The Great Below

The Way Back

Alex might not have turned the engine off. He got out of the car with tunnel vision. He normally would have turned off the heater and the lights, set the parking brake and locked the car, even waited to make sure the dome light went off in case he'd caught his seat belt in the door. They were already one of only two cars in the parking lot of an empty motel; they didn't need to draw any more attention.

Instead he sprinted to a row of doors with tarnished numbers, ignorant of both the rain and the tiny electronic bell warning that Nick's keys were still in the ignition. There was a light in that otherwise dormant section of the building, a table lamp glowing from behind the curtain of Room 11 that dragged Alex in. There was one other clue: a stream of yellow light that looked like it was coming out of the doorknob. It wasn't. As he came closer he could see that it slanted from a thin chunk of missing door.

"Please—" Octavia's muffled voice said, through that slant.

Nick had shut down the car and jogged over to him. "Go on," he whispered. "There's only one door and we've covered it."

"It has more than one bolt."

"Great," Nick replied. "We're more than one guy."

They backed up, Alex retrieving the Beretta from under his arm as Nick reached for his Walther PP. He distantly became aware of the shock of icy rain on his hair and the back of his neck. His senses were lagging. Both men lowered their shoulders and crashed through the door, water splashing up around each footfall and soaking through their socks. There was a delirious moment of adrenaline – like he could have kept running straight through the next wall, and more – and then he had to race to aim his weapon.

A figure turned, but it wasn't the first thing Alex noticed. The figure only made way for Octavia, hanging with her hands pinned far over her head, a long streak of paint against a yellowing wall. She was starkly nude, but not sexual. A statue of helplessness. Victor had cut her, and from her chin to her knees she was smeared with fresh blood.

"Drop it," Nick commanded.

Alex was grateful for Nick in a time when he could do what Alex could not. He had not been able to take his eyes off her, though he wanted to. He desperately wanted to. Nick moved in, nearly putting the muzzle of his Walther in Victor's face. Victor dropped the scalpel to the nearby coverlet.

"Jesus," Alex said. "Oh, Jesus."

"Is there a first aid kit in your car?" Nick asked. He might have sensed Alex buckling, but he didn't turn, instead focusing on Victor while lifting the scalpel, sliding the handle into his back pocket. "Go on, I've got this."

"I...I need the key," Alex said.

Nick nudged at Victor, who released Octavia and slowly dug in his pants pocket for the key. Nick snatched and underhanded it to Alex.

He was relieved to step back out into the rain. The scene in that room had nearly crushed him. Alex ran to the car taking great, wet breaths of winter air and berating himself for not being more in control. Once he got to the glove compartment and had the first aid kit in his hand, he made sure to lock the car and even looked around to see if anyone was approaching to check out the noise.

Victor didn't kill her. He didn't kill her. And by the time he ran back, he was feeling marginally better.

Victor had been forced to kneel on the floor next to the bed as Nick attached cable ties to his wrists and ankles, chaining them so that Victor could only take short steps. Octavia held the Walther, eyes glazing over as she pointed it at Victor's back.

"Here," Alex said. "I can clean her up in the bathroom."

Nick straightened, quietly thanking Octavia and taking his gun back. "Hurry," he said.