Page 233 of Fearless

Mercy snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. Damn, I can’t believe I forgot. When we get done with this, put some pants on, and I’ll show you something cool.”

She was too curious to joke that she’d thought his after-lunch “something cool” would involve a distinct lack of pants. Instead, she pulled on jeans and boots and was handed a flashlight. He had one too, and he was sliding his Colt into his waistband.

Ava lifted her brows. “Should I be nervous?”

“Nope.” He waggled his brows. “Not unless you’re afraid of ghosts.”

“I’m only afraid of one Ghost. And that’s not so much fear as a healthy understanding of his overbearing father issues.”

Mercy laughed. “Come on, then.”

They went out the back door of the cottage, to what had once been a small garden in the right angle where the outer walls of the main room and bathroom extension came together. It was nothing but a tangle of old vines threaded with weeds now, but Ava saw the small concrete angel, discolored and moss-covered, that still stood in the very corner.

Mercy dropped to his knees and felt across the ground. From under the fallen leaves, he unearthed a heavy metal ring. He hooked his fingers through it and pulled. As Ava watched, the moss-covered ground lifted, and then revealed itself as a trap door, about three feet by three feet, falling back on its hinges and revealing a dark stone stairwell that led down into the earth.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, delighted. “It’s a secret tunnel?”

Mercy grinned up at her. “It’s a secret tunnel.” He clicked on the flashlight and stood, aiming the beam down into the opening. “Let’s hope there’s not any water moccasins down there.”

He went first, and Ava followed, a hand resting lightly against the middle of his bare back as she navigated the narrow stone stairs. They went down until the ceiling opened up just high enough to let Mercy pass with only a slight stooping of his shoulders. He couldn’t stand upright, and they had to walk one in front of the other between its narrow stone walls.

“Oh, wow.” Ava passed her flashlight beam across the algae-slick stones under her boots. “The whole thing’s made of rock.”

“It floods when the water’s up,” Mercy said in front of her, half-twisting so she could hear him better. The close walls pressed his voice around them. “So whoever dug it wanted to make sure it wouldn’t collapse. This stone’s four feet thick.” He patted the wall. “It was built during Prohibition. The Hollow belonged to smugglers then. They wanted an escape route, in case the police found them.”

“Wow,” she breathed again.

As they progressed along, the light touched small puddles, old forgotten glass bottles, black with age, straggling dead knots of duckweed, the bones of frogs, snakes, and mice that had been washed in with the water, and then perished alone in the dark.

It felt like they walked forever.

“How far does it go?”

“The chapel. Not much farther now.”

They reached another stone staircase, and a heavy wood door at a slant above them. Mercy pushed it open with ease, and as it opened, sunlight came streaming into the tunnel, sharp against their dark-adjusted eyes. Ava saw the leaping tendons in his arms. The thing was heavy.

It fell back with a dull slamming sound, and they were climbing up onto a little wooden stage, the high chapel ceiling soaring above them, the collapsing pews marching in rows up ahead. They were at the pulpit. There was the lectern; behind them, the big plain cross spread its arms. Mother Nature had punched up the floorboards, and the aisles were soft with grass and vines. Ava could hear the music of birds and frogs. Sun fell in through the high narrow windows, and in the utter stillness, the air smelling of warmth and greenery, it was easy to feel the echoes of holiness in this long-forgotten church.

“It’s beautiful,” Ava said, almost afraid to let her voice touch the quiet.

Mercy stood at the edge of the simple wooden stage, hands at his sides, staring at the cross. “Hmm,” he murmured in agreement, but Ava could see that he was miles away. Coming in here had triggered something in him.

She wanted to go to him, slide her arms around his waist. But that old sense of infringing held her back. She didn’t want to pry the demons out of him. She wanted him to pull them out and show them to her.

“What?” she asked, softly.

He shook his head a fraction. “Nothing. Just…I haven’t been inside a church in a long time.” He took a deep breath, and the light shifted across the muscles of his chest as it expanded and relaxed again.

“Do you miss going?”

His eyes didn’t waver from the cross. “We didn’t go that often. Gram dragged us to Mass on Christmas Eve every year. Sometimes on Easter.”

“Mercy–”

The sound of a boat motor cut through the tranquil afternoon.

Mercy snapped around, eyes going to the gaping front doors of the church. The tension coiled inside him, cycling through his body, making him seem taller, visibly aggressive. “Wait here.” He made a staying motion with his hand, and stepped off the stage, going down the center aisle in a handful of long strides.

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