the woods for the remains of lost children.
Heather’s and Dawn’s words shrieked in her mind. She gaped up at Eddie, grief and fear tightening her throat. “Do you think it was Cropsey?” she croaked.
“No.” He shook his head violently back and forth, his features contorted by shock.
Then a sudden realization gripped her. “What if it was Wayne?” she said with a trembling voice.
“I don’t know who it was. But let’s not stick around to find out.” He reached under her arm to help her up. “Come on, get up. We have to keep going.”
She pulled out of his grasp and scrambled away from him on her hands and knees. Tiny pebbles and sharp rocks dug into her palms. She got up and turned to face him, panting and out of breath. “What are you talking about?” she cried. “We can’t keep going. It’s Rosemary! It’s my sister!”
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry, but we need to go.”
“We can’t go! We have to tell someone!”
“We will,” he said. “I promise. But we need to get you out of here first.”