Chapter Five

Kenneth tensed, sucked in a breath, and exhaled slowly. Then he raised one foot and kicked the doors open. He jumped into the room, handgun sweeping the area. It was a dining room. A grandfather clock stood to one side, ticking. There was no further movement.

Kenneth closed the doors behind him, then brought his gun back up to a ready position. He edged forward, eyes checking every shadow, pistol at the ready. He reached the table, went to the left - and felt something hit his foot. A loud rattle rapped out from the same side. He whirled, pointed his gun downward – and realized he was aiming at a typewriter. It was on a small, rickety table he had accidentally kicked.

Kenneth choked back a laugh, suddenly giddy. "Careful, Sullivan, it's gonna print on you," he whispered, kicking himself. Man, he was jumpy, this was ridicul-

He heard a thump from upstairs, a sort of sliding sound, and instantly brought his gun up. The dining room had an upstairs level too, but it was dark; Kenneth had thumbed his flashlight without realizing it. The circle of white light leapt about wildly, before it stopped and quivered on a section of banister. But there was nothing. Whatever had made the sound – if there even was a sound – was gone, or at least not visible. Kenneth wasn't relieved. Who did he think he was? For all he knew there were invisible enemies here.

*Yeah, and any second Forest is gonna come through that door with bombs strapped to his chest. Quit acting like such a * – Kenneth saw some movement with his peripheral vision, and this time he was sure. His gun swivelled, the light illuminating the banister on the far end of the dining hall. Yes, there was something there, though it wasn't a psychopath with an Uzi, as he'd first assumed. Actually, it was much smaller; a droplet of liquid dripped from the second floor and fell, going out of sight behind the table. Kenneth, gun low, advanced to the end of the room, in front of a long silent fireplace. A puddle of red liquid was there, reflecting his flashlight on the hardwood. He crouched, sniffed the air, and frowned. He knew that smell, years of chemical experience and police duty engraving it into his brain. Blood.

As he watched, another drop went *plunk* into the puddle. Kenneth turned his face upward, gazing at the second floor.

* * *

Richard leaned on one door, slowly opening it with a loud creaking. It was a small room, or smaller than the lobby at least. It was also dark. He swept the room with is shotgun's torch, illuminating dreary paintings and one statue. The white light produced strange, leaping shadows as it passed over the stone, shining on the polished white marble. Richard stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, checking every corner. The barks from outside were instantly cut off as the door shut. He moved slowly, shotgun at his shoulder. There was one door on the other side of the room, as well as an opening to some sort of a hallway. It was blocked off with a dresser.

Richard stepped silently towards the statue. No one hiding behind it with a sawed off shotgun. It was of a nude woman kneeling on a pedestal, a sort of bowl on her shoulder. Curious, Richard played his torch over the statue, noting that it was in -very- full detail, at least from the neck down. His white light revealed a rather smooth, featureless face – *probably didn't think a woman's head was important,* Richard thought cynically – and illuminated the tipped bowl.

Something was inside. Richard tilted his head, squinting. A point, or corner, of something was visible. Of what, he couldn't tell. He jumped, hand swiping, but it was at least a foot out of his reach, maybe more. He looked about, seeing if there was something he could use to reach for it. Nothing, unless he pushed the dresser up to stand on, but he didn't how much weight that could take. He could poke at the bowl with his shotgun, see if he could knock the object out, but he reserved self-inflicted gun wounds for idiots. Only one other way…he ran his boot along the base of the pedestal. Definitely attached to the floor, seemed rather solid too. He placed his shotgun carefully on the tiles. Looking about again, this time with a sheepish grin, he raised one foot and placed it on the pedestal. Reaching up, he grabbed for a handhold and grasped the statue's breasts (noting once again the sculptor's attention to detail). He pulled himself upward, coming to a standing position, and wrapped his arms around the statue from behind.

*This is more Kevin's style, not mine,* Richard reflected, pressing himself against the statue to keep from crashing to the floor. Cautiously, he transferred his left arm to around the statue's neck, reaching out with his right. Running his fingers about the inside of the bowl, Richard felt the object's edge and slid it out. It was a sheet of paper. Richard let it drop to the floor, landing on his feet a minute later. He turned over the paper, leaving it on the ground, then regained its shotgun and used its light to inspect it. It was a map. Richard squinted, gradually determining it was of the mansion.

Excellent! Richard scooped up the map, grinning widely. This would get them around the mansion without scratching their heads. Good thing, too, it looked like this place was even bigger than it seemed.

