CHAPTER 18 ~ DISCOVERED

The subway brakes squealed, slowing the train approaching the station. The transit officer on patrol walked the length of the train, watching for trouble. In one car, he tapped his nightstick against the soles of a man’s cowboy boots. The man, stretched out dozing on the bench seat and covered in newspapers, rolled over, but did not fully rouse until the train stopped. The officer passed the dozing man, then grabbed a hand pole while the train jerked to a stop at the platform. He smiled at an elderly gentleman seated near the pole. Once the train stopped, he continued his rounds into the next car.

When the doors slid open, the dozing man rose, exiting, and the voice of a young thug on the platform floated into the car, addressing a young lady awaiting the train.

 “Hey, Baby, that’s a real nice dress,” the thug jeered.

“Stop bothering me!” the lady demanded. She evaded him, stepping into the car, and sat on the other side of the doors from the elderly gentleman.

The gentleman frowned, worried, watching as the thug boarded the train, his gaze drifting around the nearly empty car in feigned nonchalance, approaching the bench the lady occupied.

“Okay,” the thug said, dropping into the seat right beside her.

“Leave me alone!” she insisted, scooting away from him.

He stared at her, mouth open and head cocked in disbelief, then exclaimed, “C’mon, Baby. Don’t be so mean to me!”

She stood to change seats.

He grinned, crying out, “Whoa!” and grabbing her around the waist, pulling her into his lap. “Gimme a kiss, Sweetie!” He stretched his face towards hers. “C’mon.” He held her tight, laughing as she struggled to flee him.

“Don’t touch me! Let me go!” She wriggled free, slapping his face as she rose, then hurried toward the door at the end of the car.

Her slap drove the smile from his face. He touched his cheek, glaring at her.

The man watched the boy rush the lady, pinning her against the door between cars, blocking the handle of the door with his body, trapping her.

“No!” she shouted as he spun her to face him.

“You hurt me,” he complained, holding her tight.

“Please,” she pleaded, fighting his grip and his roaming hands. “Please let me go! Please!”

“You let her be!” barked the elder.

“You keep out of this, Grandpa, if you know what’s good for you!” he yelled back, scowling at him.

“There’s a police officer on this train!” he threatened.

“Yeah, I’m scared!” bellowed the thug, wrapping his arms tight around the lady, leaning hard against her. He looked back at her, snarling, “Okay, Baby, let’s have some fun!” He kept her pinned against the door, his hands running over her. “Come on! Hold still!” he demanded, ignoring her terrorized cries and struggles against him.

The gentleman stood, heading for the door the officer had used at the other end of the car.

“No! Please don’t leave me!” the lady screamed at him. “Help me! Please don’t leave me!”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, stopping to look at her. “I’m going to get the police officer. I’m going to get him!” Then he continued to the door.

“No!” shrieked the lady. “Don’t leave me! Please help me!”

The thug ignored her resistance, his comments implying she should be enjoying his assault.

“Stop!” she cried, shoving futilely against him.

The door between cars opened as the gentleman reached them; startled, he watched the subway slasher shove past him, pushing him into the next car, then hurried to find the transit officer.

The slasher strode through the car toward the two people fighting near the other doors.

“What is your problem?” the thug demanded as the lady fought him.

The slasher grabbed the thug’s long, curly hair, yanking him away from the lady, and raked his claws down the boy’s neck and chest.

The transit officer entered the car, seeing the slasher spin the thug to face him, then secured the door, pulled his gun from its holster, and approached the others.

“All right,” he yelled, raising his weapon, “hold it right there!”

The slasher looked at the officer, dropping the thug to the floor. In one quick move, he stepped toward the officer, backhanding him hard enough to knock him over, forcing the gun from his hand. The slasher grabbed hand loops hanging from the ceiling; pulling himself up, he planted one foot on the bench seat, kicking a window out of the car with his other foot. The officer rose, grabbing the slasher to pull him down. The slasher leaned into the officer, pushing him off balance until he fell over backwards onto a bench, then raised his claws, slicing down the officer’s chest, just as he had the thug’s.

“No!” screamed the lady as the officer cried out in pain.

The officer fell to the floor. The slasher hoisted himself through the open window and off the train. Glancing back at the train, the slasher watched it rumble away, then ran to a round portal in the tunnel wall, touching a hidden switch. When the metal plate covering the portal slid open, the slasher escaped through the hidden door, closing it from the other side.

