We visited the abandoned house where the kid had been kept. Then we broke in one night and took a look inside. Tried to figure out where Stuart had been held.
No surprise: it was the basement.
There were too many similarities in how it had been set up for it to have been a coincidence.
Mattresses, covered in dirty sheets, lying on the floor. Hooks dangling from the ceiling. Metal dog bowls for water and food. Metal sheets riveted in place over whatever windows there were.
And then there was the cold.
And the damp.
And rats.
That article, that house, eventually led to Father Gabriel. But before we could track him down, he came to us.
ORPHANAGE UNDER NEW ADMINISTRATION
A short piece. Barely news-worthy. But it made it into the paper, and it had his name in it, and that’s how we located him.
We’d found the Guardian.
A man who moved around the country and set up basements like the one we were kept in. Like the one little Stuart had been found in.
A man who kept his record clean. A man no one would suspect.
A priest.
And because we knew so many of our Ghosts were men of the cloth, there was no doubt in our minds that we’d found the orchestrator of the biggest child sex-trafficking ring of this century.
But how could a man who was so cunning, so fucking intelligent and well connected, be so stupid?
He could have taken Trinity anywhere, and we’d have lost them.
But he brought her here.
To her old house.
A house that was in his name.
That same day, Apollo told us everything Gabriel had said to him in the storm drain. But it had taken weeks of cajoling before Trinity told us her side of the story.
She believed Gabriel was lying. He’d become unstable, not sure if he wanted her as a daughter or a lover or a friend. And she decided she couldn’t trust anything that came out of his mouth.
But what if Trinity was right? Maybe Gabriel had become unhinged. He’d realized he’d made a mistake taking her home. So he decided to try again. And this time, he would make her vanish without a trace.
“…think? Hey, Rube? Are you listening?”
I come back to the present with a big inhale, and then shake my head. “What?”
Apollo’s eyes dim a little. “I said we should find an Internet cafe or something. I can download some of my code off the cloud and do some digging around. I mean, we’ve got the van.”
I take a last pull of the cigarette before crushing it out under my foot. Then I head back to the SUV without answering him.
Cass and Zach are already inside. Zach is in the driver’s seat now, and Cass is working his way through a ginger beer after deciding he’d rather sit in my seat than Zach’s. I move around to the other side of the car and climb in, kicking shit over to his footwell to make room for my feet.
One of those things catches my eye.
Trinity’s purse.
Cass and I both see it at the same time, but he gets to it first. Grabs it. Flicks it open.
His hand is shaking when he takes out the envelope, and I’m about to snatch it from him and tear it open how he’s struggling to get the paper.
“It’s a letter from Gabriel,” he says.
His pupils shift left to right as he scans the page.
“Fuck.” He looks up and locks eyes with me. “Guys…fuck.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Trinity
I’m about halfway through my search of the basement when my foot hits something in the dark. With a metallic gong I’m sure could be heard a mile away, a dog bowl flies away with a clang, clang, clang before finally coming to rest.
My foot’s wet.
I think there was water or something in there.
Now the smell’s stronger. I gag and shake my leg, trying to get the water off.
Hell, I hope it’s water. I’m not so sure anymore.
I hold my breath for a moment, wondering if anyone upstairs heard the ruckus. Then I start moving forward again, trying to remember which direction I was headed.
The smell is so much stronger now.
Stagnant water, is all.
My foot touches another mattress. Unless my imagined dimensions of this place are wrong, I’m close to another wall. I’m guessing this mattress is pushed up against it.
I lean forward, but I don’t feel a wall where I should. So step onto the mattress and stretch—
Something bumps my foot.
If I hadn’t clapped my hands over my mouth, I would have screamed. In fact, I do still scream, but the sound is muffled.
I jump back, my heart clanging in my chest almost as loud as that dog bowl.
What the hell was that?
I wait for something to happen. A sound that indicates movement, perhaps. More rat claws maybe.
But there’s nothing.
So I crouch down and grope in the dark until I touch the edge of the mattress.
My fingers brush the surface as I move them reluctantly forward.
I’m almost sure I can make out the incredibly vague, pale outline of the mattress. But if so, then there must be a big stain in the center, because that area is dark.
God, I wish there was more light down here.
I swipe my fingers left to right over the mattress, with no idea where I’d felt the thing on my foot.
But there’s nothing there.
Probably because I chased it away.
And I have no idea if I’m relieved or grossed out by the thought that I touched a live rat with my foot.
I’m just about to stand when my fingers snag something.
I freeze.
It takes me a few seconds to figure out what I’m touching.
Hair.
I leap back.
My scream echoes back to me, but I couldn’t give a fuck if everyone above me heard. I scramble away, tripping on the edge of another mattress and falling hard on my ass. Then I’m on hands and knees, crawling. I hit another dog bowl but this one’s dry and doesn’t splash me.
I’m half-sobbing, half-choking by the time I get close to the other side of the basement—arms outstretched as I search out the wall I know is getting closer.
But instead of hitting the wall, something slams into my stomach. I fold in half, gasping in pain, sobbing with shock, and grab for something to hold onto.
I ran into a bar of steel.
A railing.
Stairs.
I’m up them a second later. Now my sobs are tearing me apart. Bile vaults up my throat, but I choke it down with a ragged gasp.
My hands bang against something.
A door.
I slam my fists onto it.
“Let me out! Please, please!” My throat burns as I shriek out a string of desperate pleas. “Let me out!”
As if someone on the other side of the door hears my prayers, it swings open.
I fall forward, stumble, catch myself, and go hurtling into the light. I can’t see a thing—it’s just white, and there’s shouting and movement.
I run into someone.
They grab me.
Is it Hoody? The man with the polo shirt under his sweater? Or the woman with the gun?
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I swipe my hands over my face, push hair out of my eyes.
The man in front of me, the one I ran into, he spreads his arms.
Smiles.
I recognize that smile.
But I don’t know how.