The Basement
Jane called down after Vincent, but there was no response. The fall obviously had taken its toll on him, but Jane couldn’t only barely make out his figure in the inky black of the windowless basement. Slipping back along the wall, she heard Rachel and St. John hammering and blasting their way into the house through the front door, and through the mud room.
Still calling out to Vincent and getting no answer, the group decided that Rachel would run for help while St. John and Jane attempted to recover Vincent from the basement. The lawyer and the dilettante, remembering that Vittario had suffered his first of a long series of injuries on the staircase to the basement, attempted to pick their way down the stairs, but both fell, with Jane suffering the worst of the injuries from the tumble. Dusting themselves off, and opening up the door at the landing at the bottom of the stairs, they found a workshop, filled with an assortment of broken tools and cast off projects. Still listening for Vincent, yet hearing nothing, they realize that the boards on the opposite wall are hiding a much larger room behind it, and they begin frantically tearing at them to get to their friend.
Meanwhile, Rachel, while attempting to find help runs across Dr. Ostergaard, who had patched her up a few days prior, running toward the house. He explained that he heard shots, and was hoping to be of some assistance. Rachel, relieved to find someone so quickly, led him back to the house and into the front door. But as soon as they stepped onto the premise, the doctor grabbed her from behind in a crushing bear hug. Rachel screamed, hoping her friends could hear her, but as intent as they were on reaching Vincent, they couldn’t hear her. Dr. Ostergaard, irritated by the resistance, brought a long serpentine dagger to her throat, growling, “Do that again, and I will kill you.”
Vincent, fallen among rubble, awakes to the sensation of bites and realizes that he is covered in rats gnawing at him. Standing and shaking them off, he tries to orient himself, but groggily staggers about instead. Looking up to the collapsed ceiling above him, and judging from the hallway above he figured the stairwell must be to his left or his right, and as he made this conclusion, realizes that there is a tapping sound in the room.
St. John’s arms were elbow deep in the opening he had been prying out of the planked wall separating him and Vincent when he felt the rush of tiny feet scampering up his arms, unable to shake them in time, the nest of rats he disturbed took chunks of his cheeks with them as they stormed through him and up the staircase. This left a large enough opening for St. John to squeeze through to get into the darkened room beyond, and hearing Vincent’s sudden profanities, pushed forward to get to him quickly. As the rats rushed past, Jane stepped back out of their way, and suddenly noticed that a knife had begun to lift from the workbench across the room and turn towards her. Despite being horrified by the impossible act, Jane was able to dodge away in time, and the knife lodged itself into the wall beside her vibrating violently. Looking around for something to hammer the knife deeper into the wall with, she found a garbage can lid, and placed it over the top of the knife to hold it still.
Rachel, afraid to call out for her friends again, was being dragged like a doll up the staircase to the bedroom level of the house. Trying to buy herself time she tried to calm Dr. Ostergaard and to get an understanding of why he was doing this to her. Begging him to explain it, and playing on his sympathy, he grunted a brief answer.
“Because the Chapel takes care of its own.”
He continued to drag her down the hall toward the last room on the left, but he was, however, beginning to get winded.
Vincent, in the darkened room saw that the tapping was coming from the hand of a figure laying on a stone table. The impatient tapping was followed by a low wheezing chuckle. When St. John entered the room, the figure sat up and turned to the two. It was dessicated and leathered, but it was obviously a man. His eyes were bright yellow and red, like a campfire burned low. The men both knew it was Corbitt. He hadn’t died. At least, not his body.
“Company. Finally,” the voice rasped.
Vincent and St. John immediately having lifted their firearms, began to open up with their shotgun and rifle respectively, catching the figure unprepared, and tearing off hardened stone-like flakes of the human shape. The chunks rattled from him and around the room as he took the barrage. The figure, enraged, rushed Vincent. Vincent dodged just in time, and, dropping the shells he had been attempting to reload with, whirled his shotgun at its head, cracking it with all his strength. The head lolled back like it’s neck had become completely loose, and the figure swiped at Vincent again, missing him. Jane had at this point left the knife in the wall and had slipped her way through the opening that St. John had torn down, and seeing the fight at full steam got a good aim at the figure with the glowing eyes.