The slasher did not see a girl, about ten years old, emerge from the shadows, creeping close to peer through his door as it closed. The girl ran into the basement of a nearby building, picked up a loose chunk of brick, and tapped on the pipes that ran from the floor through the ceiling. The sound echoed through the silent tunnels along the still pipes and into the pipe chamber.

* * *

On a normal day, the numerous pipes of multiple sizes, running through the empty space and along the walls of the huge cavern, rang with messages from all over the tunnel system. Tonight, the threat of the vigilante running loose kept the pipes quiet.

Pascal stood on a wide shelf along the wall just inside the main entry of the pipe chamber, holding his ever-present steel rods, watching over the pipes, awaiting incoming messages. He knew the pipes better than anyone below; where they started, where they ended, their distinct tones. His father had trained him for this role from boyhood, and Pascal loved his work.

“Any word yet?” Winslow asked Pascal, approaching him, accompanied by a preteen boy.

“Not yet,” Pascal replied, still eyeing the pipes. “There’s no telling how long this will take.”

Winslow looked out at the pipes for a moment, then remarked, “It always seems so strange when they’re quiet. Like something’s missing.”

Pascal smiled, nodding, then stilled. A sound echoed, the tink of a struck pipe, followed by several more – a message coming through.

“There!” Pascal said quietly. “Do you hear it?”

“Yes,” agreed Winslow, taking a step toward the pipes. “Did you catch the message?”

Pascal listened to the rhythmic sound for a long moment.

“It’s Lana,” Pascal said, glancing at Winslow. “She saw the vigilante and where he enters the subways.”

“Lana!” exclaimed Winslow. “What’s she doing up there?!”

“Taking a message to a helper,” Pascal told him.

“Well, get her out of there!” Winslow commanded. “Tell her to come home, to meet us in the library.” As Pascal used his metal rods to tap out a return message to Lana, Winslow turned to the boy at his side. “Mikey, run to Father. Tell him Lana saw the vigilante.”

Mikey gave a short, sharp nod, then ran off.

* * *

Jace entered his office at Protectors headquarters through the secret door from the old, unused subway tunnel. Usually, Red and Suki would be waiting for him, but right now Suki sat alone in his office, reading a magazine, since he had assigned Red to trail the increasingly nosy Catherine Chandler. He knew that part of the agitation showing on his face stemmed from the problems that woman might cause them. He forced himself to relax, adopting a calm expression.

Suki looked up as he came in, asking, “How was your night?”

Jace leaned back against the front of his desk, replying, “The Slasher took care of some business needed handling again.” Then he smirked. “Or so I heard. Have you heard from Red?”

“He called about ten minutes ago from a payphone not far from Ms. Chandler’s apartment building. Told me where he was watching her from and said she was home and appeared settled for the night, but he’d keep watch over her front door all night if you want him to, provided you let me trail her tomorrow.”

“He doesn’t need to do that. Go let him know that as soon as she’s down for the night, he can go home. We’ll regroup in the morning.”

Suki nodded, saying, “Good night, Jace,” then departed.

Jace walked to the window overlooking the gym, watching Suki leave, wondering what he would do about Catherine Chandler getting too close.

* * *

Father sat at his desk in his chamber, a fountain pen in hand and reading glasses perched on his nose, his focus on what he was writing on the paper before him. He did not even look up when Mikey barreled into the room.

“Father,” Mikey cried out before he cleared the entrance to the chamber. Then he ran to Father’s side, declaring, “Lana saw him!”

Father snapped his gaze to Mikey, quickly commanding, “Go and find Vincent. I’ll get Lana to show him where.” He tucked his glasses away and tossed his pen on the desk, rushing Mikey off. “Now go, quick! Quickly! There’s no time to lose!”

“Is he still in the kitchen?” Mikey asked, backing toward the door.

“I believe so. Hurry, Mikey!”

He ran as fast as he could to the kitchen, where Vincent and the others were just finishing the cleaning.

“Slow down, Mikey,” Vincent bade, grasping the boy’s shoulders as he charged into the chamber, to prevent Mikey from skidding into his legs. “What’s the rush?”

“Father says for you to come quick. Lana saw the vigilante and knows how he’s accessing the subways.”

“What are you waiting for?” posed William. “We can handle these last few things.”

“Mikey, stay and help finish up, please, since I am called away,” Vincent requested.

“Sure thing, Vincent.”

As Vincent walked to the library, he tried to stifle the disappointment he felt in knowing that his visit to Catherine would need to be postponed. His inner self insisted that he needed to see her, restore their relationship without delay. He soothed his inner self with the hope that when he did see her, he would be able to give her the information she needed to put an end to the vigilante’s activities, which could only help them regain their familiar footing.

