We soon found ourselves somewhere backstage, where backdrops hung from flies and where trap doors were cleverly placed in the floor. Clothing racks filled with costumes lined both sides of the wall, and a catwalk ran along the upper levels. There were many, many ghosts moving back and forth along these metal walkways.

Lots of death here.

And, judging by the many gashes in their necks, lots of victims here, too. I kept this last a.s.sessment to myself. I suspected Sherbet was about to see for himself just what was going on here.

We found a hallway leading off to one side of the stage, which we followed to the props room. The door was ajar.

"This is it," I said.

Sherbet nodded and slipped inside first, holding the gun out in front of him even though we were alone in the theater. I think it made him feel manly. Not to mention, he was still a cop, and cops did these kinds of things.

I paused at the doorway, taking in the room despite the darkness. The room was, of course, exactly as I had seen it in my mind days earlier. Props of all shapes and sizes, everything from dinner tables and jukeboxes to plastic trees and park benches. Like a small town all crammed into one room.

I pointed to the far wall. "There."

Sherbet followed my finger, aiming his light, and illuminated a ma.s.sive mirror that was apparently attached to the wall.

"The mirror. Just like you said."

"Yep."

"And you've never been here before?"

"Nope. At least, not physically."

"This is crazy."

"Welcome to my life."

He shook his head and I heard his thoughts, despite my best attempts to stay out of them. Rather clearly, Sherbet thought: I'm going insane.

The scent of blood suddenly wafted over me, coming from the far wall-from behind the mirror, no doubt. My traitorous stomach growled instantly. So loudly that Sherbet turned and looked at me. I shrugged innocently.

As we moved around a four-poster bed covered in cobwebs, Sherbet said, "I swear to G.o.d that if a guy in a hockey mask and a chainsaw starts singing about the music, I'm going to start shooting."

"You're mixing, I think, like three movies together."

"Well, they've been warned."

We found ourselves at the big mirror. The smell of blood was most definitely coming from somewhere behind the mirror. I said as much to Sherbet, even as my stomach growled again.

Sherbet looked at me, looked at the mirror, then looked at my stomach. He put two and two together and grimaced unconsciously. Finally, he said, "Help me with the mirror."

He holstered his gun and we each took one side of the mirror and lifted it off the hook. Once done, we set it to one side, and returned to the spot where the mirror had hung.

There was, of course, a door there.

A hidden door.

Chapter Forty-two.

The scent of blood was nearly overwhelming.

So much blood.

Sherbet and I had the same thought simultaneously: to scan the room beyond. So I did so, and saw that it was empty of anything living. I reported my findings to Sherbet.

He nodded and pointed at the doork.n.o.b. "Any chance this lock is broken as well?"

I reached for the doork.n.o.b and a moment later dropped the twisted metal to the floor. "I would say a good chance."

He shook his head. "I'm just glad you're on our side. C'mon."

He eased the door open, which promptly groaned loudly on rusted hinges. He flashed his light on the ancient, rusted hinges. He said, "My guess is there's another way down here. Probably accessible from the alley."

"Would make it easier bringing bodies in and out."

Sherbet nodded grimly. He next swept his light around the small room. "Another storage room."

I was suddenly having difficulty focusing on the detective's words. After all, the scent of blood was much stronger in here. Much, much stronger. And intoxicating.

Doing my best to ignore it, I stepped in behind Sherbet and saw that the room was filled to overflowing with even more theater junk. Moldy props. Moldy clothing. Hats that were badly destroyed by rats or moths. Boxes and crates and old furniture. And the moment I stepped inside, my inner alarm began buzzing.

"What's that sound?" asked Sherbet, pausing, listening.

"What sound?"

"You can't hear it? It's a steady buzzing. Like electricity crackling."

Stunned that the detective could pick up on my own inner alarm, and stunned at the depth of our connection, I told him what he was hearing.

"Thank G.o.d. Thought I was going crazy all over again. C'mon, let's check this out, and be careful. It's buzzing for a reason."

The air was alive with frenetic energy, which lit the way for me. Not so much for Sherbet. His flashlight would have to do. Tiny claws scrabbled in the far corner of the small room. A mouse or a rat.

By all appearances this was just a forgotten storage room. A storage room hidden purposely by a ma.s.sive mirror. If I had to guess, I would say the c.r.a.p in here hadn't seen the light of day-or the light of the stage-for over fifty years.

Most important: it appeared to have no exit.

We moved deeper into the room. Sherbet's breathing filled the small s.p.a.ce. Mine, not so much. The wooden floorboards groaned under the big detective's weight. Me, not so much. The smell of blood was heady and distracting and reminding me all over again just what a monster I had become. Sherbet gave no indication of being able to smell the blood.

