Diesel looked at the Sphinx, and he looked at the frat house. He shrugged and set out across the grass. “We’ve run down every other ridiculous idea, and some of them got us to this point. We might as well run down this ridiculous idea, too.”
“No stone unturned,” I said, jogging to keep up with him.
He went straight to the front door and walked in, with me trailing behind. Two guys turned to look at us.
“Is Scott here?” Diesel asked.
“Yeah, somewhere.”
“I’ll find him,” Diesel said. “Thanks.” And he walked toward the back of the house and down a staircase.
“How do you know where to go?” I asked Diesel.
“They’re all the same,” Diesel said. “There’s always a guy named Scott, and there’s always a downstairs party room. And if there’s a tunnel, it’s not going to originate on the second floor.”
The downstairs party room was deserted at this time of the day. The light was dim and the room smelled like beer and salami. It had a bar at one end. Some leather couches. Photographs, banners, plaques, and paddles hung on the walls.
I opened a door to a utility closet and found a trapdoor in the floor. “Trapdoor,” I said to Diesel.
Diesel poked his head in and looked down at the door. “Shows promise.”
There were flashlights on a shelf in the utility closet. We each took one, closed the door to the closet, eased ourselves through the trapdoor, and descended into the cramped, dark sub-cellar. Copper water pipes and electrical cables snaked overhead, the floor was dirt, and a metal box sat in a far corner. Danger—High Voltage was written on the box, but the box didn’t look like it connected to anything. Diesel pushed the box aside and uncovered a wooden hatch. He opened the hatch and flashed some light into it. There was a ladder going down about ten feet to another dirt floor.
I wasn’t feeling wonderful about where I was at present, and I really didn’t want to go down to another level.
“How about if I go back to the closet and stand guard,” I said to Diesel. “And you can push on.”
“Not necessary,” Diesel said. “No one knows we’re down here.”
“Did I ever mention my slight claustrophobia?”
“Yes. Did I ever mention my face your fears philosophy?” Diesel slipped into the opening and dropped out of sight. “There’s more headroom here,” he called up. “And it looks safe.”
I’d broken into a sweat, and my brain was screaming, Air! Get me fresh air! I turned toward the stairs that would take me back to the closet, Diesel’s hand wrapped around my ankle, and next thing, I was halfway down the ladder. His hands were at my waist, and I was the rest of the way down.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “You’re with me. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”
“I don’t want you to get too offended by this, but that’s not doing it for me. I’m having a panic attack. I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating. It’s too much dirt. There’s dirt everywhere.”
He pulled me flat against him, and he kissed me. His lips were soft, and his tongue touched mine, and I felt heat move through me. His arms wrapped around me, pressing me into him, the kiss deepened, and when he broke from the kiss, I wasn’t thinking about being buried alive under the Alpha Delta house anymore. I was thinking I wanted more kisses. A lot more. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if he put his hand on my breast. I wouldn’t even mind if he slipped his hand inside my . . .
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“What?”
“Do you still feel panicky?”
“You kissed me because I was having a panic attack?”
“Yeah. Did it work?”
I kicked him hard in the shin.
“Are you sure it’s not that time of the month?” Diesel asked.
I smacked the heel of my hand against my forehead. “Unh! Men.”
He grabbed my wrist and tugged me along a narrow tunnel. At least, I’m pretty sure it was narrow, because I had my eyes closed, but every now and then my arm brushed against the side. After what seemed like an hour but might have been minutes, Diesel stopped and I could sense the flashlight on me.
“You can open your eyes now,” he said. “We’re at the end of the tunnel. We’re going up.”
Praise the Lord.
Diesel climbed the ladder first. He shoved the overhead door open, and light flooded into the tunnel. I was so relieved, I almost burst into tears. I scrambled up the ladder after him and found myself inside what had to be the Sphinx. I’m not sure exactly what I’d expected, but it wasn’t what I found. I’d hoped it would be like Cleopatra’s barge, but it looked more like the Alpha Delta taproom.
One of the walls contained a fresco depicting St. Peter holding the keys to heaven. Odd for an Egyptian-themed temple, and in direct contrast to the opposing wall, which featured a poster of Jane Fonda as Barbarella.
“I like this fresco,” I said to Diesel. “It doesn’t completely belong in the room, but it’s very handsome.” I ran my hand across it and felt the energy. “And it’s empowered.”
Diesel moved next to me. “Can you isolate the part that’s empowered?”