Out of the Darkness

  “Let’s hope not,” Craig said.

  The engineer shrugged. “It’s okay by me. I like you guys!”

  “Thanks,” Tyler said.

  Maybe they were wrong.

  And maybe they were right, but they weren’t looking in the right place. Besides tunnels, as Kieran had pointed out to Sarah, streets had been built on top of streets in New York City. Not to mention—as the Finnegan family had all known from a previous case—there were underground tombs scattered about, as well.

  But logically, Tyler didn’t think Perry Knowlton had been living in a tomb. Unless there was such a thing with easy access to the city streets.

  Yet even as they reached the door, he couldn’t help but remember the poem Knowlton had written and sent to the police with a bit of neck bone.

  Six little children, perfect and dear, wanting the scare of their lives. One little boy, smarter than the rest, apparently felt like the hives. They went into the house, they cried there was a louse, and one fine man was gone. But now they pay the price today...six little children. One of them dead. Soon the rest will be covered in red.

  He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Craig stopped walking; Tyler nearly plowed into him.

  “Poem still bothering you?” Craig asked. The engineer walked ahead of them.

  “I don’t know—I just think he would want to gloat over having killed two women so viciously,” Tyler said.

  “He is in revenge mode.”

  “Yes. Still, wouldn’t he taunt us by saying, hey, and look what I did while I was trying to get the right people?”

  “We need to catch him. Then we’ll know.”

  “Wow, this is weird!” the engineer called back to them.

  “What’s that?”

  “Door opens easy as if it had been greased yesterday!” And then he added a horrified “Holy crap!”

  Tyler ran forward, Craig right with him.

  The door opened to a little room lit by an electric lantern—a very modern electric lantern. There were boxes everywhere, an ice chest, Sterno...a mattress, pillows, blankets.

  And in the middle of the floor, a man.

  Stripped down to his underwear.

  Blood streaked across his temple from a gaping head wound.

  Craig was instantly down by his side. “Walsh, just met him the other day. He’s got a pulse, slight... I’m pretty sure he was left for dead... His suit is...gone.”

  “You, sir! Stay with this man,” Craig said. He was already trying his cell—and swearing when there was no signal.

  “We’ve got to get to the safe house, have to send a warning. We have to get there!” Tyler said.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such a cold and deadly fear.

  He was ready to rush back and crawl through the opening, ready to run all the way down Broadway. He was desperate to reach Sarah.

  “There!” the engineer cried. “There’s your entrance!”

  And there it was. Across the little room was another door. Tyler rushed to it and threw it open. Stairs led up, and he took them to another door, then a hallway that twisted and turned.

  At the end of the next hallway was a door that led to the foyer of a 1930s building. He burst out of it, with Craig behind him. He heard Craig dialing 9-1-1 for the man in the tunnel.

  Tyler tried Sarah’s number.

  There was no answer.

  * * *

  DAVEY WAS PAYING ATTENTION. He wasn’t watching his movie; he was at the door, ready when Sarah slipped across the hall as quietly as possible to open it. He brought a finger to his lips.

  “What is it?” Renee asked.

  “Shh, shh, shh, Davey is right!” Sarah told her. “Come with me. We have to get out of here.”

  “Get out of here?” Renee said, puzzled. “But we have FBI guards—”

  “I think they’ve been compromised. If I’m wrong...we’ll come right back up. But we’re going to take the emergency exit. We have to get to the elevator—the escape dumbwaiter we were shown.”

  “Sarah, what has happened?”

  “Nothing—yet. But please believe me—”

  “I have my Martian Gamma Sword!” Davey said. And he did. He produced it, showing them that he was ready to fight.

  “Please, I could be wrong, but if not, hurrying may be essential. Please, Aunt Renee!”

  Renee still didn’t appear to be happy. She looked out the door, down the hall to the living area.

  Guzman and Adler seemed to be doing their jobs.

  “Please!” Sarah said.

  “Mom. Come!” Davey said. He looked at Sarah and said, “You know my mom. Really, sometimes she’s a little Down syndrome, too. She concentrates, and you have to shake her up. You know that.”

  “Now!” Sarah said firmly.

  She took her aunt’s hand and led the way out. Renee grabbed Davey’s arm. They headed silently out of the room and down the hall toward the little enclave where the dumbwaiter/elevator waited.

  Of course, they’d never tried it.

  Aunt Renee whispered that concern. “What if it doesn’t work? What if five of us don’t fit? What if the agents are furious?”

  She’d barely voiced the question before they heard a thump.

  Sarah stared back toward the door to the apartment.

  Adler was standing over Guzman.

  He still held the muzzle of an FBI Glock in his hand; he’d used the handle to cream the agent on the head.

  “Go!” Sarah screamed as the man turned to look at them.

  They ran.

  “Hurry!” Sean beckoned from inside the elevator.

  Sarah was still looking back as she ran. The others plowed into the elevator.

  She stared right at the man. The thing. The monster the others had seen that night long ago—but she and Davey had not.

  Because he’d already been out of the haunted house. Maybe he’d known that his fellow murderer was on a suicidal spree.

