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

forget we have to spend nearly ten
hours with him?”
    Pascal said something in French, paused,
then added something more, making a curlicue gesture with his hand.
Rob nodded and shot back a reply.
    “Do you speak English?” I asked Pascal.
    He leveled his gaze at me. “Do you speak
French?”
    Mr. Mullet appeared with a huge tray of
food. We had to clear the condiments from the center of the table
so everything could fit: oysters, soufflé, pork belly, garlic
sausage, and a platter of cheese.
    While everyone ate, and I nibbled, Danièle
said, “So this is the plan, Will. We will arrive at the entrance to
the catacombs around ten o’clock. We will continued for four hours,
then rest for one. Then it is another two hours or so to the spot
where the camera was found.” She consulted Pascal. “Is that
right?”
    He nodded without looking up from his
food.
    “Which means we finish around 7 a.m.,” she
added. “Still enough time to get to work.”
    I was surprised. “Work?”
    “You must work tomorrow, yes?”
    “I figured I’d write the day off.”
    “Then you do not need to worry.”
    “You’re working tomorrow?”
    “Of course. But I do not start until
nine.”
    “Lucky you,” Rob said, sawing a piece of
pork. “I start at eight.”
    I did Danièle’s math in my head. “If we
start at ten, walk for four hours, rest for one, walk for another
two, that’s seven hours in total. That will take us to five in the
morning. Seven hours back, it won’t be noon until we
resurface.”
    “No, Will,” Danièle said. “Pascal knows a
different exit close to where we will rest. We will leave that
way.”
    I looked at her, wondering if I had to state
the obvious. Apparently I did, and said, “Why don’t we just enter
through that exit?”
    “Because that is not what we do,” she
stated. “The catacombs, it is an experience, every time, even for
Pascal and me. It is not something to rush through. You and Robert
will see. You will understand.”
     

Chapter 4
ROB
    Rob Stratton cast another passing glance
across the table at Danièle’s friend Will, trying to get a read on
him. He wasn’t your typical American expat, not loud, not wanting
to be the center of attention. Not all American expats were like
that, of course; they ran the spectrum like expats from any
nationality did. But Yanks could be loud. Yanks, then Aussies, then
Spaniards—especially the senoritas. That’s how he’d rank them all
on the loud meter. The worst of the lot weren’t only loud but
didn’t adapt. They brought their native country with them wherever
they went.
    Rob was thinking about a friend of a friend
in particular, a Texan in the import-export business who’d made a
fortune selling Chinese junk to the French bourgeoisie. He didn’t
wear a cowboy hat around, that would have made him the
laughing-stock of Paris, but he did wear these fancy-ass
pointed-toe cowhide boots. You could hear the Cuban heels
click-clack across the cobblestone streets from a block away. And
if this fashion faux pas wasn’t bad enough, the sad fuck shouted
everything he said. “Y’all” this and “I’m fixin’ tuh” that. It made
you want to smack him one.
    Anyway, generalizations aside, Rob wanted to
like Will, he was trying to, but it was tough, knowing how much
angst—albeit unintentional—his presence was causing poor Pascal,
who’d held a flame for Danny for as long as Rob had known him.
    If Rob were Pascal, he probably would have
popped Will one right in the kisser by now. But Pascal was a lover,
a romantic, whatever you called dudes with more heart than
testosterone. He didn’t have it in him to hurt a fly.
    When Pascal rang Rob two days ago, and
explained the pathetic situation, he had been trying to act blasé
about the whole deal, but it was obvious he was crushed. Initially
Rob declined his invitation to come along; he knew Pascal was only
asking because he didn’t want to be the third wheel at his own
party; also, the wife had