Rachel had been dragged to the end of the upstairs hall when Ostergaard’s grip slipped momentarily. With her right arm free, Rachel pulled her .38 revolver, and fired backwards and down at Ostergaard, blowing his pinkie-toe to pinkie-toe-hell. Leaping and gasping, he brought down his dagger at Rachel, slashing her down her arm. Rachel fired again, and struck him on his side, stunning him. Hopped up on adrenaline, Rachel fired wildly twice more before Ostergaard recovered from his shock and lashed out at her again, but she evaded him and fired two last times. The first shot passed over his head, and the second obliterated it entirely.
In the basement, Jane fired off a few rounds, but in the gloom couldn’t tell if she had hit anything, or if she had, it didn’t seem to have had much effect. While reloading her gun, she heard behind her a familiar whistling, and again sprang to the side just in time for the ghostly knife to carve through the air past her. Hovering in mid air, it froze in place , and appeared to do nothing else. Meanwhile, Vincent attempted to kick the flailing figure to the ground, but only tapped it hard enough to get its attention. Turning and lunging at Vincent again, the figure missed, and Vincent brought down his gun on its head, sending it crashing to the ground. St. John rushed forward to fire at it as it lay there, but in the dark and confused mess of rubble missed his mark. The creature rolled to a crouch, and swiped at St. John’s legs, tearing the calf of his right leg to shreds. Crying out and stumbling back, St. John was aghast. Despite the piercing pain, St. John could also feel a terrible burning spread like lightning from the leg and up into his chest. The creature, crouching like a gargoyle, caught Vincent’s eyes for a moment with his own. Gunshots continued to ring out and bodies stumbled in the darkness, and unknown to his friends, Vincent slowly dropped his gun and took the knife from the air.
Rachel, upstairs had blood pouring down her arm, and stared in shock at the mess that had been inside Ostergaard’s head only a moment before dripping from the wall. Hearing another gunshot is what brought her back from her stupor, and she realized that she had been hearing blasts coming from somewhere in the house for quite some time. Rushing downstairs, the house became quiet again. She shouted for her friends by name, but hearing no specific response decided not to wait any longer for her body to bleed out. Running outside and down the street, she began looking for the first opportunity to call the police, assuming that her friends had also been attacked by maniacs with knives.
Jane continued to blast at the figure in the rubble, slowly clipping away at the frame, pushing it backwards. Vincent, holding the previously levitating knife, attempted to plunge it into his own neck, but had no strength behind his hands and he only managed to lightly cut himself. Jane, horrified, looked on, but continued to reload her shotgun, determined to keep the monster in the shadows at bay. St. John, meanwhile, staggered and losing blood rapidly from his leg, fell to the ground, losing consciousness. The creature, smelling the blood lept atop St. John and tore savagely at his chest, tearing his ribcage wide open, blood spurting from between its claws. Taking wads of flesh from St. John’s throat, the creature hungrily crammed the chunks down his own. St. John’s legs had been shaking wildly, but now lay still. Vincent again attempted to push the knife into the base of his throat, but had no strength at all, as he found the will to harm himself ebb from him. Jane finished loading her shotgun, and rushed forward to help St. John, clinging to hope that he could be saved. The creature, distracted by the kill and the taste, didn’t even look up as she unloaded both barrels into its body. As its body flew to pieces through the air, what used to be limbs and organs disintegrated into dust and the creature was gone. The pieces that had been Corbitt’s glowing eyes rolled to a rest as softly glowing red gems. Vincent and Jane quickly inspected St. John, but even without looking for a pulse they know he’s gone. He was opened from chin to navel, his organs made a red mud of the dirt on the basement floor. The two friends grabbed what few things were left behind by Corbitt. Jane quickly grabbed the two gems, and they absorbed into her skin and vanished. She felt a change in herself, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Quickly looking over the house, trying to find Rachel, they see the body at the end of the hall, but with the face blown off by gunfire they have no idea who it could be. Regardless, not seeing Rachel, the two decided this would not reflect well on them, and begin sneaking their way down alleyways to avoid the sirens they hear approaching.
Rachel, having heard the sirens but not knowing their destination, ducked into a department store and told them she needed the authorities, explaining that she had been attacked. The police soon arrived, and after asking her some preliminary questions, decided she needed to be taken into custody.
Weeks later, after Franklin Francis had been questioned about his involvement in his lawyer’s death, he recalled there was a man named Vincent that spoke with him on the phone that seemed a bit unstable. As Rachel was awaiting trail for the murder of Dr. Ostergaard and St. John, a manhunt began to find the man named Vincent Adams and his paramour, “Lady” Jane Simpson.