Dana Mentink - Shock Wave

His grin turned serious, swallowed up as they stepped through the double doors into the tomblike darkness.

THREE

Trey felt a surge of cold air against his face as he eased open the door. Sage pressed against him and his breath caught. She felt just like he had imagined many times when she wasn’t aggravating him, soft and warm, like a delicious breeze trickling through an Arkansas summer day. He cleared his throat and pushed through the opening. Blackness enveloped them. He groped his way to the wall while Sage held the flashlight. The small glow did little to fend off the cavernous blackness.

“Gotta be a switch around here somewhere.”

“You haven’t been in this part of the theater?” she whispered.

“No. Fred knows it like the back of his hand, so he showed me the places I needed to see.” He found himself replying in an equally hushed voice. “Seems I was hired to repair the front lobby and that’s it. Got my orders not to explore except to check on Wally.”

Sage made a thoughtful sound. “That didn’t seem odd to you?”

“Not really. You can see the condition of this place. Not safe for a rat. Personally, I think it’s only suited to the wrecking ball.”

“Barbara doesn’t seem to think so. She’s paying you, so the Imperial must be good for something.”

He couldn’t read her expression, but he caught the tone. “As I said, I get paid through Rosalind, she’s the business manager, but if Barbara thinks there’s value here then I stand corrected. She’s smart. Figure it runs in your kin along with the stubborn streak and mouthiness.”

She huffed. “And I’m sure the women in your family are all delicate flowers.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you about my mom sometime,” he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice that always kicked up when he considered his mother. Sage could learn a thing or two about quiet strength from her.

“I’m beginning to agree that this place may be beyond repair,” Sage said, her words swallowed up by the cavernous space.

“It’s a little late for that realization,” Trey said. Finally, his fingers found what he sought. He pushed up the lever and the overhead lights flicked on, at least the three that still had working bulbs.

The stage was empty in spots and crammed full in others with boxes piled into crazy stacks. Rising above the boxes was the massive wooden cutout of a clipper ship and several smaller bundles swaddled in sheets. “How did all this stuff get here?”

“The Imperial was purchased about twenty years ago by a man who sank a small fortune into mostly cosmetic repairs. They went bankrupt after only a few shows. Other people bought it, but most of the time it just sat here rotting until Barbara became involved.”

Trey whistled and the sound echoed strangely. “Wonder why the Longs would want to take on such an expensive wreck? Why not demolish and rebuild?”

“Barbara’s always been in love with architecture and the opera. This must have seemed like a dream opportunity for her when she married Derick and he bought it for her as a wedding gift.”

Trey heard the sad lilt in her voice. “An opera house is a pretty big gift. Why would he turn around a year later and make her disappear?”

Sage locked her eyes on his. “Things can change in a year.”

But some things don’t, he thought. Some things last, like faith and memories...and love, at least he used to think so. A restless feeling coursed through him. The darkness pressed in on them both until he could stand the inactivity no longer. He stepped forward, but Sage grabbed his wrist. He turned, struck by the way her hair shone, a strange luminosity granted by the eerie light. “Problem?”

“I did a little studying up on the theater.” She pointed to the floor. “There’s a series of trapdoors built into the stage, triggered by a lever system underneath.”

He squinted at the floor. “Don’t see any open ones.”

“Me neither, but this building has stood without any major repairs since 1919. That’s a lot of time gone by for things to rust and fail.”

He grinned.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Risk assessment. You sound like a platoon leader.”

She shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t hear Antonia.”

He nodded. “Dust on the floor looks undisturbed here. Let’s check back by the rear entrance in case she made her way in that direction.”

Sage stepped in close behind him, her hand on his back as they crept around the perimeter toward the thick folds of curtains.

Something skittered by Sage’s feet and she jumped.

“Just a rat,” he said, repressing a shudder of his own. He’d die content never having to clap eyes on a rat again.

Her fingers clutched at his shirt, balling it up. A sensation on the back of his neck made him stop and pull farther into the velvet drapery.

“What is it?” Sage whispered, her breath tickling the side of his face.

What was it? Nothing concrete, just a feeling, a sensation of eyes following his progress. He looked up at the catwalk far above them. No sign of movement, but plenty of places to conceal a watcher. What for? If it was Antonia she had no cause to climb up the catwalk and even less to stay there and spy on them. So who would be watching? And why?

He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess.” The sad by-product of combat was the paranoia, the inability to fit properly into a normal world again after the shooting stopped.

Lord, help me put that behind me. Way behind.

As he scanned the shrouded shapes festooned with cobwebs and smelling of mold, he decided this was definitely not a normal situation.

As they eased toward the rear exit, his neck prickled again, the instinct that kept him alive through two tours of duty flaring to life.

Someone is watching.

Waiting.

Instinctively, he reached for the M16 that wasn’t there.

He blinked hard and looked up again at the catwalk, where his eyes found nothing but shadows.

You’re losing it, Black. Probably just rats up there.

As if on cue, a fist-size rodent darted along the floor a mere three feet from them.

He expected her to scream, chauvinist that he was, but she didn’t. She tightened her grip on his shirt and he heard her sharp intake of breath, but she did not cry out.

She never had.

Even when the bullets started flying and one of them found the jugular artery of her friend.

When machine gun fire nearly deafened them.

When she climbed into the transport aircraft to carry Luis home for burial.

She’d never screamed.

Maybe things would be better between them if she had.

* * *

Sage steeled her spine against the shudder that rippled up and down her back. Rats. She wondered how many of them were peering at her right now from their burrows deep in the rotted walls and floor of the old place.

Her stomach quivered. She clamped her jaws shut, stuffed the fear down deep and pushed the curtain aside as they went, hoping nothing hairy would meet her searching fingers. Antonia was not hiding here, she was sure. After witnessing the poor woman nearly pass out from fright when she’d seen a mouse skitter across the front walk of the Longs’ home, she knew Antonia was not likely to linger deep in these rodent-infested shadows. She must have exited through the back door.

If they made it there quickly enough, she might be able to stop Antonia from leaving until the woman came clean.

Where is my cousin?

That’s all she needed to know.

Derick’s words echoed through her ears.

She never did see things my way.

Derick was lying. He’d made up the email.

Another possibility struck her.

Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Barbara had sent the email, trying to convey a message to her without alerting her husband.