Chapter 4 - The Scent of Old Paper and Blood
The darkness pouring out from the open basement door carried a heavy, suffocating odor of damp earth, rotting parchment, and something metallic that made Julian’s stomach churn.
"Step back, Julian," Eleanor warned, her hand reaching into her brown handbag to wrap her fingers around the small pearl-handled revolver she kept hidden there.
"You brought a gun?" Julian asked, staring at the weapon with absolute disbelief as his mother pulled it free from the leather lining. "What were you expecting to find down here, a burglar?"
"I was expecting someone to come back," Eleanor replied flatly, leveling the barrel toward the pitch-black stairwell leading underground.
Julian flicked on the flashlight app on his smartphone, casting a harsh, artificial beam down the steep, crumbling concrete steps. The light cut through billowing clouds of dust, revealing rows of metal filing cabinets covered in a thick layer of grey mold.
"Is anyone down there?" Julian called out, his voice echoing hollowly into the subterranean gloom.
Only the rhythmic drip of freezing water answered him. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"We're going down," Julian said, stepping past his mother despite her frantic hissed warnings.
"You are going to get us both killed," Eleanor hissed, following closely behind him, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete steps as they descended into the freezing dampness.
The air grew significantly colder underground, the breath of the two living souls freezing into pale clouds in the narrow corridor.
Julian swept his phone light across the rusted filing cabinets until the beam hit something hanging from a iron hook on the far wall.
It was a child's winter coat, identical to the one the little girl had worn outside, hanging limply beside a tarnished silver mirror.
"Someone was just here," Julian whispered, shining the light on the dusty floor where fresh, wet bootprints led deeper into the labyrinth of abandoned municipal records.
Eleanor froze, lowering her revolver slightly as her eyes fell upon a leather-bound ledger resting open on a metal desk in the center of the room.
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"Julian," Eleanor choked out, her voice breaking entirely. "Look at the date on that logbook. Today's date. Nineteen-eighty-four."
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