The Catacombs (A Psychological Suspense Horror Thriller Novel) Read Free Page B

it
didn’t, but you would only be fooling yourself.
    “Have you given a copy to the police?” I
asked.
    “The police?” Danièle’s eyes widened in
surprise. “Of course not.”
    “But if this is real, then something
happened to that woman. You need to tell the police.”
    “And what do you suppose they would do,
Will?”
    “I thought you told me once that there are
police who patrol the catacombs?”
    “Catacops, yes. But they only patrol the
popular areas. They make sure no one is breaking things or stealing
bones. They do not perform manhunts. They do not go into the
unmapped areas. The catacombs are hundreds of kilometers long.
There are many levels.”
    “I still think you need to tell them.”
    “We are doing something better. We are going
looking for her.”
    “Tonight?” I said. “You’re going looking for
this woman tonight?”
    She nodded.
    “And you think you’re going to find
her?”
    “We have no idea. But we are going to
try.”
    “That camera could be years old.”
    “The video was time-stamped only three weeks
ago.”
    “Aren’t you…I don’t know…scared?”
    “You heard her screaming, Will. If we find
her, it will probably be just her body. Whoever attacked her, he
will be long gone.”
    “And if he isn’t?”
    “There will be four of us.”
    “Four? You said—”
    She took my hand. “I want you to come with
us.”
    I blinked. “You’re kidding?”
    “I want you to experience this with me.”
    “There’s no way I’m going traipsing around
the catacombs, Danièle, looking for some lost woman, and I think
you should reconsider going as well.”
    “I am not reconsidering.”
    “This isn’t a game. For all you know that
woman might have been murdered. You don’t want to get involved in
this.”
    “Then come with me—protect me.”
    I tugged my hand free. “Jesus, Danièle.
Didn’t you just see the same video I saw? What you’re planning on
doing, it’s dangerous and irresponsible.”
    “If the woman had been filming aboveground,
in an alleyway, and she dropped the camera and screamed, would you
refuse to search the alleyway for her?”
    “That’s not the same thing.”
    “I am perfectly comfortable in the
catacombs.”
    “Have you been this deep, where Pascal found
the camera deep, before?”
    “I told you, Pascal—”
    “Not him. You.”
    “No, I have not.”
    I shook my head. “Okay, take the whole crazy
killer out of the equation, the killer who might have gone back
down there. What if, like that woman, you get lost? What if you
can’t find your way out again?”
    “Pascal knows—”
    “You’re putting a lot of faith in that
guy.”
    “He is my friend. He is the most experienced
cataphile I know. I trust him completely.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “So?” she pressed.
    “No, Danièle. Absolutely not.”
    “It will be fun.”
    I stiffened as that statement took me back
to the night on Lake Placid. Let’s do it,
dude , Brian had told me minutes before his
death as he tossed me the keys to the Chris-Craft. It’ll be fun .
    “Is there anything I can say to convince you
not to go?” I said.
    “Is there anything I can say to convince you
to come?” she said.
    “Don’t be a goddamn idiot, Danièle!” I
snapped, glaring at her.
    She stared back, surprised and confused.
Then defiant. Abruptly she closed the laptop, stuffed it in her
bag. She withdrew a pen and scribbled an address on a napkin.
    “If you change your mind,” she said stiffly,
standing, “I will be at this location between eight and nine
o’clock tonight.”
    She climbed on her bicycle and pedaled
away.
     

     
    My apartment building was located on a quiet
street close to the St. Germain district and the Jardin des Plants.
St. Germain was lively and full of restaurants and bars, though I
often avoided the area because I didn’t know many people in Paris,
and I wasn’t the type to dine or drink by myself, at least not
outside of work. The botanical gardens were a