Something in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He looked down at the chain-link fence. He frowned, looking harder.
The fence was unbroken, sure…but along the chain link was a series of metal bumps, what looked like former breaks in the fence that were then welded back into place. It was a subtle detail, one that Bruce had nearly overlooked. But there was no question about it. The fence was welded shut. Which meant someone else had cut through it at some point, then carefully hid any tracks.
Construction workers. GCPD investigators. Private detectives. Bruce ran the series of noncriminal possibilities through his mind. It could mean nothing at all, of course…but this was a former crime scene, and an unsolved one. What if the Nightwalkers had been up to more here than just destroying the Bellingham legacy? Bruce looked back up at the facade of the building. Something had made someone return here, without wanting anyone else to know.
He swung his backpack around and unzipped it, took out his ski mask and gloves, and pulled them both on tightly until his face and hands were hidden from view. He held up the bolt cutters, carefully placing each bolt between the metal teeth. Clink. Clink. One by one, they popped off, dropping soundlessly into his waiting palm. He tossed the broken bolts into his backpack and zipped it up. The overlapping fence swung open a hair. Bruce pushed it open wider, until there was just enough space to slide through, and then he inched his way in, disappearing past the black tarp.
Wooden boards were nailed all along the side of the building, but enough gaps existed for him to climb through. Inside, the space smelled musty, claustrophobic, the air reeking of dust and the tang of metal. Bruce waited for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. He felt comfortable here in the darkness. Immediately after his parents’ deaths, he had spent many nights tucked in the safe black space of his closet, or in an empty pantry in the mansion, or up in the attic, where a cold draft blew. So many of his classmates had been afraid of the dark, as if it could hurt them. But Bruce knew the darkness hid him as well as it hid anything or anyone else. The darkness was an advantage.
His reflexes were on alert now, honed by all the hours spent at the training gym. As things gradually started to take shape in the dim light, he realized that he was standing in a single open room. Edison bulbs dangled from the ceiling’s exposed beams, half of them burst open and broken, leaving shards of glass strewn across the floor. Everything had been draped in sheets—tables, chairs, machines. The dust on the floorboards was marked with shoe prints, perhaps from the police who must have passed through here. Perhaps from others, too.
“This place is a mess,” Bruce whispered into his phone.
“What did Madeleine say to you?” Dianne answered.
“The north wall,” Bruce murmured back, orienting himself. “The bricks that line it. She said to look there.”
He turned to the north wall. It stretched unbroken from one end of the room to the other—and sure enough, lining the bottom third of the wall was a layer of old brick, dark against the white paint above it. Bruce headed toward the closest end of the room, stopped right in front of the wall, and bent down. He ran a hand along the bricks. They were all covered in a fine layer of dust, just like everything else here.
So, Madeleine was right about this, had known the north wall would have bricks lining it. She must have been here before.
“Anything? What exactly are you looking for?” came Dianne’s voice.
“Something unusual,” Bruce replied. He suddenly felt foolish as he ran one hand along the bricks, slowly making his way down the room. He had no idea what would count as unusual, either—only that if he found it, he would know.
He had made his way across almost the entire length of the room before his hands paused on one of the bricks. Something felt odd about the texture of this brick—slightly smoother than the rest, as if it were handled more than the others. Bruce frowned and leaned down to get a closer look.
“Hang on,” he whispered. “I think I found something.”
“What is it?” Dianne asked.
“This brick feels weird.” He gingerly pushed on it. “It’s not sealed in like the rest. The edges don’t quite meet the mortar holding it to the others.”
Bruce pressed harder. Nothing gave, at first. Then—all of a sudden, the brick pushed inward by an inch, and the wall shuddered. He jumped back, nearly dropping his phone. When he looked up, he saw that a part of the brick wall had slid sideways by half a foot, revealing a gap of darkness.
Bruce stared numbly for a moment. Then he took a tentative step into the black and felt with his shoe for a foothold. Stairs. There were metal steps behind this wall, leading down a narrow shaft to somewhere beyond view.
“Dianne,” he whispered, eyes wide. “There are stairs behind this wall.”
Dianne uttered a curse over the phone.
Madeleine actually told the truth. Bruce shivered, wondering why she would help him—wondering if perhaps she was trapping him instead.
“Don’t go down there.” Dianne echoed his thoughts. Bruce could hear fear in her voice now. “Whatever you find won’t be good.”
He shook his head. “I’m going. Keep an eye out up there. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”
“You’d better find something suspicious down there,” she retorted, “with all the trouble you’re going to. You owe me big-time—you owe me so much you’ll be paying off loans for years.”
Bruce chuckled, then turned back around and wedged himself through the narrow opening. Down into the gloom. It was slow going—the steps were narrow and high, and wound down in a spiral. He stopped and tested his foothold at each step before putting his weight on it. Gradually, he descended through the darkness, one stair after another, until his foot finally hit what felt like a concrete floor. He was in a narrow space, and the air here was tight, full of dust. He forced down a cough.
“I’m at the bottom,” he whispered, hoarse. Nearby, he could make out the dim outline of an abandoned construction barrier.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I have no idea,” Bruce whispered back. He stood up and lifted one arm slightly above his head, trying not to bump anything. His hand hit the ceiling. It felt rough, like unfinished concrete. He held out his phone in front of him and turned on its flashlight.
The phone illuminated the space several feet ahead of him. It was a tunnel that led into pitch black. To Bruce, the tunnel reminded him of the narrow passageways in the cave near his family’s estate, and the bats that sometimes poured out. He half expected them to come barreling toward him now.
What are you so curious about? The thought raised goose bumps on his skin, but he tightened his jaw and stepped forward. He kept his footsteps completely silent. “I’m heading in,” he murmured.