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  Roland was beside him, also on his knees. “You . . . you see that?” He stared up at the window, stupefied.

  Johnny tore through the hedge. He ran for the Starlight, across the street, a hundred yards off. His leg was bothering him, but adrenaline pushed him beyond the pain. He ran fast, maybe faster than he had in his life. Thankfully, the streetlight was out.

  He broke into the clearing behind the theater and doubled over, wheezing. Roland slid to a stop beside him.

  “You see that?” Roland said, panting. “Man, did we really see that?”

  Johnny didn’t answer.

  “We have to tell someone.” Roland began to pace.

  “We could talk to our parents.”

  “They’ll just say we’re seeing things. That’s what everyone’ll say now.”

  Johnny hesitated, thinking. “And maybe they’re right.”

  Roland scratched his head. “Man, that looked real. I wonder what Fred and Peter saw.”

  “Maybe we should go to the cops,” Johnny said.

  “Cops? In Delta? Now you think it was real?”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE MONASTERY

  Thursday night

  BILLY WAS having a difficult time remembering exactly how many times he’d been to the dungeons in the last couple days. Well, yes, he knew, of course. Three times. Roughly. No, closer to five times. His memory was foggy.

  His fascination with the dungeons, on the other hand, was less foggy. Crystal clear, in fact. Like a shaft of light in a pitch-black room, except that the tunnels were actually black, so if you could have a shaft of darkness in a room full of light . . .

  Billy left the class in which Paul spouted off as if he owned wisdom itself, and he spent an hour easing his way closer to the east side of the monastery, past the library, to the dark hall. He didn’t think he cared whether the others knew what he was up to, but he skirted the students and the teachers with great care anyway.

  Raul knew, he thought. He hadn’t run into the masked monk again, but upon rather fuzzy reflection, he narrowed the man’s identity further. Yesterday he was confident it was either Raul or Marsuvees Black or David Abraham. Now he was quite sure it was either Raul or David Abraham, because the man had spoken about Marsuvees Black as if he was a third party.

  The man could have been tricking him, of course. He could be Marsuvees Black, living in the tunnels, driven mad by the worm gel. But why would he wear a mask? He lacked the same motivation as Raul, an active teacher, and David, the director, both of whom would need to conceal their identity to continue their activities.

  Simple deduction. The kind of simple deduction Darcy and Paul obviously lacked, at least when it came to considering the tunnels.

  Billy took a deep breath, satisfied himself that the coast was clear, stepped into the staircase, grabbed a torch, and ran down the steps with the ease of familiarity. When he stepped up to the blackened doors he was breathing as hard from the excitement of what lay ahead as from the rapid descent.

  The dead silence down here was broken only by a faint crackling from the torch. Billy stared at the tunnel doors, and in that moment he didn’t care if Darcy or Paul or anybody followed him into the caverns. As long as he could enter himself.

  Billy stepped forward and was reaching for the door when the unmistakable sound of a shoe scraping on stone filtered down the stairwell behind him. He jerked his hand back and scanned the room quickly, looking for a place to hide. Nothing.

  Feet rounded the staircase. White tennis shoes, the kind students wore. A girl descended into view. Her skirt hung above trembling knees and her eyes were round like saucers.

  “Darcy?” His voice echoed around the chamber.

  “Billy?” Her voice trembled.

  “You . . . you came.”

  Darcy looked around in dazed wonderment. Billy was too stunned to move. So then he wasn’t the only one to come to his senses when presented with the right argument.

  “It’s . . . it’s so gloomy,” she said.

  She needed encouragement. Billy walked up to her and reached out his hand. This was almost too good to be true.“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

  She took his hand, but her eyes remained on the walls. Throbbing flame light cast an eerie orange hue on the mossy rock walls; the black door seemed to absorb and swallow the light. It was rather gloomy.

  “Wait till you see the inside.”

