“Yeah, but they won’t. The servants love me. Come on.”
“Enzo doesn’t.”
“OK, so worst case scenario, Enzo locks us down here, and we try something else tomorrow. It’s not that bad. I promise.”
Forcing himself to breathe, Jack took a step toward the bookcase. “Is there a light?”
“Of course there is, scaredy cat,” Carla said, catching his hand in hers. “We’re gonna be fine.”
Though he was absolutely not convinced of this, he could admit that she was right: even if they languished in the sub-basement all night, by morning they’d be back in their beds like nothing happened.
Unless the time loop finally ended, but that was so unlikely it wasn’t worth worrying about.
Probably.
The stairwell descended into darkness. The naked bulb overhead illuminated the steps just enough that Jack didn’t lose his footing. Carla trailed ahead of him, one hand on the railing, the other skimming along the cement wall.
If they got stuck down here, no one would hear them scream.
Somewhere in the distance, water dripped.
“What is this place?” Jack whispered when they at last reached a landing lit by another bare bulb.
“What do you think it is?” Carla snapped. “It’s a prison. It’s also a meeting room.”
“Fuck,” Jack groaned. “I really don’t want to see this.”
“Nobody’s gonna lock us down here,” she said, reaching for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s empty right now. I promise.”
There was no way of knowing that, but he didn’t want to argue. “This is where Enzo hangs out?”
“If there’s something they wanna keep secret, it’ll be down here,” hissed Carla. “Or at his office, but we’re starting here, OK?”
“OK,” Jack said, with a wistful glance back at the doorway. Not within easy sprinting distance, he thought mournfully.
“Don’t freak out,” said Carla, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m packing.”
“That’s… not reassuring,” said Jack. “Where was this yesterday?”
“I didn’t wanna confront Ronnie with a gun,” she hissed.
“Right, but Enzo’s fine.”
“Enzo’snot gonna be here,” she snapped. “Let’s go. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave.”
They rounded the corner. Jack’s heart threatened to leap into his mouth.
At first glance, it was just a basement. Cement walls, a rug thrown across the floor, a poster on the wall. A steel door painted rusty red stood sentry across from the stairwell. A folded card table rested against the wall.
Under other circumstances, the tool bench wouldn’t have given him pause. But the longer he looked, the worse it got. Crowbars. Power tools. Saws. Chains. Guns. Handcuffs.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.This is meant to intimidate people, he told himself. Ronnie wouldn’t incriminate himself like this. Empty warehouses were made for torture?—
An image of the bleeding door burst into the forefront of his mind.
Shit. Had he witnessed an execution? Was that where all the blood had come from?
He was abruptly nauseous.
