The Tunnels - part 2

With renewed vigor, the detectives pressed on down the corridor. The curved stone walls and dim lantern light were their only companions. The air grew colder the farther they ventured into the unknown.

They walked in silence until they reached another T-intersection. James carefully peered left, then right. No one there. He felt some relief. The left path was barred and gated. The right stretched onward, another seemingly endless tunnel.

"Seems like they only keep one direction open," James muttered, turning right.

"Hold on," Francis said, a newfound confidence in his voice. The man had regained much of his composure during their walk.

James stopped and turned. "What is it?"

Francis stepped up to the gate, pulling the key from his pocket. "Might as well give it a try." He slid it into the metal lock and turned it. First one way, then the other. Nothing. His shoulders sagged. "Didn't work."

James sighed. "At least you tried." He glanced back down the open tunnel. "It has to go to something."

Francis stared at the key for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket and hurrying to catch up.

They continued through the poorly lit stone tunnel until they reached a new section.

James slowed to a stop. On both sides of the tunnel, smaller paths branched off in chaotic patterns.

"This is not good," he muttered.

Francis stepped up beside him. "Who knows how many there are? Or how deep they go? We could wander for hours."

James silently counted. Six on the left. Seven on the right. Further ahead, something else caught his eye—a large metal door set alone on the left wall, separate from the others. The dull surface barely reflected the lantern light, yet something about it pulled at him.

That was where they needed to go.

Without thinking, James started walking, faster now, his focus narrowing on the door. He barely noticed the offshoots passing in his peripheral vision.

"James!" Francis's voice rang out behind him, edged with panic.

James heard him, but it didn't register. The door. He had to reach the door.

Then—

Crack.

Searing pain exploded across the back of his skull. His vision blurred, ears ringing. His knees buckled, and the world tilted sideways. Darkness swallowed him whole.

---

James lay on the ground, weightless, surrounded by nothing. A vast black void stretched endlessly around him.

What happened? Where's the door?

The thought flickered through his mind, and as if answering his call, the door materialized ahead of him. It loomed in the darkness, real and solid, yet impossibly distant.

A light touch brushed his shoulder.

He turned, propping himself up on one arm. Slender fingers slid away as the figure moved past him, walking toward the door.

A woman.

She glowed with a golden hue, her long blonde hair cascading halfway down her back. A flowing white dress shimmered around her as she moved.

James stared, his breath caught in his throat. Something about her… She looked familiar.

"Ca… Catherine?" His voice cracked.

The woman didn't respond. She reached the door, placing her hand against it. Then, she turned to face him. She smiled.

"Catherine!" He yelled.

The door swung open, revealing a golden light spilling from the hidden room beyond.

"Wait!" James tried to stand, but his body refused to move. He was frozen, trapped. He watched helplessly as the woman stepped inside.

The door began to close.

"No!" He roared, struggling against the unseen force holding him in place.

Darkness swallowed the golden light.

"James?"

A distant voice echoed through the void.

James tried to focus. His mind felt sluggish.

"James! Wake up!" The voice was louder now, urgent.

"Come on, James!"

---

James's eyes snapped open.

He lay on the cold stone floor, pain wrapping around his skull like a vice. A groan escaped his lips as he reached up to his head.

"Wha… what happened?" he whispered.

"We were attacked." Francis's voice was close.

"Attacked?" James blinked up at him.

"They came from the side passages. Four of them." Francis's face was tight with tension. "One of them got you in the back of the head with one of those batons."

James winced as he felt the tender spot on his skull. "That explains the crippling pain."

Francis slid an arm under him, helping him to his feet. "You okay?"

James staggered slightly before regaining his balance. "Peachy." He glanced around, taking in the scene—bodies on the ground, unmoving. Each one had been shot.

He turned to Francis. "Did you, uh, discuss something with them?"

Francis gave a small, humorless smile. "At least you still have your sense of humor." He let out a short chuckle. "I did what I had to."

James nodded. "You did good." He glanced again at the bodies.

