victim, and took a look around her. Not only was the basement deserted, it was a little eerie. Curling her lips, she drew in a slow, steady breath, hearing the faint brush of the air through her teeth. It was that silent.
Rather than proceeding down to the next level—her intended destination—she stayed on the landing, her hand on the rough-hewn handrail. The door between this stairwell and the main corridor hadn’t even been installed yet, and she could see out into the vast, expansive hallway that would one day lead to dozens of offices.
Leaving the stairs, she walked into that empty cavern, peering into the long tunnel of black that stretched out on either side of her. The only soldiers battling the darkness were emergency Exit signs with arrows that appeared every twenty feet or so. The green letters cast only the tiniest pools of light, each a small oasis on the empty concrete. She counted two of them to her right, and six to her left, the furthest one out only a small dot from here. She suspected she was seeing all the way to the emergency exit at the far end, with absolutely nothing to break the monotony of nothingness, other than those tiny green pools.
Strange to imagine all the things she might not be seeing in those twenty-foot wide expanses of darkness between each one.
Hearing the faintest shuffle, she cocked her head and called, “Hello?”
Nothing.
“I’m Detective Veronica Sloan, DCPD. Is anyone down here?”
More silence.
Wondering if the sound she’d heard had been merely the settlement of a newly constructed wall or beam, she let her eyes continue to adjust to the absence of light, searching for a shadow or a shape that didn’t belong. Though her senses weren’t telling her why, her whole body was reacting to something. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, her fingers tingled. She’d risen onto her toes, as if in anticipation of a sudden, unexpected dash. From something? Toward something?
Toward. Without a doubt. Ronnie had never run away from anything in her entire life. Except, perhaps, personal relationships that threatened to get past the emotional barrier she’d set up between herself and other people.
She spotted nothing, heard nothing, not the faintest whisper of movement on the air. Apparently the creepiness of the place was playing tricks with her hearing. Finally, after a solid minute of nothingness, she went back to the stairwell and resumed her long descent to the bowels of the White House.
If the first basement level had felt terribly empty, the sub-basement would be utterly desolate. This whole area would eventually be used for storage, mailrooms, security stations and overflow office space, so it didn’t rank high on the completion-list. After today’s discovery, she doubted any workers were going to want to come down here for a good long time.
They certainly weren’t here now.
She reached the bottom and stepped out, turning toward the left, thankful for the presence of more of those emergency exit signs. She could have flipped on some overheads—bare bulbs strung out along the ceiling—but didn’t want to just yet. She wanted the atmosphere, wanted the darkness, the lack of all other sensory input, the better in which to think. She wanted the empty space and the quiet air, wanted to move through it with her senses wide open so she could pull in any impressions that might have occurred to Leanne Carr.
Knowing she couldn’t go far before she’d run into the crime scene tape, she pulled a flashlight out of her belt and flipped it on. The mag cast a powerful blast of light that banished shadow. The beam landed with unrelenting harshness on the bright yellow tape, revealing the tiny evidence markers and faint spots of red on the floor where the spider-webby lines of blood had been found. The remains had been removed, of course, as had as much of the other evidence as could be gathered. But she could still see the scene in her mind, remembering with utter
Rather than proceeding down to the next level—her intended destination—she stayed on the landing, her hand on the rough-hewn handrail. The door between this stairwell and the main corridor hadn’t even been installed yet, and she could see out into the vast, expansive hallway that would one day lead to dozens of offices.
Leaving the stairs, she walked into that empty cavern, peering into the long tunnel of black that stretched out on either side of her. The only soldiers battling the darkness were emergency Exit signs with arrows that appeared every twenty feet or so. The green letters cast only the tiniest pools of light, each a small oasis on the empty concrete. She counted two of them to her right, and six to her left, the furthest one out only a small dot from here. She suspected she was seeing all the way to the emergency exit at the far end, with absolutely nothing to break the monotony of nothingness, other than those tiny green pools.
Strange to imagine all the things she might not be seeing in those twenty-foot wide expanses of darkness between each one.
Hearing the faintest shuffle, she cocked her head and called, “Hello?”
Nothing.
“I’m Detective Veronica Sloan, DCPD. Is anyone down here?”
More silence.
Wondering if the sound she’d heard had been merely the settlement of a newly constructed wall or beam, she let her eyes continue to adjust to the absence of light, searching for a shadow or a shape that didn’t belong. Though her senses weren’t telling her why, her whole body was reacting to something. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, her fingers tingled. She’d risen onto her toes, as if in anticipation of a sudden, unexpected dash. From something? Toward something?
Toward. Without a doubt. Ronnie had never run away from anything in her entire life. Except, perhaps, personal relationships that threatened to get past the emotional barrier she’d set up between herself and other people.
She spotted nothing, heard nothing, not the faintest whisper of movement on the air. Apparently the creepiness of the place was playing tricks with her hearing. Finally, after a solid minute of nothingness, she went back to the stairwell and resumed her long descent to the bowels of the White House.
If the first basement level had felt terribly empty, the sub-basement would be utterly desolate. This whole area would eventually be used for storage, mailrooms, security stations and overflow office space, so it didn’t rank high on the completion-list. After today’s discovery, she doubted any workers were going to want to come down here for a good long time.
They certainly weren’t here now.
She reached the bottom and stepped out, turning toward the left, thankful for the presence of more of those emergency exit signs. She could have flipped on some overheads—bare bulbs strung out along the ceiling—but didn’t want to just yet. She wanted the atmosphere, wanted the darkness, the lack of all other sensory input, the better in which to think. She wanted the empty space and the quiet air, wanted to move through it with her senses wide open so she could pull in any impressions that might have occurred to Leanne Carr.
Knowing she couldn’t go far before she’d run into the crime scene tape, she pulled a flashlight out of her belt and flipped it on. The mag cast a powerful blast of light that banished shadow. The beam landed with unrelenting harshness on the bright yellow tape, revealing the tiny evidence markers and faint spots of red on the floor where the spider-webby lines of blood had been found. The remains had been removed, of course, as had as much of the other evidence as could be gathered. But she could still see the scene in her mind, remembering with utter
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