*Thump.* Richard Aiken swivelled, shotgun coming to bear. The circle of light went over the dresser and into the small hallway. It exposed a sloppy painting, as well as many spilled knick-knacks. Cautiously, he moved forward, reaching the dresser. He slid himself over it, trying not to concentrate his body weight. Landing lightly on his feet, he moved slowly into the hallway. The flashlight illuminated the painting, which looked even worse up close. It made sense, he supposed. It looked like they stowed all their useless junk here. It also showed that the hallway turned to the left, filled with even more bits of garbage. Light glinted off something to the side. Richard leaned in, inspected it. An ice pick, sharp and almost new-looking. Shaking his head – yeah, you could call it a deadly weapon, but you could really say that for anything – he turned back to the general pile of trash at the end of the hall, piled high.

He was so engrossed in his search, he didn't hear the well-oiled, well-disguised door open behind him.

* * *

If Forest didn't know better, he'd think the darkness actually spilled out of the doorway when he had opened the doors. Giving his eyes a second to adjust to the twilight, he stepped through the second-floor double doors, closing them behind him as he did so. He took note of the bizarre sound-proof quality of the walls as the barking was stopped instantly, although the sound of the outside storm still came through the windows. He also noted that he was on a balcony, and although the floor below was brightly lit, his seemed to take none of the light. Looking down, he noticed Kenneth, standing over a puddle of blood. He watched as the chemical expert turned, opened a door behind him and carefully went through.

Forest took a step forward when he noticed something fall off the edge of the balcony opposite. He paused, squinted, and realized what it was. A drop of liquid. He noticed a trail leading from the dripping spill, around the edge of the hole in the floor, and across the left side of the balcony – and by him. He turned to see it was blood, the trail leading to a crumpled body in the corner. Forest donned latex gloves and crouched by the body, the grenade rounds strapped on his chest clanking as he did so, and checked for a pulse, although he could clearly see the man was way beyond saving. His skin was rotten, raising the stink of decay into the still air. Forest had seen bodies left alone for a few weeks and knew when a corpse had been dead for a while. What he had never seen before was a combination like this. The state of the flesh was very degraded, suggesting of a long period of deterioration, but at the same time…new. Almost wet. As if it had gone through weeks of decay in a few hours' time.

Forest frowned, forehead furrowing. Maybe it was the storm outside. Some trick with condensation, making flesh appear fresh. Maybe. But Forest didn't think so – just didn't fly for him. Standing, he cast another frowning look down at the corpse. He suddenly had a wry wish it could get up and tell him exactly what happened. His scoped Beretta at the ready, he moved along the balcony. The corpse lay where it was.

* * *

Edward opened the door, stepping casually through, gun pointed at the floor. Slightly angled hinges let it shut itself behind him.

Edward was instantly disoriented as wind whipped rain into his face. He staggered back, gun coming up in confusion, before a crack of lightning illuminated his surroundings. He was outside, yes, but still on the second floor. A balcony ran the length of the wall, fully exposed to the pounding elements. Edward brought up an arm to shield his face, a crack of thunder resounding through the air.

*Storm's getting worse,* he thought. There hadn't been lightning before. Carelessly, he swept the area with his handgun, though he doubted that any cannibal would be out here in this weather. Already having lost whatever degree of warmth he had in the mansion, he moved forward, careful not to slip on the balcony's wet floor.

He heard a howl, alarmingly close. He swivelled, pointed his Beretta in the direction of the noise's source – and realized he was preparing for an attack from off the balcony. Unless the dogs had learned to fly, (or, perhaps, jump very high) there was little chance of attack. Feeling foolish, Edward lowered his handgun, then thought of something. He switched on the flashlight and shone it below the balcony.

There was a person there. Edward shouted, but at that exact moment lightning hit something nearby, thunder drowning out his voice. The lightning also put spots in his eyes. By the time he had recovered, the person was gone, having moved out of sight.

*Damn.*

At least it was proof there were people here; and if the dogs hadn't killed them yet, they evidently had some means of controlling them. It didn't take a genius to figure out it was one of the cannibal murderers. Edward's face took on a sinister expression and his mouth curved into a thin smile.

"Bingo," he breathed.

* * *

Enrico had moved Kevin up the first set of stairs, on the brief plateau before they split into twin stairs to the right and left. He didn't want to disturb Kevin and his injured leg, but he had a nasty image of the dogs somehow busting the door open and had decided a dozen steps could at least provide a little protection.

"This day started out so well," said Kevin, thumping the back of his helmeted head against the wall in a rhythmic fashion. The words and thumps were both acting to distract himself from the pain caused by Enrico's bandaging. "Got out of bed ten minutes before work, jump off and squish a cockroach. Wasn't even looking! Anyway, washed him off my foot, then walked to work, wasn't raining then, and saw the guys that were gonna cut off my landlord's electricity. I don't know what he's doing with the rent money I give him, probably drinks it away. So anyway I ow ow ow!"