  She looked at him with some astonishment. “I’m not going inside. I just wanted to see what it looks like.”

  “Okay, but this is not it. It is through that door.”He motioned toward the black doors. “You have to go in there to see it.”

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t go in there.” She paused. “Aren’t you frightened?”

  Billy released her hand and walked to the door. When the torch’s circle of light moved with him, Darcy followed. He turned to her. “Frightened, Darcy? Tell me, what do you feel like right now?”

  “I’m frightened.”

  “Yes, frightened. But what does frightened feel like? Tell me how you feel without using those old words. Say something a writer might write, like I feel a chill down my spine or something. Tell me exactly how you feel.”

  She hesitated and glanced at the floor. “I feel . . . awful, Billy. I’m scared.”

  “Come on, Darcy. Those are the old words. Use the real words. How would you write it? Describe your feeling. Show me! What do awful and scared mean?”

  “I think I should go now. This isn’t right. This place is . . . it’s evil.” She took a step backward.

  A thought crossed Billy’s mind. She had no torch. In fact, she had no torch coming down the stairs, which meant she’d followed the light from his torch.

  “It’s too dark to go back, Darcy. You wouldn’t catch me going up those stairs without a torch to keep whatever’s hiding in the dark from stepping out. Will you just tell me what you feel, for Pete’s sake? I’ve got a point to make here.”

  She looked back at the stairwell. When she turned around, her face was drawn tight and he knew he’d won, for the moment. She stood like a frail doll, dressed in her white cotton blouse and plaid skirt, hugging herself. She looked like she might start crying.

  “I’m cold,” she said.“My stomach is tied in knots. My legs are trembling, and I want to leave this place. To turn and run up the stairs. But you have the torch. What do you mean ‘keep whatever’s hiding’? Is there something in the stairwell?”

  “Never mind. That’s good, Darcy. And I feel like you too. My hands are shaking a little and my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour. See? We’re the same here. Only I don’t want to run up those stairs because I’ve been here before. Instead I want to run through that door.”

  “Well, I don’t. Now give me the torch. You can go in there and find another one.”

  “Oh no, I can’t. There aren’t any torches in there. Besides, I think you’re wrong. I don’t think you feel fear at all. When someone tells me their stomach is tied in knots and their knees are knocking, I might guess they were about to step onto a thrilling roller-coaster ride, or maybe meet someone they’re in love with. I think that’s what you feel, Darcy, only you’ve never quite felt this way because you’ve never been allowed to ride a roller coaster, and so you’re misinterpreting the feelings. You’re mistaking something that’s good for something that’s bad.”

  Judging by her stare she thought he’d flipped his lid. And maybe he had.

  “That’s crazy. I’m scared, not thrilled. This isn’t a thrill ride I’m feeling—you think I don’t know the difference?” She shifted her eyes to the blackened doors.

  “Then there is no difference between fear and excitement,” Billy said. “Because they both feel the same to me, and they would feel the same to you if you just relaxed a little.”He shifted on his feet. “Look, I’ve been down here several times now. Do I look any worse off? Am I a walking corpse? D
o I look dead? I’m more alive than I’ve ever been! I feel like I’ve just been born into a big incredible world that’s dying for me to gobble it up.”

  “I still don’t want to go in. You’re trying to lure me and frighten me—you think I can’t see what you’re doing? What do you take me for?”

  “I take you for someone who thinks the way I do. Someone born to know all things well. And here’s one thing you don’t know so well: if you don’t know this”—he motioned to the black door—“you can’t even write about it intelligently. That’s not trickery. It’s common sense.”

  She stared at the doors. “It’s trickery.” She shivered and held her arms a little closer to her body. Billy let the silence lengthen.

  “I don’t have to go in to know what it’s like in there. Just tell me what it’s like.”

  “It’s new. It’s wonderful. There’s . . . there’s this odor and this salve on the walls . . .”He stopped, thinking his awkward description might deter her. “I can’t really describe it.”