He arrived in the library to find Father and Pascal standing near Father’s desk.

“Ah, Vincent, good,” Father remarked. “Mikey told you?”

“Yes. Has Lana returned yet?”

“Pascal came to tell me that Winslow went to get her and make sure she got home safely. They should be here shortly.”

“I left Michael watching the pipes so I can hear what Lana says and send an appropriate message out for everyone,” Pascal explained.

“Good idea,” Vincent concurred.

The three men settled into chairs circling a round table to wait; an uneasy silence descended on them. Before long, Lana entered the room holding Winslow’s hand. Both took chairs at the table.

“Are you all right, Lana?” asked Father, his eyes skimming her in search of injury.

“Yes, Father. He never saw me.”

“Good, good,” he acknowledged, then asked, “Now you’re certain it was the vigilante?”

“Yes, Father.” Lana nodded, her hands raising to accentuate her response. “I saw his mask. It was like some kind of… weird… cat-thing. I also saw his gloves, hairy with four claws on each hand. He wore a black cloak with the hood up. Who else would look like that? Also, he was running and kept looking behind him like he was afraid someone was following him, or someone would see him.” She looked at Vincent, adding, “I can show you where his door is.”

“Lana, this vigilante is a dangerous man,” Winslow asserted. “Do you want to just tell us where the door is?”

“I’m not scared,” she replied. Then she grinned, as if he had forgotten something, and reached toward Vincent, declaring, “I’ll be safe with Vincent.”

Vincent smiled at her and took her hand, then stood up as he said, “Very well. Lead on.”

“Wait!” exclaimed Pascal as the nearby pipes began echoing with rapid tapping. He listened for a moment, then gasped. “Oh, no. The vigilante struck a police officer who tried to apprehend him after he attacked someone. Old Sam saw the aftermath when the subway reached its next stop.”

The men exchanged grave looks.

Vincent turned to Winslow, posing, “Perhaps you should come with Lana and me.”

Winslow nodded once, saying, “Yes. Let’s go.”

* * *

“So,” Vincent looked at Lana as she led them through the tunnels, her hand still holding his, “his mask was like ‘some kind of weird cat-thing’? Something like me?”

“No,” Lana declared with a sharp shake of her head, chuffing half a laugh. She looked up at Vincent, clarifying, “I mean… his mask didn’t even look real. It looked… phony. But you’re…” she gave a shy smile and turned her head away, “you’re… handsome.” She looked back at Vincent, all shyness gone, and continued, “He reminded me of a Halloween costume.”

“I see.” Vincent tried to stifle a smile.

Winslow smirked at Vincent.

When they reached the tunnel section holding the slasher’s hidden door, Lana slowed, creeping along close to the wall.

“It’s right up here,” she murmured. Several steps later, she stopped, pointing. “There. That’s where he went out.”

“Thank you, Lana.” Vincent studied the door for a moment, then looked at Winslow. “Will you take Lana home, please?” When Lana’s grip on his hand tightened, he squatted in front of her. “Winslow will make sure you get home safely.”

“Are you going to tell Catherine now?” Winslow asked.

“Not just yet.” Vincent stood, meeting his gaze. “I want to see if he makes another appearance. If he does, I’ll follow him; see if he has any other doors.”

“I’ll let Father know.” Winslow looked at Lana. “Wait for me over there, please.” He pointed to a spot nearby. “I need to talk to Vincent for a minute. Privately.”

Lana nodded uncertainly and went to where Winslow indicated.

“So,” Winslow looked at Vincent, smirking again, then added, “Handsome.”

Vincent huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head.

Winslow lost all humor, asking seriously, “So, if you… encounter this guy…”

“If I encounter the vigilante, I’ll make sure he gets to the proper authorities, in such a state that he can face justice for his crimes.”

“Even if he looks like he fell on his own claws?”

Vincent merely raised his eyebrows at Winslow.

“I guess the good thing, if that happens, is that no one will believe him if he claims he saw a monster, because he’s been acting like one. He’s given you deniability.” Winslow smiled wryly. “You be careful, Vincent.” He went to Lana, holding out his hand. “C’mon, girl. Let’s get home.”

Lana waved to Vincent, then took Winslow’s hand. Vincent watched them go, then found a place to hide and keep an eye on the slasher’s door.

When the slasher did not appear again after a few hours, Vincent crept close, listening for any sound from the other side, then found the mechanism that opened the door. He moved silently into the corridor on the other side and looked around. He had lived below all his life; he knew these tunnels, and where they were in the city. He went back to the subway, awaiting the slasher.