Page 24 of Girl, Deceived

The man scratched his cheek. ‘Mark?’

‘The clown with a baseball bat.’

‘Oh, you mean Trixter. He might be here. Why?’

‘Confidential,’ Ella said, ‘but if you could point us to his wing of this mansion, we’d be grateful.’

‘Trix works in Extreme Blackout, but maybe I should tell the owner before I let you in. What’s this about?’

‘You don’t need to know,’ Ripley said. ‘Where is this…’

‘Is about the allegations?’ the vampire asked. ‘Because they’re not true.’

Ella’s ears perked up. ‘Allegations?’

The man’s expression quickly adjusted. ‘Nothing. Rumors, that’s all. Blackout is through that door, across the cemetery. It’s the big tunnel.’

Ella noted the sudden change of subject. She didn’t trust this man one bit.

‘Thanks. And Mark’s – sorry, Trixter’s definitely here?’

‘I don’t know. He sometimes comes in early to set up. I should alert the boss, give me five…’

Ella didn't give him a chance to finish. She was out through the rusty iron door, leaving the sketchy vampire behind. Mia followed suit, and the two agents briskly made their way through the tunnel. At the end, a faint light appeared, and on the other side, Ella found herself staring at a vast, lifelike cemetery.

The ground was uneven, with small hills and dips that added to the realism. The tombstones were weathered, some cracked and others covered in moss. Ella imagined that during operational hours, this place would be crawling with actors dressed as the undead, lurking in the fog and popping out from behind gravestones to scare visitors. They maneuvered between the graves, passing by mausoleums with gargoyles perched on top, their stone eyes seeming to watch every move. Eerie statues of mourners were frozen in grief, their cloaks billowing in an imaginary wind. Ella felt an odd admiration for the detailed design.

Ahead, the silhouette of the tunnel entrance came into view, its gaping mouth appearing as an abyss from this distance. But before they could approach, Ella's sharp gaze caught a figure moving near the tunnel.

A long-haired man, dreadlocks tied back into a bun. He was wheeling barrels that seemed to be filled with liquid.

As they got closer, Ella recognized him. Even without the bright, exaggerated clown makeup, the features were unmistakable. It was Mark Brewer.

‘Ripley, that’s him.’

She motioned for Ripley to hold back, her eyes never leaving Brewer. He seemed engrossed in his task, oblivious to their approach. She noted his attire: a dirty jumpsuit with stains of what looked like paint.

Drawing closer, Ella could hear the soft sloshing sound from the barrels. Ella's heart raced, a million thoughts running through her head. With a quick hand signal, Ella indicated for Ripley to circle around and cut off any potential escape route. Ripley nodded, hanging back, out of sight. Guilty people tended to flee.

As Ella crept closer, her every sense heightened. She could smell the dampness of the earth, feel the subtle vibrations of the ground with every footstep, and taste the metallic tinge of adrenaline on her lips. Brewer stopped wheeling the barrels for a moment, pausing to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Ella used this moment to her advantage, closing the gap between them further.

‘Mark Brewer?’ she asked.

Brewer's body went rigid, every muscle in his back tensing. He turned to face his accuser.

‘Yes?’ he asked. His voice was deep and rough, a Californian accent hidden in there somewhere.

‘I’m with the FBI. Is there somewhere we could talk?’

‘Talk?’ Mark asked. ‘About what?’

‘You tell me.’ Ella kept it vague. It was best to reveal as little as possible and let persons of interest incriminate themselves when possible.

‘Everything here is above board. We tell the cops this every week, but you never listen. If you’ve got problems, take it up with the boss.’ Mark wiped his nose with his forearm, a face trying to mask its nervousness with a semblance of composure. His eyes darted, assessing the situation, likely looking for a way out.

‘I don’t know or care about what goes on here. I’m more concerned about the two women that fell into my lap this morning.’

‘Women?’ Brewer's voice trembled ever so slightly, ‘I don't know what you're talking about.’

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