33
Kit

OCTOBER, PRESENT DAY

“She was here.” Kit clenched Madison’s shirt in her hand. “Madison was here. It’s how she disappeared!”

Evan pushed past Kit, hiking farther down the tunnel. “Bring the light,” he instructed.

Kit followed, hurrying to keep up.

“If the legend is true, the tunnel runs from the mansion to the theater.” Evan pointed to the ceiling, supported by old beams. “Which means the street is somewhere above us, and we’re probably getting close to the theater.”

“The tunnel isn’t that long,” Kit said.

“A block maybe? I doubt Barlowe had it built just so he could attend his theater in style and avoid the crowd. This looks more like a tunnel for smuggling things.”

“It would make sense that the lost boys disappeared in here.” Kit shone the flashlight ahead of them.

“It’s possible.” Evan pointed ahead. “See? The passage ends there.”

“Are we at the theater?” Kit grazed the end wall with the beam from the flashlight.

“I don’t know yet.” Evan ran his hand along a metal plate bolted to the wall. “It’s a hatch of some sort. Not a door.”

“Can we get out that way?” She really didn’t need to get claustrophobic on top of everything else. Kit stuffed down a wave of panic.

Evan fumbled with a metal bar that held the hatch shut. He lifted the bar, then tossed a quizzical glance at Kit. “That was almost too easy.” The hatch door opened, and Evan extended his arm behind him. “Can I have the light?”

Kit pressed the flashlight into his hand. Evan shone it through the hatch.

“Whoa.” His voice echoed.

“What is it? The theater?”

“It’s the coal bin. In the boiler room of the theater.”

“What?” Kit squeezed in next to Evan. “Then this for sure was not a fancy way to arrive at the theater.”

“No. It was meant to stay hidden. Hold on.” Evan crawled through the hatch into the empty coal bin. “This would have been filled back in the day.” His words bounced off the interior of the bin. “I don’t even know how Barlowe would’ve used it without shoveling coal and in and out to make room.”

Kit crawled after him. “Maybe they didn’t fill it completely.”

“Maybe.” Evan offered his hand to Kit as she made her way from the tunnel. Once clear, they exited the coal bin, landing on the boiler room floor. Evan dug into his jeans pocket for his phone. “I need to call Dean since there was no signal in the tunnel. Let him know we’re okay.”

“What about Madi?” Kit held up Madison’s shirt that she’d refused to leave behind.

“I’ll get word to Seamans too.” Evan strode from the room to get a better signal with his phone. Kit followed, entering the hall. The dressing rooms lay just ahead of her. Decades ago, entertainers filled these rooms, applying makeup and donning costumes as they prepared to go onstage. It was either live performances or silent movies when Barlowe Theater first opened. Now it was just silent. No one entertained here any longer. It was now a coffin of old memories and legends. Stories and spirits of people who had been left behind to—

“Kit!”

Kit yelped and spun. Heather Grant exited one of the dark dressing rooms. She moved toward Kit with a relieved smile on her face.

“I’m so glad you’re all right!” She motioned behind her. “Tom texted me and said you and Evan were locked in a tunnel?”

Kit held Madison’s shirt up for Heather to see. “Yes. And we found this.”

Heather’s gaze flew up to meet Kit’s. “That was Madison’s!”

Kit nodded. “We know she was in the passageway. We just don’t know where she is now.” She clung to the hope that Madison was alive. But who had forced her into the tunnel? Who had trapped her there, and where had they taken her?

Heather opened her mouth to say something, then clamped it shut.

“What?” Kit pressed.

Heather smiled hesitantly. “I’m not sure how much credence you put into what I see. Evan is thrilled to try to disprove me.”

Kit didn’t want to dissuade Heather from sharing her own theories. Even if Kit didn’t believe in the paranormal the same way Heather took stock in it, there were elements of Heather’s sightings that had come to fruition.