"Sorry," mumbled Enrico, latex gloves slick with blood.

"So anyway," continued Kevin, not losing a beat, "I guess they got the wrong address or something, because they go right across the street from my building and shut off the power. So that landlord comes out, and he's not some flabby white trash like *my* landlord. He's this Japanese guy, and he's about my size but he has a -big- voice. And, like, you know how everyone says the Japanese are all polite and stuff? Well, this guy's proof that stereotypes don't work because he's just yelling and screaming blue murder at them, and – ow – and so these two electricity guys are shaking in their boots, right? And they're like all trying to say sorry and stuff because this guy is like red in the face, and like I said he's about my size but he looked about ready to turn them into ravioli, right? And they explain they have to shut off the power here but of course, I know this guy, and I know *my* landlord, and I could tell they got given the wrong place – ow. So anyways, after they get an ID on him they realize he's been making his payments, they say they make a mistake and leave. And this guy turns around and sees me, and comes across the street at me, and tells me to tell my landlord – my 'crap-ass piece of garbage landlord,' specifically – to make his payments from now on. And so I'm like 'he didn't listen to you he sure won't listen to me' and he's like 'I'M SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS!' and walks away swearing to himself and I was late by then, but I slipped into the RPD and no one noticed, so then my breakfast was as usual some of the coffee in the office, but it was really *good* coffee and I thought 'man, I'm lucky today' and so anyways then I–"

"Kevin?" Kevin halted and brought his head forward. "I've managed to stop this bleeding on your leg. You had a lot of gnashes, which was why it took so long, sorry. Now, you're not going to bleed to death, and I think I got it steady enough to walk on, but you're not going to be heading anywhere fast, okay?"

The top half of Kevin's face was hidden by the black visor of his helmet, but his mouth grinned. Of course, Enrico could see sweaty flesh and a pale pallor too, but Kevin seemed casual. "No kidding, I can walk like this? Thanks, Captain – I thought I'd be sitting here for a while."

"I'd prefer it if you wouldn't. We're still in enemy territory, and you're stuck at a walking pace for right now, okay? So you should probably stay here, keep out of trouble. If only this were a safer place…" Enrico looked about, frowning. "Too many doors here, don't like it…"

"Don't worry, Captain. I've got these, remember?" Kevin patted the Berettas in his twin hip holsters. "I can take care of myself," he said, quieter.

Enrico looked him right in the eye – or at least, tried to, staring into his own reflection instead. "Still. If there's any trouble, call, okay? I'm going to inspect this lobby a bit more."

"I thought Forest and Edward were already checking out the above floor…"

"Yes. But I noticed a passage that seems to go right behind this wall…I'm going to check it out." Enrico got up, checked his pistol, and descended the short flight of stairs. Kevin just leaned back against the wall.

Enrico, turning to the left, noticed a single door they hadn't checked. Cautiously, he turned the knob – locked. He noticed an engraving above the lock. A helmet. Frowning, Enrico turned, descending a short flight of cement steps. Looking down the tunnel they led to, he noticed there was a twin set of steps on the other end, probably leading back up to the lobby. He also noticed a sort of gate. On alert, he slid up to the gate.

He shivered briefly. *Cold in here,* he thought. Enrico tried pushing the gated doors, but they didn't do so much as budge. Frowning, he inspected two indentations. They were octagons, with plates in the back. He noticed the plates had a slight design. He couldn't make them out, though, just looked like some swirls and –

A sort of high, feminine scream suddenly came out from behind the gate. Startled, Enrico staggered back, gun coming up. Nothing came into view, but the scream continued, going on impossibly long and loud before it gradually changed, going from a high screech to a deep, lion-like roar. Enrico dropped to one knee, gun pointed at the gate, a cold sweat mixing with the rainwater on his skin. *What can possibly make a noise like that?!* The roar changed, turning to a long, throaty, almost *wet* sound, like sigh or exhalation.

And as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Silence blanketed the tunnel. Enrico's wide eyes stared through the gate, but nothing appeared. Still pointing the gun with one hand, Enrico scrabbled for his radio and flicked on the switch before shouting into the speaker.

Kenneth was in a long hallway by then. He stopped and leaned back against a door as he picked the radio off his belt. "Kenneth, over."

Shotgun across his knee and trinkets piled about his feet, Richard's radio was at his mouth. "Copy, Richard."

Edward, soaked to the bone, leaned forward, hand on the railing. "Here, over."

Forest, his radio with Kenneth, heard nothing.

"This is Enrico – be on the highest alert! Everyone has to know this! There is something or some*things* in this building, and they are not human! I want you to shoot on *sight,* you hear me? Everyone has to know this, there is something -very wrong- with this place! Edward, I want you to tell Forest! I – "

At that moment, many things happened.