They ran their hands up and down along the wood panels that abutted the bricks but found nothing. Then Landry tried the seam itself, and at waist level he felt a tiny indentation in the wood. It was separated from the bricks by a quarter of an inch, just enough to insert his fingers. He poked and prodded, and then he pulled hard to the left. As the panel slid open, Young drew his weapon.
They stepped through the opening into hell.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Tiny shafts of light poked through the single dormer window high above the gabled chamber. Upon their entry, the room came alive like an animal rudely awakened. Groans and sighs, chains being dragged across the floor, cries of the wounded and hurt came from every dark corner of the twelve-foot-square space. With pistol in hand, Detective Young tossed Landry a flashlight.
By what lay strewn about this secret area, its purpose was apparent. The chains and shackles in the adjoining room were one thing, but this place had a more sinister purpose. There were six-inch iron spikes, large wooden mallets, a chair outfitted with rotting leather straps to bind arms and legs, branding irons, and heavy pliers that could have crushed a man's finger bones.
They heard a muffled voice from somewhere close. "Help me! If someone's there, please help me!"
"Jack!" Landry cried, shining his light about. There was no one else here, although the cries seemed to come from every corner.
"Jack! Jack, can you hear me?"
"Help!"
"Back there!" Young pointed to the opposite wall. Like those in the other room, iron bars stood in a doorway. The padlocked gate hid another small room and a horrific, gruesome sight.
Shriveled corpses lay in a pile as if tossed there like rubbish. Grinning skulls leered at them. Bony limbs with withered strips of flesh poked from disintegrating shirts, trousers and skirts. As if the appalling scene of death wasn't enough, something even more grisly rose amid the bodies. Jack stood on tiptoes on a three-legged stool. A hand raised high above his head was nailed to the wall by an iron spike through his palm. Blood trickled down his arm as he shifted his legs to ease the discomfort.
"Help me," he gasped. "If I lose my balance, it'll rip my hand apart."
While Landry tugged and pushed at the iron gate, Young called for reinforcements and equipment. "Stay calm, Jack," Landry urged. "Just a few more minutes. Who did this to you?"
"I did." They whirled around to find Empyrion, but his deep voice belonged to Charles Richard.
"Unlock the gate," the cop said, but Empyrion shook his head.
"Lucas is a wicked man. He deserves what he's getting."
Landry said, "That's not Lucas. He died a long time ago. Prosperine killed him. You know that, Charles."
Jack screamed from behind the gate. "Every corpse in this room is Prosperine's work! She's the monster. This is her workshop, not mine!"
Empyrion flew to the gate. "Stop the blasphemy, Lucas! She never loved you!"
Footsteps came from the stairway as four people emerged into the attic. Two burly policemen attacked the gate with pry bars and a bolt cutter. In seconds the gate fell back, and two EMTs rushed into the room. The officers supported Jack's weight while the EMTs removed the spike and carried him to a gurney.
Landry looked for Empyrion, but as usual he had vanished amid the confusion. Leaving Detective Young and the others with the grisly scene, he updated Cate and drove to the ER to be with Jack. The physician said Jack was fortunate the spike had been in his palm. Although intensely painful, it had penetrated flesh, not bone. There would be a scar, but he would heal with no long-term problems.
Jack couldn't remember going into the building or entering the hidden room. The first memory was when Empyrion Richard had tied his hands and feet, hoisted him up and held him there long enough to drive a spike through one palm. The man was tall and strong, and Jack said he manhandled him with ease.
"He kept calling me Lucas. He blamed me for the dead bodies lying in the room."
Landry asked if he remembered speaking to Empyrion just after they found him. "You said every corpse in the room was part of Prosperine's workshop. You called her a monster."
"I don't remember doing that, but I faded in and out of reality while I hung there. I knew if I relaxed my feet and bent my knees, my hand would rip apart and I'd bleed to death."
Landry brought Jack to his apartment. While Cate left to pick up lunch and the powerful medicine the doctor had called in, Landry settled Jack in bed. By the time she returned, he was in considerable pain. He took his first dose, sipped on the soup and was asleep in ten minutes.
It shocked Cate to learn what had happened to him. She asked about the moans and groans Landry had heard. Since Jack was the only living person there, did Landry imagine them, or was it something else?
"It's the trapped souls," he replied. "I'm convinced of it. We know Prosperine was a murderess, but if what Jack said to Empyrion is true, she was a monster. That room wasn't a place to keep slaves from escaping. It was a torture chamber, like one you'd see at the Tower of London. Whoever's workshop we were in was a maniac. To inflict that kind of pain on another human — it's beyond belief."
"What's next?"
He wasn't sure yet. There was plenty of backstory for a TV show, and a few things were