Heather glanced behind her as though someone were standing there. “I keep hearing the lost boys. One of them calls himself Leo.”

“Leo?” Kit had heard that name before, yet it didn’t register clearly as to how it might apply here.

Heather continued, “He keeps saying ‘the woman in white’ over and over again to me. He wants to jump me—to become a part of me—so he can communicate” Her eyes widened.

Kit took a step back. The air grew thick between them. “Heather . . . what does that mean?”

“It’s when a spirit tries to take over someone else—someone living. By doing so, it enhances the spirit’s ability to express themself. You know, by using me as a conduit.”

“Don’t do that.” Kit took another step away. She held up the hand that wasn’t clutching Madison’s shirt. “Seriously, Heather, please don’t.”

Heather sucked in a deep breath. “Your parents.”

“My what?”

Heather’s eyes grew big as she stared through Kit, looking beyond her to something unseen. “Leo and your parents. There’s something about them. I don’t know . . .”

There was pounding on the stairs, and Evan came charging down. “Kit!” he called.

Heather jumped, snapping out of her trance.

Kit whirled, the feeling of being caught amid something dark, something evil, curling in her soul.

Evan noted Heather, then Kit.

“Evan, I . . .” Kit reached for him without hesitation, wanting to distance herself from the aura surrounding Heather. He extended his hand, taking hers and tugging her toward him, away from Heather.

“Let it be, Heather.” Evan’s stern reprimand raised the woman’s eyebrow.

Heather turned on Evan with disdain in her eyes. “You always shut me down. Just when I can help.”

“Is that what you think you’re doing? Helping?”

Heather crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the left. “I don’t know, Evan, why don’t you ask Kit’s parents.”

Detective Seamans had taken Madison’s shirt into evidence, and the police had cordoned off the tunnel, both in the Barlowe mansion and in the theater. Now Kit sat in the front passenger side of her own car, this time allowing Evan to drive her home. Heather and Tom rode along in the back seat, Tom’s handheld camera rolling.

That Evan looked infuriated was an understatement.

“I had to let them come,” Kit muttered.

“Why?” Evan glanced at Heather in the rearview mirror. “You’re the one who was upset we were going to film after Madison disappeared. Now you’re going to let the show exploit your parents’ good graces?”

“Heather said they knew something,” Kit said, feeling wobbly, not at all convinced. “If Heather can help them—”

“So you’re going to believe a medium?”

“No, I . . .” Kit pushed her hair behind her ear, aggravated that it was tickling her face. “I just want to get to the bottom of this. Madi believed in the story of the lost boys and the woman in white. It’s why she invited your show to come in the first place. I want to go back to where it all started. With those stories. Just like you said. And now that we found the tunnel . . . well, Madi stumbled onto something from the past that has a legitimate influence on something today. It’s probably why she was taken.”

Evan’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he pulled into the driveway of the Boyds’ home. Kris and Ford stood outside, waiting. Ford looked none too pleased.

Kit eyed Evan with censure. “You called my parents?”

He didn’t bother to gauge her reaction. “Yeah, ’cause I don’t like good people getting blindsided.”

“I don’t blindside people,” Heather interjected from the back seat. “I tell what I see and that’s all.”

“Sure.” Evan killed the engine and hopped out.

Kit didn’t know if she was angry at Evan again or if he’d shown wisdom in giving her parents a heads-up.

Ford frowned, and Kris didn’t look particularly happy.

“Honey, what is going on?” Kris asked her daughter as Kit approached.

“I just need to ask some questions and—”

“Evan told us you were trapped in Barlowe’s legendary tunnel?” Ford interrupted. “Now you’re bringing a medium to our home?”

“Hello, Mr. Boyd, Mrs. Boyd.” Heather smiled, attempting to make friends.

“Dad.” Kit gave him a be-nice look, but Ford’s response was swift.

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me, Kit, you know what I think about messing with the spirit world. It’s not safe, and it’s not wise.”

