Page 130 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

Adam only hoped they weren’t too late.

The cellar beneath the slave quarters was Stygian dark and silent as death. It reeked of musty earth, and something else . . . something metallic. Kelly swallowed hard as she inched down the stairs. Her muscles were tense, the gun clenched in her sweaty fingers. Dear God, what would she find down here?

Each step creaked against her weight, announcing her arrival. Her nerves were frayed as she reached the earthen floor and then the darkness was broken by one flickering sliver of light that shone like a damned beacon beneath a back wall covered by a rack of dusty, forgotten wine bottles. From a dark corner behind her, she heard a rat scurry and she jumped, nearly dropping the gun.

Get a grip she told herself, but expected someone to pounce on her at any second. She didn’t take her eyes off the crack of light and suddenly all the old rumors congealed in her head. The slave quarters, unused for generations, had been renovated once years ago, the basement converted to a wine cellar. There had been hushed gossip within the family that Cameron had even had a secret room installed, one where he could meet with his lover when Berneda had gotten suspicious of the carriage house. Was it possible? Was someone in there now?

Fear gripping her, Kelly took a chance. She flipped on the flashlight and expected a shot to ring out and burrow into her heart.

Nothing happened.

Quickly, she ran the beam of her flashlight over the empty cracks, piles of forgotten burlap sacks, broken bottles and debris . . . all the old, decaying . . .

Her heart glitched. There in the middle of the floor, among the shards of glass, leaves that had blown in over the years and dust, was the bunny—the droopy eared stuffed animal Jamie had adored—the one that should have been resting on Jamie’s bed in Caitlyn’s house.

Kelly’s heart wrenched for her niece, the innocent baby. How could anyone take her most precious toy and leave it here to taunt and agonize Caitlyn?

Because whoever is behind this is one sick, warped bastard.

Gritting her teeth, Kelly shone the beam of her flashlight onto the wall above the crack of light on the floor. She nearly missed it as the beam tracked over the old bottles and then she saw it, a glint of metal, the hidden lever in the wall. So this was it.

She eased forward, around the bunny and pulled together all of her courage. Gun in hand, she flipped the switch and stepped back.

The wall swung open silently.

Quickly.

Instantly, Kelly was blinded by the flood of white light.

Everywhere.

She blinked and caught glimpses of flourescent lamps, white walls, white furniture, gleaming stainless steel. The images came at her in a bright rush.

Her eyes couldn’t focus quickly enough. She saw movement from the corner of her eye and there, from a hiding spot deep in the shadows of the old wine cellar, caught a glimpse of a figure erupting from beneath the old burlap bags. Sacks flew, dust clouded and the figure raised some kind of club high overhead.

Kelly spun. Aimed. Fired as the murderer—oh, God, a woman—ducked, then swung wildly. The club slammed into her head.

Crack!

Pain exploded behind her eyes in a terrifying flash.

Her legs wobbled.

The gun went flying.

The cell phone hit the dirt floor with a thud.

Kelly’s knees buckled. She tried to hold on to her consciousness, but as she crumpled to the cold, damp earth she saw the glint of something in the darkness. A needle. Thin. Wicked. Deadly. She tried to get away but couldn’t. As if from a distance, she witnessed the hypodermic plunge into her arm.

She thought she heard a siren wail far away and as her head hit the floor, she looked into the clinical room and caught a glimpse of a grotesque piece of art on the barren white walls—a tree with long strings of black and red pasted to it. Distorted bodies were pinned to each string . . . ugly pictures. Horrifying shots.

“I am Atropos, Caitlyn,” a familiar voice intoned as the darkness seeped from the edges of her eyes, threatening to claim her.

Atropos?

“And now it is your turn. It’s time to join the others.” A face she recognized came close to hers and with terrorizing certain, she knew she was about to die. “That’s right . . . it is time,” Atropos said with a deadly smile. “You have finally met your fate.”

Thirty-Three

---