  “Yes, but what does it feel like? You made me tell you what I felt, now you tell me.”

  “Okay. It’s dark. Everywhere it’s dark. And maybe a little wet. But apart from that the halls are beautiful. They’re the most wonderful things I’ve seen in my entire life. Mysterious, breathtaking. Every nook is packed with a history of its own, Darcy. You take one look at the bones”—he caught himself there; no sense in being too descriptive yet—“at the artifacts there, and you know it fills a hole in your soul.”

  “Bones? There’re bones in there?”

  “Not bones really. Just replicas, like carvings or sculptures that could look like bones. But they’re wonderful, Darcy. Beautiful. Come in with me and I’ll show you.”

  “There’s a reason why this place is prohibited. Have you ever thought about that? The overseers aren’t stupid, Billy. If they think it’s wrong, then it’s wrong.”

  “Unless they know something we don’t. You thought about that? I have and it’s a fact. They know that whoever enters these halls learns things that can’t be learned up there. That’s essentially what Marsuvees Black was trying to say before he left. And what’s more, I think the director agrees.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Then who first convinced me to come down here?”

  “The director?” she said incredulously.

  “Either him or Raul. They know we’ll eventually stumble into an evil path too wide to ignore. Unless we face it now, how can we possibly face it later, when it matters more?”

  Darcy put one hand on each side of her head, frustrated. “I don’t know.”

  Billy blinked. I don’t know. Not yes but not no, which was much better than no.

  “But you do feel a little excited about the whole thing, don’t you?”

  “A little maybe.”

  “Consider this. We are taught to embrace life, right? To read and write and paint and speak and love and to embrace all forms of communication with passion. I mean, the entire purpose of our life here at the monastery is to become exceptional people. Well, I can tell you everything down here is greater than upstairs. Double the pleasure, double the satisfaction, double everything. My exploration down here is mind-numbing. The stories I’ve read—and I’ve only had time to read two short ones—were intoxicating. Even my writing takes on a new urgency and meaning.”He stopped to catch his breath.“You can pick up a stone in there and find the dead granite in your hands utterly fascinating.”

  She didn’t respond. She was mesmerized, he thought. And so she should be—he excited even himself.

  “It’s the final step, Darcy. This is what we were meant for. This!” He thrust his hand toward the blackened doors.

  Billy lowered his arm and stepped toward her. “I’ll tell you what. There’s one room in there—a room built like a study, full of books and a sofa—very pleasant. Go with me there. Only there. Straight to the study, take a quick look around, and if you don’t want to stay, I swear we’ll come right back. But you have to at least see if I’m right. See if this isn’t really meant for you, or for everyone, for that matter. You have to come!”

  Darcy stared at the doors. Billy remembered a story they’d studied years ago, a true story in which an executioner had offered his victims the choice between the guillotine or some unknown fate that waited behind an ominous door. Most chose the guillotine. But one chose the door. He walked through, quaking in his boots, terrified, only to discover freedom.

  “Just the study,” he said. “No more.”

  She blinked once and then spoke in a thin voice. “I guess.”

  Billy began to tremble with excitement. “Okay. Okay, give me your hand.”

  He reached out, and she finally took his hand. He felt her weight leaning away from him, and he gave her a little tug. “I’m right here. I’ve got the light.”

  She followed reluctantly.

  Billy stepped toward the door, praying under his breath that she wouldn’t change her mind at the last second and bolt for the stairs. Shadows shifted on the charred wood, ebbing with the torch’s flame. Darcy’s breathing deepened at his shoulder, like an old man struggling against black lungs. He raised a hand to the rough cross brace and pushed. The massive doors squealed open. She withdrew at the sound, but he was finished with his reassurances. He wanted in.

