The scent of blood was nearly overwhelming.

So much blood.

Sherbet and I had the same thought simultaneously: to scan the room beyond. So I did so, and saw that it was empty of anything living. I reported my findings to Sherbet.

He nodded and pointed at the doorknob. "Any chance this lock is broken as well?"

I reached for the doorknob and a moment later dropped the twisted metal to the floor. "I would say a good chance."

He shook his head. "I'm just glad you're on our side. C'mon."

He eased the door open, which promptly groaned loudly on rusted hinges. He flashed his light on the ancient, rusted hinges. He said, "My guess is there's another way down here. Probably accessible from the alley."

"Would make it easier bringing bodies in and out."

Sherbet nodded grimly. He next swept his light around the small room. "Another storage room."

I was suddenly having difficulty focusing on the detective's words. After all, the scent of blood was much stronger in here. Much, much stronger. And intoxicating.

Doing my best to ignore it, I stepped in behind Sherbet and saw that the room was filled to overflowing with even more theater junk. Moldy props. Moldy clothing. Hats that were badly destroyed by rats or moths. Boxes and crates and old furniture. And the moment I stepped inside, my inner alarm began buzzing.

"What's that sound?" asked Sherbet, pausing, listening.

"What sound?"

"You can't hear it? It's a steady buzzing. Like electricity crackling."

Stunned that the detective could pick up on my own inner alarm, and stunned at the depth of our connection, I told him what he was hearing.

"Thank God. Thought I was going crazy all over again. C'mon, let's check this out, and be careful. It's buzzing for a reason."

The air was alive with frenetic energy, which lit the way for me. Not so much for Sherbet. His flashlight would have to do. Tiny claws scrabbled in the far corner of the small room. A mouse or a rat.

By all appearances this was just a forgotten storage room. A storage room hidden purposely by a massive mirror. If I had to guess, I would say the crap in here hadn't seen the light of day - or the light of the stage - for over fifty years.

Most important: it appeared to have no exit.

We moved deeper into the room. Sherbet's breathing filled the small space. Mine, not so much. The wooden floorboards groaned under the big detective's weight. Me, not so much. The smell of blood was heady and distracting and reminding me all over again just what a monster I had become. Sherbet gave no indication of being able to smell the blood.

The metallic scent wafted through the far wall of the room, that much was clear. I moved toward the wall, toward the smell. Once there, I reached out a hand and placed it on the cool wood paneling. With Sherbet easing up behind me, I closed my eyes and cast my thoughts outward again. This time my trawling consciousness returned images of a short corridor and wooden stairs that descended down. At the base of the stairs, I saw another door. I tried to push through that...but the images beyond were vague and distorted. Too far to see. I snapped back into my body.

I reported my findings to Sherbet. He said something about me being handy to have around. I agreed enthusiastically. Next, we both felt around the wooden wall until we simultaneously found a seam. We kept feeling until we found a small notch in the wall. Sherbet stood back and I hooked a finger and pulled.

The wall instantly opened, rumbling along tracks hidden in the ceiling and floor. Dust sifted down. Cold air met us. Darkness lay beyond.

Darkness lit by supernatural light and infused with the scent of even more blood.

So much blood.

Stomach rumbling and hating myself, I led the way through into the passageway.