Authors: Michelle Warren
::33::
Friends For Life
The choir’s song, so beautiful in the background, seems a fitting soundtrack to the awe that surges through me. We’re so close to my mom now, I think I can feel her. Looking into the dark entrance, I envision my reunion with her.
“Sam’s back,” Bishop whispers. “We must be close.”
I just smile; I knew I was right.
Bishop, Perpetua, Stu, and I descend into the blackened, ancient staircase. The tunnel isn’t the kind of place you search for a light switch, so I grab the stone wall for guidance.
“Is your mom the Crypt Keeper or something?” Perpetua
jabs when our surroundings turn almost pitch black.
I want to respond in a snarky way, but Bishop’s hand brushes mine. The simple gesture defuses my anger, allowing me to let her comment go.
Just as all visibility disappears, a dim green light snaps on, glowing from much farther down the corridor. It emits just enough illuminated ground to guide us.
“Wait,” Bishop grabs my arm.
“What?”
“Sam doesn’t think we should go. Something’s off,” he cautions.
“If we don’t go now, we’ll lose it,” I say, looking between the disappearing green light and Bishop’s grip on my arm. “What if this is the bracelet guiding us?”
“No, I don’t think we should. Neither does Sam,” he says.
“Well, Sam’s not here, and I say we go,” Perpetua grumbles.
“Me too,” Stu offers. I look at them both, shocked that they’d stick up for me. “We’ve come this far,” Stu challenges.
I look at Bishop—it’s three against two. From what I can see, his jaw tightens as he deliberates mentally with Sam.
“Fine,” he unwillingly consents and stomps off ahead of us.
We continue for what feels like forever, weaving through a maze of underground catacombs. Little rushes of fur skim my ankles. I know rats roam below the earth, but I don’t want to work myself up. So for each one that passes, I simply cringe
and walk a little faster.
We wind around under the church and back toward the piazza. Rows and rows of domed ledges extend the length of the stone walls. I avert my eyes from them, knowing they contain dead bodies. I don’t need to see the ancient, decaying remnants for myself.
The corridor ends, opening into a room. As we step in, the dim green light unexpectedly snaps off leaving us in the pitch black.
“Great!” I huff out loud. Bishop grabs me and flips me behind his back. Stu and Perpetua huddle against us. I recognize the defensive tactic from Defense Arts class.
Green flames from several wall torches spring to life.
I scream at the gruesome scene before us. Several mummified monks hang, fully dressed, on the wall a few feet from us. Their bodies are arranged in awkward positions like marionette puppets.
To the left, a wall lined with a thousand skulls stares back at us. A black snake slithers out of an eye socket and drops to the floor. I jump back, holding onto a silent scream. From the ceiling, hangs the most heinous item, a chandelier made from small finger and toe bones.
Stu hides his face in my arm and whimpers. Bishop and Perpetua remain focused on a dark niche in the corner. The green light has suddenly shown itself again.
That’s when I realize we aren’t alone.
Raucous laughter comes first. But the man doesn’t need to step out of the darkness for me to recognize his voice.
“Frances?” I call over Bishop’s shoulder.
He coughs and stumbles into the room. Someone’s pushed him from behind. Four figures appear from the shadows—the Grungy Gang.
The lead gang member steps forward.
“Well, well, it’s about time.” The boy smirks, strutting up to us in a cocky manner. His hair, wild and unkempt, spikes away from his head in every direction. One long earring drapes to his shoulder. Black eyeliner wraps his dark eyes.
“Francine, you’ll, no doubt, be rewarded for your duties,” the boy says. He looks down at the bum holding the green light. I can tell he holds no real regard for the man.
“Was ah team effort, boss,” Frances grumbles.
“I’m Drake,” the leader says, looking us over. “You appear to be intelligent people, so you’ll want to follow me.”
“I don’t think so,” Bishop says. He and Perpetua stiffen, ready to fight. Another group steps out from the corridor, instantly outnumbering and surrounding us.
“Are you positive?” Drake asks then sneers. He holds his hands out, directing us toward their numbers. “Four against twelve. Are you sure?” he asks.
Bishop and Perpetua relax their stance just enough to signal surrender.
“That’s what I thought,” Drake says then grins.
Frances, still on the floor, starts laughing. He hoists his body from the floor. As he does, he coughs and spews snot across the room. Everyone ducks, even Drake and his Grungy Gang.
“Francine, you’re repulsive!” Drake scolds, giving the bum another unforgiving push to the floor. Drake steps over Francis and waves his arm for us to follow.
Like we have a choice.
I turn and give Stu a ticked look. The sundial bracelet did not work. I’m absolutely positive that my deepest desire is not to find the Grungy Gang or the Underground—whatever you call them.
We follow the gang through a new corridor, but this isn’t a catacomb, or at least there aren’t any bones—thank goodness. Green torches light the dark and dank tunnel. Putrid sludge drips from the stone walls. Horrific groans echo in the distance. Trash litters all available floor space. The smell increases as we walk on. I recognize the stench. It smells just like all of them—a disgusting garbage dump.
Tension in the air increases as we walk. Bishop guards the front, Perpetua the back. Stu and I huddle together in the center. Now I wish I was the Protector. Instead, I’m just some stupid weakling who can’t defend herself. At least not in the way they can. If I ever make it out of here alive, I will learn everything Bishop knows about defense and more. I don’t want to be the damsel in distress ever again.
