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I raked my hands through my hair as I stumbled out the front door of the restaurant. Where the hell could she be? The agents had searched Capaldi’s home as well as several other holdings the family owned locally, but their efforts had yielded nothing. Though we’d questioned several of the staff members, no one had seen her for two days. The thought made me physically ill. I didn’t want to contemplate what that might mean.
I lifted my head, and my eyes collided with an ancient church across the street. Unbidden, my feet carried me in that direction. I paused in front of the huge carved wooden doors, and I placed one hand flat on the wood. It’d been years since I stepped foot inside a church, and it felt foreign, unfamiliar. With a deep breath, I tested the door. Unlocked. I braced myself, then pushed my way inside. This late at night, it was dimly lit, not a soul in sight. I made my way up the aisle between the empty pews that looked eerily vacant. I knew the stained glass windows set high along each wall depicted Christ’s crucifixion, though the darkness outside obscured the images.
I stopped just before the altar and stared up at the cross. I had no idea what I was looking for here. Hope, maybe? Guidance? I had nowhere else to go, no trail to follow. Maybe it was time to seek a higher power, because I was at a dead end. I’d exhausted all of my options, put everything I had into it, but it hadn’t been enough.
I sank into a pew and linked my hands together where they rested over the back of the pew in front of me. I closed my eyes and bowed my head the way I’d seen others do. I had no idea how to pray. How did you speak to someone you weren’t sure even existed? I’d seen enough evil over the past two decades to believe God was a figment of someone’s overactive imagination. Surely no deity would ever allow such horrible things to happen.
A soft noise brought my head up, and I stared at the stooped little priest in the corner. He hadn’t registered my presence or, if he had, he’d chosen to ignore me. He lit a candle and I saw his lips move in prayer. He made the sign of the cross, then shuffled my way.
I watched warily as he took a seat beside me, and for several long moments we remained silent. Finally he turned to me. “What brings you here?”
I lifted one shoulder. “I’m not really sure.”
He nodded slightly. “Anything I can help with?”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away as I sat back against the hard wood. “I don’t think so, Father. I’m not sure anyone can.”
I felt eyes on me, and I craned my neck as I glanced around the large open space, trying to find the source of my discomfort. Except for the priest, the church was empty. A blast of cool air hit my skin then was gone as quickly as it had come. Beside me, the priest rubbed his hands briskly over his arms. I eyed him. “Did you feel that too?”
He tipped his chin. “The spirits have been active.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I was certain that, given his profession, he was required to believe in otherworldly elements.
“Do you...?” I wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.
The old priest seemed to know what I was asking, because he spoke up. “They speak to me sometimes.”
I tried not to judge, but being here was creeping me the fuck out. I was just about to excuse myself when his next words stopped me cold. “She’s a mournful one.”
I turned a bewildered gaze on him. “What?”
He nodded his head toward the candle he’d lit when he first entered the room. “She’s sad. Tormented.”
She? “How do you know?” My question was barely a whisper.
The priest seemed to think it over. “It’s just something that I feel. It’s almost tangible, her sorrow.”
I dug in my pocket for Jules’s ring and turned it over in my hands, staring at the diamond like it would impart some much-needed secret. It’d been days since anyone had seen her. Where was she? Was she still alive? Capaldi’s words had been confusing at best. He’d spoken in present tense but like he assumed her demise was imminent. I couldn’t fucking imagine never seeing her again.
I closed my eyes against the moisture gathering there and fisted my hand around the ring. Dropping my head backward, I sent up a silent prayer. We’d searched damn near every place Capaldi had access to, yet we’d found no trace of her. What if we were truly too late?
My eyes popped open. No. I wouldn’t even let myself think it. Martinez and his men were researching every angle. We would find her; we just had to. It was so damn hard to believe that, though. I knew how many cases went unsolved, how many victims were never found. Faith wasn’t a luxury I could afford, but it was the only thing I had left.
I turned my gaze back to the crucifix suspended over the altar. “How long have you done this?”
“Nearly fifty years,” the priest replied. “I was born and raised here in Chicago.”
“Same here.” I drew a deep breath. I loved this city, but I hated it for so many reasons at the same time. “I’ll bet you’ve seen some things.”
“Indeed,” he agreed. “More good than bad, thankfully.”
I nodded, and we lapsed into silence for a long minute. Suddenly, the candles in the corner flickered, sputtering out almost completely before reigniting. Icy fingers clawed at my spine, and my blood ran cold. What the fuck was happening? This wasn’t real. Spirits didn’t exist... Did they?
“Did you see that?”
He nodded slowly, then glanced around before rubbing his hands together again. “Sometimes I feel like they’re really calling for help.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I actually walked the tunnel yesterday to make sure I wasn’t hearing things.”
My head snapped toward him. “Tunnel?”
“The original part of this church was built back in the late 1600s, before Chicago was officially appointed a city, and they made several additions over the centuries,” he replied conversationally. “In fact, the restaurant across the street is where the old rectory used to be, but it burned down nearly a hundred years ago now. As the city grew outward, the catacombs under the church were established for the residents to bury and honor their dead. Everything back then was connected by underground tunnels, but they’ve been forgotten over the years.”
I knew there were tunnels running under the city, mostly recreational or transport, but this was the first time I’d heard anything about catacombs under the church. If the restaurant somehow connected to an underground tunnel, was it possible...?
“How do you access the catacombs?” I asked.
The priest grasped the pew in front of him and slowly rose his feet. “Come with me.” He led the way deeper into the church to another sturdy oak door. He pulled it open and flipped on a single bulb. “The stairs here lead to the basement. Once down there, the tunnels break off in several directions. The rooms have been locked for decades,” he remarked, “as we have no use for them. We also can’t have people disturbing the dead.”
“Would you mind if I took a look around? I promise I won’t damage anything,” I said when he paused.
He studied me for a moment then finally relented. “I’ll be right here.”
I used the flashlight from my phone to illuminate the steps in front of me as I made my way down to the bottom. As he said, the landing broke off and tunnels veered in several directions. I slowly turned in a circle, eyeing the long, dark tunnels and debating which way to go. Suddenly, the craziness of the situation hit me.
What the hell was I doing?
Jesus. Was I so desperate for answers that I was willing to look for the most ridiculous and sensational solution? I turned and placed my foot on the step to return to the church. As soon as my shoe made contact with the hard stone, the bright light flickered. I froze in place, positive whatever I’d just seen was a malfunction. Though the phone wasn’t new, I’d never had issues with it before. I jiggled the device, but this time the beam of light remained steady and strong. Shaking my head, I took another step. The light flickered once more, and my heart jumped into my throat.
What the fuck was happening here?
I took a step backward as the light flashed off then quickly on again. I held it up, the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up as I swept my arm in a wide arc. The white light danced as it flickered over the old stone walls of one tunnel, then the next. Suddenly, the light went out completely.
A heartbeat later, it came back full force, seeming to lead me down the tunnel to my right. The light seemed brighter, stronger, and I tentatively took a step in that direction.
I walked several dozen feet until I came to a sealed room. Dropping my gaze to the floor, I noticed the dust and dirt had recently been disturbed. My heart beat frantically in my chest as I grasped the smooth iron handle and shoved the swollen door open. Just beyond a small landing lay a set of stone steps that seemed to descend straight into hell itself. I stood there motionless, staring into the yawning mouth of darkness, wondering with dread what lay at the bottom.