Page 109 of The Promise
"Bitch." She had no idea who the word was meant for, and frankly she didn't care. Her time was running out. Her flailing arms hit something. Something cold, metallic. The candle-holder. Her fingers closed around it, even as bright points of light began to dance before her eyes. With a last burst of energy, she brought the iron stake down with all the force she could muster.
Owen screamed, as the sharp metal glanced off of his cheek and dug into his shoulder. His grip loosened and she jerked free, thrusting the now-extinguished candle and holder in front of her, point out. It was deathly quiet. She stepped into the shadows, her eyes scanning the area for Owen. It was as if he had disappeared. She rocked from right foot to left foot, crouched in the dark, waiting.
Suddenly a rock rattled in front of her.
"Stay back." Her voice cracked as she spoke, coming out barely more than a whisper.
"There's no escape, my dear. Michael can't hear you and I'm much stronger than you are. It may take time, but I'll find you. And when I do…" His voice trailed off, and she shivered at the implication of his words.
She swallowed nervously, waiting. The other candle suddenly blew out and it was impenetrably dark. She had matches in her pocket, but any light now would only give away her position.
She bit back a scream. Owen was right about one thing. Michael would never hear her. But Owen would.Owen would. She took another step, unsure now of whether she was goingbackward or forward. It was like the cave-in. Only this time, the cold darkness was embodied in flesh and blood. Owen. And he wanted to kill her.
"Checkmate." A soft voice whispered in her ear just as a hand closed on her elbow. She swung blindly with the candle-holder and ran, maniacal laughter echoing after her. One minute she was on solid ground and the next she was falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole. She'd have closed her eyes, but it wouldn't have done any good.
With a peculiar lurch, it almost seemed that her descent slowed, and then she crashed to the rocky floor wondering idly why a mine would smell like roses.
31
Michael squeezed the last few feet out of the fissure. He'd obviously been a lot smaller the last time he'd worked his way in there. He should have realized there'd be no way to easily get the silver in and out of that crack. Although, in a perverse kind of way, it's exactly what he would have expected his father to do.
He wiped the dust from his hands on his jeans and looked around. The passage was dark. No sign of Cara and Owen. Maybe they'd had more luck. He set off in the direction they'd gone. If he remembered correctly, the north tunnel wasn't more than a few hundred feet ahead.
He looked down at the length of iron in his hand. The candle was burning low. He stopped and reached into his pocket. Never one to take chances, he lit the new candle and pushed it onto the stub of the old one. The new wick flickered briefly in an unseen draft and then burned brightly, casting a cheerful glow on the cold damp walls as he passed. He wished it echoed his feelings, but he couldn't seem to shake the apprehension that settled over him like an icy blanket of snow.
A scream broke the dark silence of the tunnel. A woman's scream.
Cara.
Michael willed his feet to run, to move, but his terrified brain refused to release the brakes. The sound died almost as quickly as it had begun. One minute sending shivers of dread down his spine, and the next gone, as if the dark had swallowed it. Despite the chill of the tunnel, sweat beaded out across his forehead. He wiped a hand across it, trying to make sense of what he'd heard.
A light appeared in the tunnel, not far from where he seemed to be permanently rooted to the spot. "Michael, is that you?" The light swung upward and he recognized the voice as Owen's.
He tried to form a coherent sentence, but Cara's scream echoed over and over in his head. As the light began to move towards him, he finally found his voice. "Owen? What happened."
"It's Cara," came the answering reply.
His heart was beating so loudly it almost drowned out the words.
"I'm afraid she's had a fall." Owen materialized out of the dark, sliding to a stop in front of him. Blood darkened a cut along the side of his face, and another darker stain spread across the shoulder of his shirt. More blood, Michael's brain assessed.
"Is she…" He hesitated, afraid to finish the sentence.
"I don't know. We were in northwest three and there was a bit of a cave-in. We fell backward and…" He paused, ineffectually dabbing at his blood stained face with his handkerchief. His eyes met Michael's and the look there made Michael's stomach contract in fear. "I'm sorry, my boy, I tried to grab her, but…" Owen's eyes were full of regret. Tragic regret.
"Michael?"
He spun around at the sound of his brother's voice. "Patrick? Is that you?" The light at the far end of the tunnel was faint, buthis brother's voice carried through the tunnel as if he were only a few feet away.
"Hang on, I'm coming. IsOwenwith you?"
The name came out with a strange emphasis and the hair on Michael's neck rose. "Yes, he's here." He glanced back at Owen, surprised to catch the tail end of a flinch. He tried to pull his brain into gear, but found that all he could think of was the sound of Cara's scream and the pain etched on Owen's face. He'd seen that look before, when Owen had come to tell them about his mother.
"Michael?" Evidently the sound only carried one way. Patrick's light moved closer, bobbing up and down as though his brother was running.
"Don't move." Owen's words were not a question, but a command. Michael's brain cleared in an instant. "Turn around." The words were issued in a staccato bark Michael hardly recognized.
Slowly he turned around. "Owen? What's this all about?" He tried to keep his voice calm, but every inch of him was screaming for Cara.
