The Catacombs (A Psychological Suspense Horror Thriller Novel) Read Online Free PDF

tune.”
    I continued searching for Danièle, and after
five minutes without success, I was about to give up and leave when
I spotted a staircase that descended to a basement level. I went
down a set of steep, narrow steps that emerged in an expansive area
styled similar to the first floor, only the walls were brick
instead of paneled wood and there were no windows. I immediately
spotted Danièle and Pascal and a third guy off by themselves, at a
corner table.
    “Will!” Danièle said, springing to her feet
when she saw me approach. We did the air kiss thing, then she
turned to the others to make introductions. “You remember
Pascal?”
    “Hey,” I said, sticking out my hand.
    Pascal shook, but didn’t stand. He was a
handsome guy, dark-complected, with thick eyebrows, brooding eyes,
and long brown hair. He had gone chic-bum with a wrinkled linen
T-shirt and a tweed jacket with brown elbow patches. The tee was
wide-necked and showed off too much hairless chest which a loosely
knotted scarf failed to conceal. It was the kind of overthought
getup you saw aged rock stars don to prove they still had their
thumb on the pulse of the times. He was wearing the same black
wool-knit cap he had on at Danièle’s birthday party.
    “And Will,” Danièle said, “this is
Robert.”
    “Just Rob, boss,” Rob told me, standing and
shaking. He was a short bulldog-looking guy whose body was not only
compact but tightly muscular, like a college wrestler’s. He had a
spray of freckles that hadn’t faded over time as mothers always
promised would, lively gray eyes, and a balding crown shaved close
to the scalp. I guessed he was the oldest in our motley crew, maybe
thirty.
    “You’re American?” I said. Pascal’s silent
greeting had made me feel unwelcome, and it was nice to know I
wasn’t the only outsider.
    “Nah, Canadian, but what the fuck,
right?”
    “We have just ordered,” Danièle told me.
“But do not worry. There is enough for you.”
    “I’m not hungry,” I said.
    “You should still eat. You will not get
another chance until morning.”
    “I brought some snacks.”
    “Okay, Will, do not eat, but sit down.”
    I took a seat beside her, across from Rob
and Pascal.
    “So Danny says you’re a travel writer or
something?” Rob said. He had a husky voice, as if his throat were
corroded with rust. “How you like the frogs?”
    “Why do you say that, Rob?” Danièle
demanded. “We are not frogs. Where did that come from? I never
understand that.”
    “You eat frog legs, don’t you?”
    “Maybe I should call you ‘rosbif?’”
    “Ross what?”
    “Roast beef?” I offered.
    Danièle nodded. “Yes, because you Canadians
and Americans eat so much red meat—and you are all so fat, like
cows.”
    This cracked Rob up. He jumped to his feet
and crouched-walked around the table, carrying in his hands an
invisible belly, which he began thrusting at Danièle from behind.
The action resembled a stubby stripper grinding a pole.
    “Get away!” Danièle said, swatting him. “You
are so gross. Stop it!”
    Still laughing, Rob sat back down. “Fucking
French,” he said. “Can’t take a joke. Got assholes so tight they
squeak when they fart.”
    “Where’re you from?” I asked him.
    “Quebec City.”
    “The French-speaking part?”
    “Quebec’s a province, bro. Quebec City’s a
small city in that province. But, yeah, the French-speaking part.
Moved to Toronto when I was ten. Actually, moved to Mississauga.
But nobody knows where the fuck that is, so I just say
Toronto.”
    “What are you doing over here?”
    “I’m a translator, sort of. I do the
subtitles for movies.”
    “Hollywood stuff?”
    “Other way around. I translate French films
to English. You’ve probably never seen any of the ones I’ve
done—because French films suck.”
    “They do not suck,” Danièle said.
    “If you like pretentious art house
crap.”
    “Pascal, why did you invite Rosbif? He is so
annoying sometimes. Did you