  Then they were inside and the doors closed behind them with a thump. Darcy jerked again and Billy turned around, his mind buzzing with excitement. Her mouth gaped. She tried to speak. At least he thought she tried to speak, but the sound that came out was like a soft groan, so he couldn’t know for sure. He tugged at her arm.

  “Come on.”

  He pulled her into the dark shaft on his far right. The sweet musty odor he’d come to love filled his nostrils.

  “Billy!”

  “Huh?” He stopped and followed her gaze. Yellow light from his torch splashed on the walls, illuminating one of the worms writhing slowly on the stone face.

  “It’s okay. Just a worm. They’re everywhere down here. They don’t bite, promise. Come on.”

  “But—”

  “Come on!” He yanked her forward.

  Darcy whimpered and then followed willingly enough—she had little choice. He began to jog, past dozens of the long pink worms slithering on the walls, past the two gated rooms he first discovered. Darcy staggered twice, and he yanked her back to her feet. She seemed to follow more willingly as they ran deeper into the tunnel.

  And then the gated study loomed ahead to their right. Billy slowed to a walk, panting. He’d left the gate open. Should close it better next time, just in case. Just in case what, he didn’t know, but just in case anyway.

  He released Darcy and shifted the torch to his right hand. It slipped a little in his sweating palm, and he tightened his grip.

  “Here it is.”

  Billy reached for the gate and pulled it open. Darcy bumped his elbow, causing the light to waver in the open study. He felt a surge of anger. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her. She might mess everything up—poke into his stuff and get in his way.

  “Careful!” he snapped. They stepped into the small study.

  On his right the shelves, stuffed with books, reached the ceiling. Except for a few he’d brushed off and pulled out, the books were still covered by a thin layer of dust.

  He looked at the desk on his left. A journal lay on the desk, tilted just so, his pen resting on its cover. He’d filled the first few pages during his more recent visits.

  A smile of wonder dawned on Darcy’s face. “It’s beautiful,” she said. That was quick. “It’s so beautiful, Billy.”

  She walked to the bookcase and reached out for a book.“What are these?”

  “Classics. Storybooks. Journals. Who knows. I haven’t had time to open many of them.”

  “There’re so many.”

  “And there may be more. It’s like a whole new world, Darcy. What did I tell you? Now how does it feel?”

 
She turned to him. “Stimulating?”

  He winked at her, glad she’d come after all. “Yes, stimulating.”

  They held their gaze for a moment, and Billy thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d seen. His heart began to pick up its pace as he gazed into her eyes.

  “Can you smell that?” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s sweet.” She drew a deep breath and grinned.

  “I think it comes from the worms.”

  She looked out at the darkened hall. “Really?”

  “From their . . . from the stuff that comes from them. I think it makes everything down here . . . I don’t know,maybe magical or something. It’s almost like a drug that doubles or triples sensation. Course, I don’t know, I’m just guessing.”

  Billy pulled a plum from his pocket. “See this? Just a plum, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I brought it down to eat. To see if it tastes better here.”He grinned and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. “I guarantee you it’ll be different. Everything down here is different.”

  Billy brought the fruit to his lips, winked at Darcy again, and bit deep. Juice flooded his mouth.

  The taste wasn’t what he’d hoped for. He smacked his lips and let the flavor swirl around his tongue. But that was just it—there was no real flavor. It was bland, similar to nothing.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Must be a bad fruit,” he said, tossing the plum through the gate. “But everything else down here will knock your socks off. I can guarantee you that.”

  The failure bothered Billy for a moment. But almost immediately his hazy contentedness returned. The tunnels were working on him now. They certainly were. He was in the tunnels, right? Yes. In the nasty forbidden dungeon, God bless them, thank you very much.

  Darcy really was beautiful. He’d never really noticed.

  He took her by the hand. “Look at this.” He led her to the journal on the desk.

  “What is it?”

  He touched it. “You can’t tell?”

  “It looks like a journal.” Her voice held more wonder than any journal should engender. She laid a hand on his. “Can I see?”