  Now he looked right at her.

  And he smiled.

  He aimed the gun at her.

  “Sarah!” Davey shouted.

  She jumped into the contraption; they were on top of one another, like rats.

  Sean hit the giant red Close Door button.

  A shot went off.

  The door shut just in time.

  They heard the bullet strike...

  “His voice! Oh, God, I knew that voice!” Suzie sobbed.

  Yes! Thank God she had!

  The elevator sped toward the ground floor, and Sarah prayed they could get out and get free and find help...

  He didn’t have just a knife anymore. Maybe, recently, he’d had a gun along with him as well for his murders. Maybe that was how he’d forced his victims to their murder sites.

  Maybe...

  “Oh, God, he’s coming for us all!” Suzie cried.

  * * *

  ALL THE OFFICIAL cars and all the official power in the world couldn’t really move New York City traffic.

  Up and out of the tunnel, Tyler and Craig didn’t even try it.

  On the street level, Craig was able to reach Dispatch to request help; officers would be on the way.

  But so would they—via the subway.

  Miraculously, they were able to hit an express.

  And off the subway, they ran.

  Bursting into the foyer of the safe house, Tyler stopped at last.

  The desk clerk was on his feet, hurrying toward them. “Agents are up there,” he said. “Guzman was down. That man came in with Guzman...he had credentials. There was no reason to suspect... He walked right in. Right by me and the backup. I’m here, but everyone else is out there, on the street. We have people going through the rooms, but...”

  “But what?” Tyler roared. He realize
d that Craig had spoken at the same time.

  “They got out, the witnesses... We don’t know exactly where now—they didn’t come this way. They sensed something was wrong somehow, but...they’re out on the street. We have men out there, but—”

  Tyler didn’t give a damn just how many men might be out on the street. He turned, followed by Craig.

  “Hey!” the agent called to them. “Hey, this is important!”

  Tyler barely paused.

  “He’s armed! He has a service Glock. He doesn’t just have a knife—”

  As the clerk spoke, they heard the explosive sound of a gun being fired.

  * * *

  SARAH HAD REMEMBERED the door would open only from their side—and only when she pushed the button.

  She did so. They’d come out in an alley. If they didn’t move quickly, they’d be trapped.

  “Run! Go!” she commanded.

  They tumbled out and began running. The good thing for them was the main door to the building was around the corner; Knowlton had to leave the building that way—his only choice. That gave them precious seconds to get out of the alley, get somewhere...hide!

  She had Davey’s hand. He was not the most agile person she knew; he wasn’t necessarily fast when he ran. She was desperate to find a hiding place before they were seen.

  “Davey!” Her aunt cried her son’s name with anguish. Sarah knew that she hated being even one second away from him when there was danger.

  She paused, but her aunt, panting, looked at her desperately. “Take him! Take him, keep him safe!”

  Sarah nodded. She tightened her grip on his hand and ran on.

  Luckily, the street was thronging with people. She kept screaming for help.

  They moved out of the way.

  Some pulled out cell phones—she hoped they were dialing 9-1-1.

  Gasping for air, Sarah soon felt she was reaching her limit.

  Trinity was ahead of her.

  She had Davey; she had to pray Aunt Renee and Sean and Suzie would run faster than she could with Davey. They could truly get away, would find a shop, a restaurant, anything! Duck in...

  She was on the street, ready to run into the Trinity graveyard, when she heard someone shouting at her. She turned.

  It was a police officer in uniform.

  She drew Davey behind her. “He’s after us! The killer is after us—Knowlton, the man who beheaded the two women...he’s after us!”

  “Now, now, miss!” the officer said. “Miss, I’m not sure what your problem is, but you’re just going to have to try to calm down.”

  “My problem is that a killer is after us!”

  “Is this some kind of a crazy game?” the cop demanded.

  “No, dammit! Sorry, sorry, Officer, please, I’m begging you—listen to me. There is a killer—”

  She broke off. The man who had claimed to be Special Agent Adler—and was, beyond a doubt, Perry Knowlton—was now casually strolling toward them.

  “Get over the fence. Hide in the graves!” she whispered to Davey.

  “I won’t leave you!” Davey said stubbornly.

  “Do it!” she snapped.

  To her relief, for once, he obeyed her.

  And it was all right; Knowlton was just staring at her. Smiling still.

  “Special Agent Adler, Officer, FBI,” Knowlton said, ever so briefly flashing a badge. “And that woman is a dangerous psychopath!”

  “He’s going to shoot me,” she told the police officer calmly.

  “No, no, miss. He’s FBI. Now, I don’t know the truth here, but he’ll talk to you and—”

  Knowlton took aim and fired.

  Sarah gasped as the officer went down before her. He was screaming in agony.

  Not dead.

  Knowlton might be good with a knife—he wasn’t that great with a gun.

  Sarah was dimly aware of the sound of dozens of screams; people were shouting, running, clearing the street.

  And then Knowlton was looking right at her. He was a few feet away from her.

  His stolen gun was aimed at her.

  “You don’t want to shoot me,” she told him quietly.

