Chapter 2 - The Echoes Beneath the Altar
The realization hit Evelyn with the force of a physical blow. She grabbed Gabriel’s forearm, stopping him just as he reached for the heavy iron latch of the red door.
"Mr. Ashford," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You need to listen to me very carefully."
Gabriel turned, surprised by the sudden urgency in her demeanor. "What is it, Evelyn?"
"When I was cleaning the chapel this morning... before the delivery truck even arrived... I heard something." Evelyn swallowed hard, the memory of the dull, rhythmic thuds echoing in her ears. "Three knocks. Coming from beneath the floorboards near the altar."
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed instantly, the calculating intelligence of a mob boss resurfacing beneath his calm exterior. "Under the altar? That’s directly above the secondary dry-storage vault. The one that was supposed to be filled with old liturgical vestments."
"It wasn't vestments," Evelyn said grimly. "Someone was down there. Someone who knew the bell line was active. Someone who... well, when I spoke to them through the heating grate, they knew my name."
Gabriel didn't hesitate. He wrenched the heavy iron door open, drawing a sleek black firearm from a concealed holster beneath his suit jacket. The damp, foul-smelling air of the old tunnels rushed out to meet them, carrying the unmistakable scent of stagnant river water and fresh panic.
"Stay behind me," Gabriel ordered, stepping across the threshold into the pitch-black corridor.
Using a small tactical flashlight from his pocket, Gabriel cut a sharp beam through the darkness. The concrete walls were slick with condensation, and water was visibly pooling along the floorboards, fed by the torrential rain lashing the grounds above. They moved quickly, navigating the labyrinthine corridors until they reached the base of the stone staircase leading directly upward into the chapel’s subterranean vault.
As they drew closer to the heavy oak reinforcement door of the vault, a faint, ragged sound drifted down the stone steps.
A cough.
Then, a weak, raspy voice cursing under its breath.
Gabriel raised his flashlight and bounded up the steps, kicking the wooden door wide open. The beam swept across the cramped, damp vault, illuminating scattered crates of antique silver, moldering hymnals, and rising water that was already ankle-deep.
Tied securely to a support pillar in the center of the vault, soaked to the skin, shivering uncontrollably, and barely conscious, was a man.
Evelyn gasped, stepping into the vault behind Gabriel.
It wasn't Gabriel.
The man strapped to the pillar looked remarkably like him—possessing the same dark hair, the same sharp jawline, and the same build—but his face was bruised, pale, and twisted in agony.
Gabriel froze, lowering his weapon slowly as the shock registered on his face.
"Julian?" Gabriel breathed out, the name escaping his lips like a ghost from the past.
May you like
The bound man lifted his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes focusing on the figure standing in the doorway. A weak, bitter laugh escaped Julian Ashford’s cracked lips.
"Well, brother," Julian rasped, water dripping from his chin. "Took you long enough. Aunt Margaret’s party upstairs is getting a bit loud for my taste."
