One hand still wrapped around my phone, I put the other close to my gun and continue down the tunnel. The sound gets louder. High-pitched and thin. Almost like wailing. It takes me a few minutes to realize what it is. Wind.
There's air moving across an opening somewhere. My footsteps get faster. I run toward the sound. Finally, the light of my phone hits what looks like a broken wooden step. The risers above it are broken as well, but the one on top seems solid. I step up on it and feel around for a handle or knob that'll open the hatch.
I find it, but it's too heavy to move with one hand. I reluctantly push my phone down into the neckline of my sweatshirt, pushing it into place inside my tank top, so I don't drop it. The darkness surrounds me, almost suffocating. My heart beats faster. I can feel the wind now. There's a gap on one side of the hatch, just enough to let the air move over it and create the wailing sound.
As my eyes adjust, I realize that it is also letting in just a hint of light. It's not much, but it's enough to give me hope. I shove against the hatch with every bit of my weight and strength. Finally, it gives way. I force it aside and scramble up.
Pulling my phone back out of my shirt, I shine a light around me. I'm in another basement, but not like the one I was in before. It's empty except for a few broken pieces of furniture stuffed up against the walls. There's a quiet feeling here. Desolate. Abandoned.
Ahead of me, there is a set of stairs leading up, but to the side, light shines down through the broken half of a set of storm doors. I run for them and climb out into the night air. I look around, drawing in the fresh breaths as fast as I can without making myself pass out. I'm in what looks like an overgrown yard and behind me is a run-down house.
A few yards away from the house, I drop down into the grass. My phone rings in my hand, and I almost sob with relief.
“The one time I can get reception,” I answer.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks.
“I'm okay. I'm out. Are you on your way?”
Headlights sweep across my face, and I stand up. For an instant, my heart freezes.
“I see you,” Sam says.
I let out the breath I was holding and start toward the car. It's barely stopped when the passenger door opens, and he throws himself out, running toward me. His arms clamp tight around me, one hand clutching my hair.
"I told you I'd meet you here," I whisper.
"Wherever you are, I will be there," he whispers back. "Always."
“Emma, I am so glad to see you,” Dean calls over as he exits the driver’s side.
“You, too,” I tell him.
“Did you notice where we are?” Sam asks.
I shake my head. “Where are we?”
“See those trees?” he asks, pointing into the distance and a dark row of trees against the deep blue horizon.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Right on the other side is Lilith's house.”
I look back at him with widened eyes. “That can't be a coincidence.”
“You know what I always say,” he murmurs.
We say it in unison:
“There are no coincidences.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The next morning, I still feel as if the cold from the tunnel hasn’t completely left me. I’m wrapped up in a blanket, sitting on my hotel room bed, going over my notes and piecing things together, when Sam comes in.
“I told Detective White everything,” he says. “You're going to have to talk to Creagan, but we're going to figure out a way to make the discovery of that tunnel admissible.”
“It has to be,” I say. “That's how they got out. It's how they took everything from the building. That's tampering with evidence.”
“If we can prove that there was a crime,” Sam points out.
I let out a sigh and nod. “There's always that.”
“We just have to link them to verifiable criminal activity,” he muses. “We just have to find where they slipped up.”
Dean pokes his head into the room.
“Am I interrupting?” he asks.
“No, come in,” I say. “Did you get them?”
“Right here,” he offers.
“What is that?” Sam asks as I take the folder from Dean.
“Hopefully, the resolution to my curiosity,” I say.
“I'm going to need more information than that,” Sam says.
The door opens again, and Xavier comes in. His arms are full of different cans of drinks from the vending machine down the hallway. Each of his pockets contains a different kind of snack.
“You settling in for the long haul?” Sam asks.
“Just couldn't decide,” Xavier tells him.
“And sometimes you don't have to,” I say.
He empties all the goodies out onto the other bed and sits down to start arranging them. I watch him for a few seconds, trying to figure out his organizational technique, but I can't. I turn my attention back to the folder and look at Sam.
“I just can't stop thinking about the Prometheus members’ reaction when Dean said I was already claimed by Dragon. He said it with complete confidence, and they totally believed him. There wasn't a single person in that room who wasn't completely convinced I was not already promised in some way to the Dragon,” I say.
“So, he's a good liar,” Sam says. “I think that is part of the job description of a private investigator, isn't it?”
Dean shoots him a glare. Some other time, I will wax poetic about how nice it is to see two of the most important men in my life finally starting to get along. But right now, I have to keep this train of thought moving forward.
“It's not that they believed his lie because he was confident,” I continue. “He didn't walk
