“They killed my mother.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I knew she didn’t take her own life.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll make them answer for all of it. Lily, your mother, and Melissa if we can reach her in time.”
Vivienne nodded, channeling grief into determination. “The secondary location. Where?”
“Somewhere connected to the tunnels but separate from here.” Brooks studied the map Chief Sullivan had provided. “There—the hidden cove. Only other access point marked.”
“Then that’s where we go. But first we find the entrance.”
Brooks nodded toward the small building adjacent to the tower. “If there’s a basement entrance, it’ll be inside.”
They waited until the Aldriches’ footsteps faded, then approached cautiously. The cottage door stood unlocked. Arrogance or haste would be the Aldriches undoing. Inside, it was sparse and musty. Brooks went to the door across the space.Vivienne was about to tell him it was nothing but a closet until he moved some boxes aside and showed her a staircase.
“We can thank Mathilde for her excellent architectural skills.”
Vivienne would be sure to do that.
They descended into darkness. Temperature dropping with each step. The basement extended beneath both tower and cottage. The main chamber housed original cisterns and fuel storage.
“According to Lily’s diagram, the entrance should be on the eastern wall. Behind that storage rack.”
Vivienne noticed recent scuff marks. Someone had dragged something heavy recently.
Together they shifted the rack, revealing stonework identical to the surrounding wall. But Vivienne saw differences in the mortar lines. One stone—third from the corner, exactly as Lily had documented—bore a small depression.
She placed her finger in it. The stone felt warmer, with an imperceptible vibration. She pressed gently. A distinct click. The stone rotated clockwise, revealing a disguised handle.
With a low grinding sound, a section of wall pivoted inward, revealing a dark passage. Cool air flowed out, carrying the scent of sea and damp stone.
Brooks illuminated the opening with his flashlight. The tunnel descended toward the ocean. Water glistened on the walls—tide already rising.
As they prepared to enter, pressure built at the base of her skull—precursor to a vision. “I need a moment.” Vivienne pressed her palm against cool stone. “My senses are responding.”
Brooks turned back, concern replacing detachment. “What’s happening?”
“Sometimes in places where traumatic events occurred, I receive visions.”
She closed her eyes as the first images formed.
The vision engulfed her.
The tunnel, lit by handheld lanterns. A girl running, breath coming in terrified gasps, clutching a camera. Lily Morgan, dark hair streaming as she fled deeper into the passage.
Pursuing footsteps echoed on stone. A male voice: “Lily, please stop. You don’t understand what you’ve discovered.”
A younger Winston Aldrich.
Then pain as something struck from behind. The camera clattered. A body dragged toward water as tide rose.
Vivienne gasped as the vision released her. She leaned against the wall, Brooks’s hand on her arm.
“Lily Morgan was here.”
Brooks studied her face. “You saw this?”
“Yes. The past leaves impressions. Some people can read them.”
He didn’t dismiss her claim. “Did you see who killed her?”
