The Bloodline of Boston and the Secrets Hidden Beneath Sullivan Diner
I ran.
I bolted down the corridor, the darkness swallowing me again as I left the flashlight behind.
I could hear him cursing and scrambling in the mud behind me, trying to find his weapon.
“Stop!” he screamed.
I didn’t stop.
The tunnel began to slope upward, the air turning colder and fresher.
I could smell the rain again, clean and sharp.
Ahead, a rusted iron gate blocked the end of the passage.
Through the bars, I could see the dark outline of the trees and the gray, rain-swept sky.
I reached the gate and grabbed the cold iron bars, shaking them.
They didn’t budge.
A heavy padlock held the chain in place.
I gasped for air, my chest heaving as I looked back down the dark tunnel.
I could hear the squelch of boots returning to a run.
He was coming.
I looked at the padlock, then down at my hands.
I still had the brass key from the diner clutched in my fist.
I didn’t know if it would fit, but I had no other choice.
With shaking fingers, I pressed the key into the padlock’s keyhole.