Officer Shits frowned at his hand and gave him a dirty look.
I really am a fucking idiot. “Please, Officer.”
This somehow seemed to make matters worse. Due to rank, Officer Something had to obey, but he slapped the pipe into Chapman’s hand and stormed off, grumbling under his breath.
Rollins said, “I know you mean well, Inspector, but you really are terrible with the men.”
Chapman exhaled and said, “I know.” He checked to make sure his new weapon was loaded. “Gods, I know.”
“They do respect you.”
Chapman looked at Rollins. “They do?”
“Of course, sir.” Rollins seemed to have completely recovered from Chapman’s earlier comment. “The force respects any inspector who can solve cases like you do. It’s just that they don’t like you. As a person.”
“Few do, my friend. Few do.”
Within the minute, Officer Shits returned with two lanterns and his partner. Chapman decided he could not keep referring to him as “Officer Shits”—it was too likely to come out of his head and onto his lips—and just asked his name. Surprising Chapman, this seemed to be the right call: the officer smiled slightly as he mentioned his name. Not that Chapman heard it: he was too preoccupied with the thought that admitting he had forgotten the name was, it turned out, the more sociable thing to do. Fascinating.
Whatever good will Chapman had earned from the nameless officer, he promptly squandered it by opening the door to the cellar again and tossing the pipe down the wooden steps to several loud bounces.
“Oi! Why did you do that?”
Chapman continued to stare into the blackness as he answered. “I’d rather they shoot your pipe than me as I walk down the stairs.” The officer nodded. At least there was an explanation.
Just as Chapman began to raise his lantern and head into the cellar, he heard two sets of footsteps descending from the floor above. He lowered the lantern with a sigh.
Rollins, confused by Chapman’s hesitation, asked, “Nerves, sir?”
“No, Rollins.” Chapman watched Khlid and Samuel turn the corner and approach. “Not the way you mean.”
Khlid could tell just by looking at Chapman that he was far from thrilled they had returned from their task upstairs so soon. He stared unblinking at them as they approached. One of his little ways of letting people know their presence was unwelcome.
“Cheer up, Chapman. We found plenty of gore for you upstairs.” Samuel’s tone was somewhere between mocking and sincere. “You can moon over the matriarch's corpse just as long as you want.”
Chapman’s gaze did not falter.
Khlid elbowed her husband. He let out a small grunt, looked at her, and relented.
“At least let us watch your back.”
“Rollins has my back,” Chapman sniped. The sergeant let a smile come over his lips.
Khlid stepped in. “Sam, Chap, enough. Rollins, would you like us to get your back?”
“Absolutely, ma’am.” Rollins’ tone brooked no dispute.
Khlid gave Rollins a wry look of thanks. When it came to the childish rivalry between Sam and Chap, the only way to get things done was to exhaust them with professionalism.
Chapman huffed, turned, raised his lantern, and began marching down the stairs, preferring the unknown blackness to his present company. Rollins followed with Samuel and Khlid right behind.
* * *
The lanterns provided a surprisingly limited view into the darkness. Khlid felt a chill run up her spine. The further down the stairs she walked, the more surely she felt that this cellar was already occupied.
The pools of light traversed an empty expanse, then finally hit an obstruction: rows upon rows of wine racks, as tall as the cellar’s high ceiling would allow. The polished bottles glistened against the seeping illumination. No walls visible. The stairs dropping into the middle racks on all sides. No matter where Khlid’s eyes went, the darkness seemed to be trying to claw its way closer. Pulling her pistol from its holster, she prepared for the worst.
Chapman reached the bottom of the stairs first, and raised his own pistol. He drew a breath to call out, but Samuel placed a hand on his shoulder.
Sam addressed the unknown darkness calmly, “We are the police. It is safe now. I promise.” He lowered his weapon. “We won’t hurt you.”
Chapman gave Samuel a curt nod of approval. Rollins handed Samuel his lantern.
Chapman and Rollins went into the far-left row of wine racks, while Khlid and Samuel went right.
Moving into the narrow aisles between the racks, a smell that had first tickled Khlid’s nose at the cellar door now became overwhelming. She hated the smell of wine, and the cellar reeked of it, combining poisonously with the pungent odor of wood polish. The stench filled her head.
Checking over her shoulder, Khlid could barely see the light from the stairway. An eerie feeling that the cellar went on forever began to manifest in her mind. They would walk until the little doorway to light was no longer visible, and then it would be impossible to return. She found herself fighting an odd sense of vertigo—an instinctive terror that, were she to try to run back to safety, she would only encounter an infinite hallway of wine bottles.
Khlid’s ears were starved for sound. Every scuff of Samuel’s boots made her heart leap. Her own breath sounded as loud as ocean waves. Khlid knew this was what adrenaline did, but that did not stop her hands from shaking, or the grip on her pistol from slipping. Her heart pounded so loudly, she began to wonder if Samuel could hear it.
As if responding to her thought, Samuel turned and looked to her. He mouthed, “You okay?”
She nodded.
He placed a hand over his own mouth, signaling for her to try and quiet her breath. She did so, trying to slow her own heart as well. She took a deep, slow inhale, and let it out slowly as she closed her eyes—
I’m in an endless expanse of nothing. I am falling through eternity. Samuel will not be there when I—
Khlid’s eyes popped open and she had to stifle a small whimper. Well, that was a huge mistake. Samuel still stood within arm’s reach, the furrow in his brow deepening.
What is wrong with me? Khlid could get in a shootout with a suspect and laugh about it an hour later, but the overwhelming silence and darkness tore at her sanity.
Something sticky caught her boot. Khlid looked down and saw a small puddle of black fluid reflecting off the floor. As she processed what the liquid might be, a new smell tingled in her nose—one that made her nostalgic for the repugnant mixture of wine and wood. Though faint now, the odor reminded her of a corpse left in the sun too long. Of the part of town where undesirables were left to fend for themselves. Of rot and rancidity. If it had been stronger than a hint, she was sure her stomach would have heaved. She raised her hand to try and get Samuel’s attention.
“Stop!” Rollins’ voice split the air.
Khlid let out a small shriek. Samuel, startled, looked back at her. Rollins’ cry had come from far ahead and many rows over. Samuel nodded to her. They brought up their weapons and hustled toward the source of the noise.
Khlid rapidly became disoriented as they plunged further into the darkness. The light from the stairwell became hidden by the tall racks. The lantern Samuel held high shook back and forth violently, threatening to extinguish the flickering pinprick of light within. Khlid was sure if that light went out, she would go absolutely mad.