The metallic scent wafted through the far wall of the room, that much was clear. I moved toward the wall, toward the smell. Once there, I reached out a hand and placed it on the cool wood paneling. With Sherbet easing up behind me, I closed my eyes and cast my thoughts outward again. This time my trawling consciousness returned images of a short corridor and wooden stairs that descended down. At the base of the stairs, I saw another door. I tried to push through that...but the images beyond were vague and distorted. Too far to see. I snapped back into my body.

I reported my findings to Sherbet. He said something about me being handy to have around. I agreed enthusiastically. Next, we both felt around the wooden wall until we simultaneously found a seam. We kept feeling until we found a small notch in the wall. Sherbet stood back and I hooked a finger and pulled.

The wall instantly opened, rumbling along tracks hidden in the ceiling and floor. Dust sifted down. Cold air met us. Darkness lay beyond.

Darkness lit by supernatural light and infused with the scent of even more blood.

So much blood.

Stomach rumbling and hating myself, I led the way through into the pa.s.sageway.

Chapter Forty-three.

I counted seven ghosts.

Some drifted along the dark corridor. Others simply appeared and disappeared, popping in and out of existence. Still others approached us, curious. Most were in their fuzzy energetic state and composed of tens of thousands of shimmering particles of light. Some spirits were brighter than others, and still others were more fully formed. Most, however, were just faint blobs of light drifting down the dark pa.s.sageway.

Sherbet said, "I keep seeing movement out of the corner of my eye."

"You're catching sight of them, Detective."

"Them?"

"Spirits."

"We're still on that subject?"

"They're still here, Detective."

He aimed his flashlight down the long corridor. The light disappeared without hitting anything. A lesser man might have been scared s.h.i.tless. Sherbet only said, "Again, I don't think I needed to know that. Which way?"

The tunnel led in both directions. I followed the scent of blood and pointed to the left.

"To the left it is, then," he said, and led the way, sweeping his light before him.

The corridor was composed of dank wooden panels. I had no doubt that we were following something built a century or more ago, walled off and hidden, and used by only those with secrets to hide.

As we walked along, I slid a hand along the rough paneled walls, risking splinters. I did this not for balance, but rather to receive psychic hits. I'd discovered that energy is stored in a location-in its walls, for instance. For me, all I had to do was touch such a wall to unlock a location's memory. Weird stuff, I know, but it works.

And what I was seeing now wasn't pretty.

Men and women being forcibly dragged along this very hallway. Kicking and screaming and fighting. Horrific scenes and sounds forever recorded-embedded-within these very walls.

I shivered and, with a procession of ghosts trailing behind us, continued down the narrow corridor.

In the hallway before us, a partially materialized ghost-a fragment that looked barely humanoid-drifted toward me, unbeknownst to Sherbet.

It swept through Sherbet, who was leading the way and shivered noticeably, and headed straight for me. As it did so, it took on a little more shape and soon I could see that it was a young woman. Or had been a young woman. Like the others, there was a ma.s.sive gash along her neck.

As I attempted to step around her-stepping through just seemed a little rude-she drifted to one side and blocked my path. She raised a hand. I tried stepping around her again and again she blocked my path.

"Jesus, Sam. You dancing back there?" said Sherbet, turning and shining his flashlight over me. The light went straight through the girl and even caused some of her form to scatter like frightened fish.

"I'm being blocked by a spirit."

"Of course you are. I should have realized."

The wound in the girl's neck was ghastly. Faint but ghastly. She drifted before me, rising and falling on the supernatural currents.

I said, "She's warning us."

Sherbet was about to say something, then stopped himself. I was giving him a glimpse into my thoughts, allowing him to see what I was seeing, through my eyes. I heard him gasp a little. He backed into the wall behind him.

As the old detective was working through his issues, I reached out a hand and touched the girl's hand. A cold shiver rippled through me, followed by something akin to an electric jolt. I whispered to her, "We'll be careful, I promise."

She was weeping now, into her other hand, and as I held her ethereal hand, which glowed in mine, I closed my eyes and wished very hard for her to leave this dark place, to leave and never return. When I opened them again, she was gone.

"Jesus, Sam," said Sherbet, holding his heart. "You've got to warn a guy before you pull a stunt like that. I d.a.m.n near wet myself."

"Sorry," I said absently. "Let's go."

He led the way forward and soon we came upon the same wooden stairs I had seen in my vision.

"I guess we go down," said Sherbet.

"Would be my guess," I said.

"And away we go," he said, and led the way down.

Chapter Forty-four.

At the bottom of the stairs there was another door.

A light shone from underneath. More spirits were here. A lot more. I counted nine. Many were appearing and disappearing through the door. A few looked back at me.

"This is it," I said, whispering.