CHAPTER 103 Cross
Cross
ALEX CROSS HAS SPENT the past hour looking for a pole, a brick, a nail—anything.
But the tiny underground enclosure is bare except for a bolted-down chemical toilet, a couple of filthy mattresses, and the cooking pot, which Alex can see is half filled with soup.
The door to the rear exit is locked. Solid steel.
A single industrial bulb glares down. The only other break in the ceiling is an air-vent grate, welded on.
“We need some kind of tool,” says Alex. “Some kind of weapon …”
“Forget it,” says Damon. “We’ve searched every inch of this place.”
“One night,” says Amy, “I thought about grabbing the soup pot and hitting the fat fuck in the head with it. But he always keeps one hand on his gun.”
“No sense in shouting from down here,” says Lucas. “The walls are too thick.”
“Right,” says Alex. “It’s bombproof. And we’re about twelve feet down. Under a pigsty.”
“Is that what we’re smelling?” asks Lucas.
“That—and ourselves,” says Damon.
Damon is right. The air is ripe with body odor and the emissions from the toilet in the corner. The pungent smell, the head injury, and the lack of oxygen all combine to make Alex feel dizzy.
Think, Cross, think!
Suddenly, the hatch creaks and a shaft of light shoots down the ladder. Alex can hear snorting pigs and footsteps rustling in the straw overhead. A few clumps of dirt and manure drop onto the ladder steps.
Kicking feet appear in the opening.
Not Brophy’s.
Alex, Damon, Lucas, and Tyne rush to the bottom of the ladder and look up.
“Back away!” Brophy’s voice from above. “Make room!”
The figure coming down feetfirst is female. As she descends, she thrashes her legs, feeling for support. “Stop! Where are you taking me?” Her voice is muffled by a thick canvas hood draped over her head and shoulders. She sounds terrified.
“Shut up!” Brophy’s voice again. Now the barrel of his shotgun is pointing down into the space, almost touching the woman’s head. As soon as she clears the first two rungs, his booted feet come down behind her.
When the woman reaches the third rung from the bottom, she almost slips off the ladder. Damon grabs her around the waist and sets her feet on the floor.
“Take your hands off me!” she screams, twisting and throwing her elbows.
“Melissa?” Damon yanks the hood off her head.
Melissa blinks. “Damon!” She throws her arms around him, tears streaming down her face. “Oh my God—Damon!”
“Move back, all of you!” Brophy stops midway down the ladder. He holds a shotgun in one hand. With the other, he reaches up and pulls down the hatch. It closes with a solid thunk, sealing the dank room shut with all six of them inside the small space.
Damon moves toward Brophy. “Did you hurt her? Did you touch her? I’ll kill you!”
Melissa pulls him back. “Damon! I’m okay!” It’s only then that she notices the others in the room. Her eyes go wide. “Dr. Cross! Professor Lucas! Amy!”
Melissa whirls on Brophy. “Who are you, you sick bastard?”
Brophy slowly descends the rest of the way down the ladder and pokes Melissa in the belly with the barrel of his gun. “You’re the sick one,” he says. “All of you. Sick. You goddamn mixers.” His tone is low, deliberate, menacing.
Alex is kicking himself for not recognizing the extent of Brophy’s troubled mind sooner. When he talked to Brophy earlier, he thought the man was merely compulsive, maybe a little delusional or dissociative.
Wrong. He’s a raging psychopath.
“Colton, let’s calm down,” says Alex. “Nobody needs to get hurt. Why are you so angry? What’s the reason for all this?”
Brophy waves his gun at Lucas and Amy. “Ask those two,” he says. “Then ask your boy and his white trophy girlfriend.”
Damon balls his fists. “What did we ever do to you, asshole?”
“Damon, stop it!” says Alex. “Let Colton talk. We’re in his world right now, and he deserves to be heard.”
Brophy grunts. “Damn right I do.”
He rubs his hand over his stubble and leans back against the ladder, resting his bulky backside on one of the middle rungs.
“This country had it right for so many years,” he says, shaking his head. “Two races, segregated. No mixing of the bloodlines. White on white. Black on Black. The way nature intended. The way God intended.”
“Are you talking about Jim Crow?” asks Lucas. “For Christ’s sake, there was no end of mixing! Usually by rape on the part of the white men in power!”
“Not now, Professor,” says Alex.
Brophy juts his jaw toward Lucas, then points to Amy. “How old is she? Your little white concubine. How long did it take you to seduce her?”
Amy clasps her short-cropped hair as if she’s trying to pull it out. “I’ve told you a dozen times! This is my boss! My mentor! I am not his girlfriend!”
“I don’t believe you,” says Brophy. “You were holding hands when I caught you!”
“I was helping her step over a log!” says Lucas. “You’re crazy!”
“Now, now,” says Alex, trying to defuse the tension. “Not crazy. Colton just has different opinions. A different view of the world. Isn’t that right, Colton? Those feelings run deep in your family. They go back for hundreds of years, don’t they?”
Brophy nods. “Yeah. They do.”
“And they’re very important to you.”
“Damn straight.”
“I understand,” says Alex. “When I was in your home earlier today, I could see how much you honor your ancestors and how you’re trying to keep their values alive.”
Alex is winging it, pouring on the empathy. Over the years, he’s used the same technique to build bridges with serial murderers, family annihilators, and even men who’ve tried to kill him personally. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Now Melissa speaks up. “Sweet Jesus, I can’t believe this.” She’s calmed down. Her voice is gentle and measured. She shakes Damon off and takes a step toward Brophy.
Good, thinks Alex. She’s picking up on my tone. Smart girl.
“Believe what?” says Brophy.
“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to wake up.” Melissa glances at Alex. “Michaelson Woods was right.”
Damon grabs her arm. “Melissa!”
She pulls away. “Don’t touch me!” She moves closer to Brophy. “Don’t let him touch me, Colton! Not ever again!”
Brophy grins and raises his gun toward Damon. Melissa pushes it down. “No. Not yet. He needs to hear me first.” She turns on Damon. “I don’t know what I was thinking! How could I have ever wanted your Black hands on my body! What did you do to me? Did you hypnotize me? Work some jungle voodoo?”
Damon just stands there, dumbfounded.
“I know what I need now,” says Melissa. “And it sure as hell isn’t down here with you perverts.” She looks at Brophy. “I was scared when you took me tonight. I admit it. But now I’m glad. It’s about time I saw the truth.” She moves another step closer. “I’m right, aren’t I? Tell me I’m right!”
“Yes, little girl,” says Brophy, “you sure are.”
Melissa turns back toward Damon and spits in his face.
Brophy’s grin gets wider. The shotgun droops lower …
Now! Alex lunges for the barrel. The gun goes off, blowing a huge divot in the floor. Brophy jerks back, thrown off balance by the recoil.
Melissa whirls around and kicks Brophy straight in the balls.