“Who is Leo?” Heather interrupted.

“Who?” Ford’s frown deepened.

They stood on the blacktop driveway outside the house. The sun was strong, but the fall breeze cool. Leaves skipped along in front of Heather’s feet, and she tightened her beige cardigan around her body. “I was asking who Leo is.”

“I don’t know any Leo,” Ford answered. He offered her a thin smile, an attempt at politeness. “While I respect you and your beliefs, I ask that you—”

“Leo?” Kris stepped forward.

Kit’s gaze swung to her mom. “You know of him?”

Kris looked to her husband. “Wasn’t your father’s uncle named Leo?”

“Great-uncle,” Ford supplied, not taking his eyes off Heather. “I met him once.”

“So there is a Leo in your family?” Heather concluded.

“And?” Ford crossed his arms.

“Can we go inside and sit down?” Kit asked.

“No,” Ford replied emphatically.

Kit knew her dad was probably praying for God to build a hedge of protection against what he believed to be a form of witchcraft. She, on the other hand, believed that God needed to intervene somehow. Could He use other means? Somehow the thought made her feel guilty. No, God didn’t need mediums to communicate with the dead. The realization came to her, clearly and swiftly.

Kris cleared her throat. “Leo was Ford’s great-great-uncle, the brother of his great-grandmother.” She was trying to keep the peace by reciting the Boyd family tree. “Great-grandmother Greta was—”

“Greta?” Evan piped up.

Kris was stunned silent for a moment by his reaction. “Yes. I remember because I was helping Ford’s mom put together the Boyd family tree. Greta Mercy. Mercy was her maiden name—”

“Greta Mercy.” Kit and Evan said the name in unison, their eyes meeting.

“The journal,” Kit added.

“Alpharetta and Madison both had pieces to a journal written by Greta Mercy. She was the sister of one of the theater’s lost boys,” Evan explained.

Heather nodded, releasing a deep breath of satisfaction. “Mmm, that makes sense now. Leo is who I saw in the theater. He’s a lost boy.” She looked directly into Tom’s camera, which was recording everything. “A lost boy who keeps telling me we need to identify the woman in white.”

“Wait.” Kit lifted her hands. “Hold on. If Leo was a lost boy, then . . . he wasn’t lost.”

“He couldn’t be,” Kris acknowledged. “Not if you met him once.” She looked to Ford.

Ford hefted a sigh. “No one ever mentioned Leo was one of those lost boys.” He eyed Heather.

“This isn’t Heather saying it.” Kit urged her dad to listen. “This is your great-grandmother saying it. Greta. In her journal.”

“But how did they find Leo then? Were the lost boys not really lost?” Evan mused aloud.

“Maybe we would know if we found out who the woman in white truly was?” Heather turned to Kit. “You saw her, didn’t you? In the theater’s basement. She left marks in your arm? You know she’s real, so who was she? She’s trying to get a message to us.”

Kit saw her father whip his head around to look at her. “Kit?” He took a protective step toward her.

She hesitated. What did she really believe? If that had truly been the spirit of the woman in white . . . But if it wasn’t, then it had been human. Like an old Scooby-Doo cartoon where the ghoul tore off his mask and—

“Where is Madison?” she said, leveling her attention on Heather.

“I have no idea.” Heather drew back, surprise etched on her face.

“You were the woman in white,” Kit accused.

“What? No.” Heather shook her head. She gave Tom a desperate look. “No, I was with Tom, I promise you. Tell her, Tom.”

Tom nodded and spoke around his camera. “She was, Kit. I can vouch for Heather.”

“Then where is Madison?” Something was becoming clear to Kit. Her fear of abandonment all these years had always left room to question. To question her faith in other people. It was time to let her doubts rise, despite the outcome she dreaded. “Where did you put Madison?”

Heather stammered.

Evan stiffened.

Tom kept the camera rolling.