Dana Mentink - Shock Wave

His mind circled the facts again.

Empty opera house, closed to the public for decades.

Whoever it was making the noise was a trespasser.

Find Wally.

Get out of the Imperial and go home.

He shouldered his backpack, heavy with the tools he’d been using to try to repair and replace the rotting wood of the lobby floor. A whisper echoed over to him, a hushed voice belonging to someone who shouldn’t be there. A vagrant maybe, who had forced their way through the boarded-up windows perhaps, looking to escape the clinging October chill. He could still call it quits, look for Wally on his way out. It wasn’t his problem. Not his responsibility. No reason to feel like he had to protect Mr. Long’s investment from intruders. No reason to stay.

He took a deep breath and crept farther into the darkness, heading for the stairs that would take him to the royal box.

* * *

The chilled air of the opera house made Sage Harrington’s skin prickle all over. Her own hands looked pale and ghostly in the meager light from her lantern, shaking slightly from the temblor she’d just felt and the oppressive blackness. It was ridiculous, really. Stupid certainly, to follow Antonia inside. Not the first time she’d behaved stupidly.

Something about Antonia Verde pricked Sage’s instincts. The woman knew the truth about Sage’s cousin Barbara, she was sure, something Barbara’s husband, Derick, wasn’t telling. Then again the whole situation might just be the product of Sage’s overactive imagination. Barbara might very well be in Santa Fe like her husband claimed.

In Santa Fe.

Not answering the phone.

Not returning emails.

Nearly at full-term for her pregnancy.

Without sending so much as a postcard to check on the renovations to her beloved opera house. Sage had seen Antonia do something inexplicable—pick up a picture of Barbara from the glass side table and hide it under her shirt before sneaking out of the Longs’ house.

The cold feeling deep in her stomach returned. Something had happened to Barbara, and Antonia had some information that would help Sage find the truth. She’d grudgingly agreed to meet Sage at the Imperial and talk. Why in the world had they agreed to meet here?

Toughen up, Sage. She would complete her mission, as a man from her past would say, and she found she could not hold back the feelings.

How many times had she thought about Trey Black? Wondered how things would have been different if they’d gotten to know each other somewhere else instead of the hills of northeastern Afghanistan? It seemed surreal, now, that only a year ago she was snapping pictures for a top-selling news magazine, simultaneously afraid for her life and struggling against a powerful attraction toward the captain.

She flashed back to Luis, his body falling at her feet, gone, at Trey’s horrified eyes in his dust-stained face. Trey’s shock remained only for the barest of moments. Then he was the hardened soldier again, barking orders, shouting into a radio, his attention turned back to the task, the mission, while the medic tried frantically to save Luis’s life. Trey Black, a living reminder of the worst moment in her life, simply refused to get out of her head.

Sage shook herself and tried to offer up another prayer for Barbara. No words would come. Only the same impenetrable silence, the same darkness that had cloaked her since her return.

The sound of a stair creaking stirred her senses. Though the stairs to the box were still more or less covered in tattered carpet, the old wood complained under the weight of someone’s approach.

Someone? She mentally chided herself. It was Antonia, of course, passing the time while waiting for Sage. Who else would be interested in this old relic? She wished she could shine her lantern into the stairwell, but she resisted the urge. Instead she drew back into the farthest corner of the box and held the light down behind the seat. If she’d learned anything being in a war zone it was that being cautious could save your life. Unfortunately, her caution seemed to have slid into the realm of paranoia. She’d wait to be sure it was Antonia.

A vibration started under her feet, rattling harder and harder until the building seemed to come alive around her. Earthquake—and this time, much more powerful. She held on to the arm of the seat. A rending of wood sounded above her head. It must be the overhead balcony, tearing away from its moorings.

Panic swelled through her as she fought to stand against the bucking floor.

She yanked herself upright and tried to get to the exit, but she went down on one knee again, something sharp cutting through her jeans.

A roar from above made her throw her hands over her head as a section of the ceiling gave way. Fragments of plaster and wood rained down, swallowing up her scream. Dust coated her mouth as she gasped for air, panic bringing her back to the war zone, filling her gut with black despair. There was a heavy pressure and then silence.

Sage was not sure in that moment if she was alive or dead. Her own rasping breath confirmed that she was indeed living and conscious. Though the box was bathed in darkness, a weak light came from the gaping hole in the ceiling where the balcony above had come crashing through. A thick layer of dust drifted downward.

Just breathe, take it slow.

She coughed out a mouthful of plaster dust and took stock. Aside from general aches, she did not feel any lancing pain. Gingerly, she wiggled her legs and arms, turning her neck slowly to one side. She struggled to sit up but something heavy lay across her shoulders, pressing her down. She quelled the panic.

A few more deep breaths and she worked again on wriggling her legs, propelling herself forward since she had no hope of lifting the thick beam. Fortunately, it had fallen across the span of two seats, leaving a small spot of clearance. Sage scooted forward again, her feet scrabbling for purchase.

Maybe it was a whisper of movement, or the slow exhalation of breath, but in a sudden wash of fear, Sage knew she was not alone.

“Antonia?” she whispered.

No one answered. Perhaps she had imagined the presence. Her doctor would say it was a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. She caught sight of the lantern, which had tumbled down the aisle and now lay a few feet away.

She pulled herself forward, her efforts only netting her a few inches before she had to stop for breath, face bathed in a combination of sweat and grime.

The sound of quietly placed footsteps caused her to freeze. They were made by someone heavy and solid, not by the willowy Antonia.

“Who is it?” she hissed. Whoever it was came closer, but try as she might, she could not twist herself into a position to look up. Some part of her, the deep-down place where instinct lay, told her whoever was in that box had not come to help.

“People know I’m here,” she said quickly. “People are coming.”

The feet moved closer. Sage could feel the boards shifting and bending under the stranger’s weight.

She could see only the shadow in her peripheral vision, someone watching, thinking. The gloom that settled over her pressed fear deep into her pores. She was immobilized, trapped and in darkness as this person closed the gap between them.

Her blood pounded in her veins. She would yell, but who would hear her?

In a scrabble of noise, something hurtled into the box, knocking over the lantern.

She screamed as the thing streaked at her, eyes glowing.

Then a wet tongue swabbed her face. She batted at the creature, which her brain finally identified as a dog. The exuberant tongue was attached to a wiry animal with a head that seemed too small for its lanky body.

Shoving him away, she tried to get a glimpse of the stranger.