Francis moved toward one of the many passageways, pointing at it. "I think this is where the leader came from."

James frowned. "Leader?"

Francis gestured toward one of the fallen figures. The shorter one from earlier. The one James had let go.

James scowled. "I should've shot them when I had the chance."

Francis exhaled, looking at the ground. "That's the one that hit you, too."

Anger flared hot in James's chest. His gut had been right, and ignoring it had nearly cost them everything.

Without hesitation, he marched over to the fallen figure and ripped off their mask.

Soft features. A young woman. Her short hair, cut to match the men, framed her face.

James's scowl faltered. "Well, now," he muttered, "men and women on the front lines."

"And that means what?" Francis asked.

James shrugged. "That they believe in equality?"

Francis just stared at him.

"What?" James said. "What else could it mean?"

Francis sighed. "I don't know. We really don't know enough about any of this to answer anything."

James crossed his arms. "That's too true. And not a good thing."

Francis looked toward the passageway again. "We should try down there."

"No!"

Francis nearly jumped at the force behind James's voice.

James pointed down the hall. "We need to get in that door."

Francis followed his gaze. "That door?"

"Do you see another one?" James snapped.

Francis sighed again. "Okay. Can I ask why?"

"There are answers in there," James stated, marching toward it.

Francis hesitated before following. He still wasn't sure what to make of James's sudden fixation, but he'd learned to trust the older man's instincts.

The metal door loomed before them. James traced his fingers along its ridges, the cold steel firm beneath his touch. The handle. The perfect fit against the stone wall. What was drawing him to it?

Then he saw them. Symbols, carved into the corners of the metal.

"Look there." James pointed. "See? There has to be something here."

Francis leaned in, inspecting the markings. "You may be right." His voice was almost a whisper.

Suddenly, sharp pain lanced through James's skull. He stumbled back, gripping his head.

Francis turned, alarmed. "Are you alright?" He reached out, ready to steady him. "You took a bad hit back there. We can rest a moment if you need—"

James shook his head violently. "No." He straightened, voice tight. "We have to do this. Time is everything."

Francis withdrew his hand, still watching James with concern. "Just… don't push yourself too hard."

James ignored him. He reached for the door handle and twisted, yanking hard.

Thud.

The door didn't budge.

Frustration flared. He pulled again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Nothing.

James stepped back, glaring at the immovable door. Then his eyes snapped to Francis.

"The key! Try the key!"

Francis fumbled for the key, rushing forward. He searched the surface for a keyhole.

His breath caught.

"There isn't a keyhole," he murmured.

"What?!" James shouted again. "That can't be right."

He ran his hands over the door, feeling for anything—an indentation, a hidden mechanism, something. But there was nothing. He stepped back, clenching his jaw. "Damn it!" He started pacing.

Francis watched him warily. "James, this isn't the first door we couldn't unlock. What's so important about this one?"

James stopped, his hands curling into fists. "I have to get in there. She's in there! I saw her go in!" His voice cracked, frustration twisting his face.

Francis furrowed his brow. "Who? When did you see this?"

The questions only stoked James's anger. He turned back to the door and slammed both fists into the metal. The bang echoed down the tunnels. He hung his head against the cold surface, his breath ragged.

Francis hesitated, then stepped closer, reaching a cautious hand toward James's shoulder. "James, it's—"

A voice cut through the silence. "Hello?"

Francis froze, eyes locked on the door.

James lifted his head. "H...hello?"

"Why, hello!" The voice came clearer now, thick with an accent neither of them could place. "I don't get many visitors these days!"

James and Francis exchanged a look.

Francis cleared his throat. "Who... who are you? And what are you doing in there?"

"Why, I am none other than Sir Jeffery Vincent Caine Reginald the Third," the voice replied. "As for why I am in here? A fine question! One to which I have no answer."

James's fingers curled around the door handle. "Are you alone in there?"

A dramatic pause. Then, "This room is, indeed, quite lonely."

James frowned, deep in thought.

Francis shook his head, still confused. "Mister... uh... Reginald—"

"Sir," the voice corrected.