The walkway descends into a wide spiral. Arched windows with Neolithic columns line the inside wall. You can see through them into a humongous, open, circular shaft. In the center of the shaft sits the bottom half of the obelisk from the Piazza Del Popolo above. The pillar cuts down through the ceiling and into open room, just like Olde Town. But here, there is no weather machine or buildings, just rocks, like the inside of a decrepit old castle.
Do Wanderers always live below obelisks?
When we reach the end of the spiral corridor, we step out onto an oversized stone balcony without railings. The protruding piece of earth hangs precariously over a massive pit, the bottom I can’t see. I stand, shivering in the middle, not wanting to hover too close to the dangerous edges.
A thin, natural bridge attaches the balcony to the midpoint of the obelisk. On the other side of the shaft, a much larger suspended platform connects the obelisk and the far wall.
My eyes roam around the mucid stone walls. The huge shaft with levels and levels of archways, remind me of a crumbling Colosseum. The opaque ceiling allows light to filter into the space. How, I can’t explain. I know that up above, the piazza is completely covered in stone. I can see tourists’ feet shuffling about and stopping to take photos. Flashes from their cameras twinkle above. They’re oblivious to what lurks several hundred feet below them.
Hundreds of grungy people quickly appear in the windows surrounding the shaft, peering down at us as though they’re spectating a sport. Their murmurs shift from loud to louder. I wish I could make out what they’re saying. They probably know more than I do about why we’re even here.
I look back at Stu. “So much for your deepest desires,” I say and narrow my eyes.
“Sorry.” He only shrugs and looks back at the four grungy people guarding the exit. The only comfort I have is knowing that Stu is probably more scared than I.
Snarling noises echo through the cavern. Whipping my head, I look across the narrow bridge. Four shapes float out from behind the obelisk and stop before us on the other side. They must be important because the crowd hushes to a silence.
The lady in front makes my skin crawl. I slide my hand over my arms to rub away the chills. Her bright red, hooded cape contrasts sharply with the drab arena.
In line behind her, paces an oversized beast, a mutated dog. His muscles are bulging and overgrown. They pulse and flex as he patrols the space behind her. His piercing, canine eyes latch onto mine. The creature’s tail snaps angrily back and forth as though he’s anticipating the perfect time to attack me.
Directly behind the dog-beast stands a weakly, bald man dressed in a monks robe. His cloudy eyes roll aimlessly on the ground. He holds his hands at his waist as though he’s in prayer. Hunching over, he cowers behind the dog-beast and the Lady in Red.
A figure rolls a wheelchair bound person into position directly behind the bald man. A green velvet cape drapes over the their lifeless body.
There are many others surrounding them, but they appear to be the guards for the motley group. I watch the four main figures with a keen eye. They move in a peculiar way, almost like a snake. Each part follows the part before, vertebrae slithering in motion. The person in the wheelchair, all the way in the back in the shadows, is like the head, the point from which they move.
“You idiots!” The Lady in Red screeches. The crowd gasps. “Separate them and strip them of their relics!” she screams, but she doesn’t have to. Her words ignite like wildfire through the cavernous space.
In the next second, I’m ripped away from Bishop. A group of grungy women encircle me. Like my worst nightmare come true, they tear my clothes off. I scratch, kick, and fight with them, but there are too many hands pulling at my body.
The crowd laughs. They must see everything. The others must be getting stripped too. I hear Bishop fighting and yelling.
I collapse to the floor, crunching up in a ball, embarrassed. My naked body shivers in the cold. When I look up, their human wall parts—a space only large enough for someone to squeeze through.
Perpetua appears in the opening with an evil smirk on her face. However,
she
is clothed. She holds up a gray robe, offering it to me
“I’ll trade you,” she says in her snotty, baby voice. I can’t comprehend her words until I follow her gaze on my wrist. The sundial bracelet is heavy on my arm. It’s the only thing left on my body.
“What are you doing?” The words twist out of my mouth.
She approaches me and bends down to meet my eyes. She drapes the robe around my back, letting it fall over my entire body. As she does, she whispers in my ear. “And don’t even try to wander in this robe. The only place you’ll land is in a dungeon. I promise.”
I stand and shrug into the robe, closing it tightly around me. The grungy women restrain my arms and shoulders. Perpetua grabs my wrist and unlatches the bracelet. I just glare at her, trying to understand. She speaks again, but not in her normal voice. She speaks in English but in a beautiful, clear Italian accent. “I’m so very sorry, Seraphina. I know if things were not like this, we would have been such good friends. Amici per la vita.” She laughs in the back of her throat. “I must take this back from you now.” She dangles the bracelet in front of me. Her lips curl on one side. Perpetua spins and struts away.
As she walks, I envision her in a gold, shimmering cloak.
Perpetua
is my supposed “friend” from Venice, the lady that gave me back my mom’s bracelet. I wrestle with my restrainers, trying to break free, but their fingernails dig painfully into my skin, drawing blood.
Perpetua runs across the bridge, presenting the bracelet to the Lady in Red. The Lady snatches it from her. She surveys the relic, holding it up to the light.
“Exeter!” the Lady in Red yells. She tosses the relic over her head to the weakly, bald man. He catches it without lifting his blind eyes.