  He paused and smiled, clearly amused.

  “I don’t?”

  “You don’t like guns. You use them only to scare and bully people—when you have to. This may be the first time you’re really using one.”

  “Sorry—I used guns we stole off the guards when Archie and I escaped.”

  “Still, you’re not very good with a gun. You’re much more adept with a knife. And I’m assuming you have one. You like to torture your victims, and that’s much better accomplished with a knife.”

  “Don’t worry—I’m carrying a knife. And,” he added softly, “when I finish with you, I will find that cousin of yours. Oh, I read the papers, I saw the news! He was the hero, huh? Let’s see if he dies like a hero. Oh, dear! Look around. A graveyard. How fitting!”

  He smiled. Whether he liked a gun or not, he still had the Glock aimed at her.

  “Drop it!” she heard someone say.

  She smiled with relief. Sanity! Someone who realized that Knowlton wasn’t the law—that he was a killer.

  Someone...

  Her turn to know a voice.

  “Drop it!”

  Knowlton stared at her. Smiled. Took careful aim—and then spun around to shoot at whoever was behind him.

  A gun went off.

  For a moment, it felt as if time had been suspended. As if the world had frozen—it was all a special effect in a movie, because, dear Lord, this couldn’t be real. The killer, there, posed before her...

  And then he fell.

  She looked past him, her knees wobbling, something inside her desperately fighting to keep her standing, to keep her from passing out.

  There, past the prone body of Perry Knowlton, was Tyler.

  She stared at him for a moment.

  And then she ran, and he was ready to take her into his arms. She knew she wasn’t shot; she wasn’t sure about him.

  “Tyler, Tyler...”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured her, holding her, smoothing back her hair. “Are you...?”

  “Fine. I’m fine. He aimed at you, Tyler, he aimed at you. He—”

  “I’m okay. We’re okay,” he said firmly.

  She was aware that Craig was with them then, briefly checking on the two of them, then hurrying forward to hunker down by the body of the fallen killer.

  Others were moving in.

  Davey had crawled back over the fence. He raced to them.

  Tyler pulled him close, as well.

  “Group hug!” Davey said.

  Sarah drew back, looking anxiously at Tyler. “Aunt Renee, Suzie, Sean...?”

  “They’re all right. They went into a clothing store. They’re good. We’re all alive. All of us... Guzman and Walsh are being rushed to the hospital, and—”

  Sirens suddenly screamed.

  Chaos seemed to be erupting with a flow of agents and police, crime scene tape—a flurry of activity.

  But none of it mattered.

  She was being held in Tyler’s arms. And anything could happen around her. They had survived again. And this time...

  She wouldn’t just survive. She would live.

  Chapter Nine

  Sarah and Kieran Finnegan helped serve the table.

  The pub wasn’t so terribly busy. It was Wednesday afternoon and the after-work crowd had yet to come in.

  Sarah hadn’t worked in the pub for years, but Kieran seemed to know that helping with the simple task of supplying wine, beers—regular and nonalcoholic—and a Shirley Temple for Davey was busywork, and sometimes it helped.

  They should have all been more relaxed.


  Knowlton had been dead now for several days. All the paperwork was done. There had been a dozen interviews with all manner of law enforcement, and then with major broadcasters and newspaper journalists. The Perry Knowlton story was still holding reign over the internet, TV, and papers and magazines everywhere.

  That day, however, had not been about Perry Knowlton for Sarah and her friends.

  That afternoon, they had gathered to bury Hannah Levine. There had been tears of sorrow and regret; friendship was a terrible thing to lose. And as they’d gathered at the grave after services, Sarah was pretty sure they were all looking back over the years and wondering how the killings at Cemetery Mansion had cost so many their lives—and left behind survivors who were emotionally crippled. There was no way out of wondering how they had let Hannah down. Each individual alive was responsible for his or her own life—they knew that. But they also knew human relationships were priceless and, for most, essential for living.

  Sarah had been named as Hannah’s next of kin. She arranged for a really beautiful nondenominational ceremony. Hannah’s dad had been Jewish, her mom a Methodist, but Sarah wasn’t sure Hannah had adhered to either religion. Or any.

  But she had been left in charge. And Sarah wanted very much to believe in God and goodness and a higher power. She thought the service was not religious, but spiritual. She guessed Hannah would have liked it.

  After the funeral and burial, they gathered at Finnegan’s. And just as they had felt lost before, they were all trying to tie up the last little skeins of confusion in their own minds.

  “I wonder... I mean, when you were trying to find Knowlton, find out if he could be alive...you found so many other victims. How will...how will you make all that go together?” Sean asked, sipping his beer.

  “Agents in my office will do what they can to find out what happened where and when,” Craig said. “Most forensic work does take time. We were incredibly lucky—beyond lucky, considering Knowlton’s sudden surge toward suicide in his determination to kill you all—that we did make the right calculations in following his movements.”

  “And we’re lucky Sarah got us out!” Suzie said, lifting her glass of white wine to Sarah.

  “You knew his voice. After ten years, you recognized his voice,” she answered.