Francis blinked. "Uh... Sir Reginald. Could you unlock the door for us?"

"I absolutely could, detective."

Silence.

Nothing happened.

James ground his teeth. "Then do it!"

"All in due time. You must learn patience."

James exhaled sharply, his temper fraying. "Then what can you do for us?"

"Ah! I can tell you this: Go back and take the first pathway on your right."

James's patience snapped. "We need to get through this door!"

"Then I shall take my leave." A brief pause. "But beware the one who is the king of rats."

Francis hesitated. "Take your leave? What does that mean—"

Silence.

They waited.

Then, "Oh, and James..."

James stiffened.

"Do remember... everything will be alright."

A sharp pain lanced through James's chest. His vision blurred. A memory stirred—Catherine's frail hand in his, her voice barely a whisper. Everything will be alright. The last words she ever spoke.

James swallowed hard. He lifted his gaze, eyes burning. "Hey! Who told you that?! Who are you?!" He gripped the handle tight, his knuckles turned white, yanking it furiously. "How do you know who I am?!"

Francis placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "James."

James stopped. His arms dropping to his side.

A metallic clang echoed from the other side.

Both men stared at the door.

Francis hesitated, then reached out. The handle turned. The door swung open.

James composed himself and stepped inside.

Inside the room was a small space, dimly lit by a single lantern. A desk stood in the corner. Above it, a paper hung on the wall.

Francis followed James in and scanned the room. "There's no one here. And no other way out."

James frowned. "There has to be something. A trap door. A vent." He started searching.

Francis stepped closer to the desk, eyes narrowing at the paper. He reached up, pulling it free. "There is something."

James turned. "What is it?"

Francis held the paper to the lantern light. "A map."

"A map of what?" James asked stepping towards Francis.

"Of the tunnels I think." Francis said studying the map.

James joined him, scanning the rough sketches. He spotted the ladder they'd climbed down, the 'rest room' where they met the masked woman, and a winding network of tunnels. One path led to a dead end labeled "Cells."

James tapped the map. "Cells. As in prison cells?"

Francis folded it and stuffed it into his back pocket. "Only one way to find out."

James returned to the desk, pulling open drawers. Empty. Every single one.

He frowned. "Who keeps an empty desk?"

Francis shrugged. "No one I know."

James ran his fingers along the bottom of a drawer. Something felt off. The lower left drawer was the same size as the right—but had less space inside.

He knocked. Hollow.

His fingers pressed, and the thin panel slid back, revealing a small, black metal box.

James reached in. As he wrapped his fingers around it, something caught against his skin as he did. A wire.

His stomach dropped.

He pulled out his flashlight, angling the beam inside. The thin glint of metal wire, stretched taut.

James's heart pounded. He traced it back.

His fingers brushed against something small. Round. With a stem.

His throat went dry.

"I think it's a grenade."

Francis stiffened. "A grenade?! They're booby-trapping drawers now?! These people are insane!"

James exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, I think we figured that out already."

Francis leaned in. "Can you disarm it?"

James carefully withdrew his hand. "Not without more room. But I have an idea."

Francis eyed him. "Please tell me it doesn't involve you dying."

James ignored that. "You stand behind the door outside the room. The blast won't be immediate. I'll yank the box, run out, and you slam the door shut."

Francis looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "James, that's the dumbest idea—"

"Do you have a better one?"

Silence.

Francis sighed. "Fine. But if I get hurt, you're paying my medical bills."

James smirked. "We'll be fine."

Francis left the room and took his place behind the door. "Ready when you are!"

James gripped the box.

Deep breath.

"Now!" James yelled.

He yanked it free.

The wire snapped.

James sprinted.

Francis shoved the door shut just as—

BOOM!

The blast rattled the walls.

James and Francis hit the ground, shielding themselves.

Silence.

James stood and opened the door. The left side of the desk was shredded, splinters scattered everywhere.

He held up the box, turning it over in his hands.

Then, grinning, he looked at Francis. "How about we go check out those cells?"