Deana Lawson arrived at Eschaton University after grabbing breakfast from Company Coffee, a new and overly patriotic coffee shop. She could see the appeal. Deana examined the red, white and blue cup as she thought about her assignment.
Deana was a reporter for the The Dutchess Sentinel in Poughkeepsie, New York. On a clear day, she could see Eschaton’s Gothic spires across the Hudson river, behind the spans of the Mid-Hudson Bridge.
Deana was sent to Eschaton University in search of her colleague, Leon Hill, who had been missing for just over a week. He’d been doing a follow-up story on the history of the school, but something had gone wrong. According to Evie Marshall, her Editor, he submitted a series of increasingly deranged and paranoid field reports, then disappeared.
Deana turned over a business card in her hand. It had the name of a local private detective on it: Frank "Mack" McAllister. And with it, Evie had given her a warning.
“I smell a cover-up,” said Evie. “Get Mack to back you up. Find Leon and come back safe.”
“What about law enforcement—“ said Deana. Evie cut her off.
“We called them two days ago,” She said. “No help there. Said an investigation turned-up no sign of Leon. And they have no leads.”
“That’s a bunch of BS,” said Deana.
“Exactly,” said Evie. “Be careful. Leon’s last communications don’t make any sense. And we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Great,” said Deana with a sigh.
“Interview some key people at the university. Someone’s got to know something.”
***
After a brief phone conversation, Mack agreed to meet Deana in a parking lot on the outskirts of the university. He said he’d tail her, and instructed her to act normal.
“Don’t look for me,” he said. “I’ll be out of sight, anyway.”
Deana had been all over campus, requesting interviews and generally asking simple questions about Leon. No one was talking. Everyone looked at the picture Deana flashed, and shook their head. It was a complete waste of a day.
The campus was quite large, and Deana’s feet were starting to hurt. She sat on a stone bench for a breather. In front of her was a huge, black cannon. The plaque said “Big Bertha”, a Navy Brooke rifle, was the only remaining gun from the Civil War fort that gave the town its name.
Deana had to admit the place was quite beautiful. There were lots of green spaces, parks, gardens and statues everywhere. But the buildings were something else. The architecture was an odd mixture of dark gray Brutalist concrete and vertical Gothic. Deana found it unsettling. The sun was setting, so Deana decided to get a bite at a nearby fast food joint.
***
Bison Burg was just the kind of mindless place she was after. It was wild west themed. The mascot was a ridiculous-looking, anthropomorphic bison in denim overalls, cowboy boots and hat. It had simple fare: burgers, fries and milkshakes. Just what Deana needed.
She was just biting into her sandwich when a young man approached her. He was thin, had shaggy brown hair and wore an over-stuffed backpack. His eyes were wide and shifty. He looked scared.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you that reporter lady?”
“That’s Me,” said Deana. “Deana Lawson. And you are…”
“Jay.”
“Just Jay?”
“Ah, Oh! Sorry. Um…Holloway. Jay Holloway. I’m a student at Eschaton. Computer Science…and Mechanical Engineering.”
“Dual major,” said Deana. “Impressive. Probably a crushing course-load.”
Jay rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”
Deana made a show of wiping her hands, then thrust one out at Jay.
“Good to meet you,” she said. “Know anything about my missing colleague, Leon Hill?”
Jay looked around, then said in hushed tones, “Yes, but…we can’t talk here.”
Deana shrugged. “Ok then... Where?”
“My dorm room,” said Jay. “My room-mate will be out until 10, so we’ll have some privacy.”
“Wait,” she said. “How do you know Leon?”
“Oh!” he stood bolt upright, like she had just pinched his side. “He found me. I made some posts on the Eschaton Secrets subreddit…how I got into some places. Bypassed security.”
“I see,” she said. “And you…do that a lot?”
“Well, no,” said Jay. “But he offered me a hundred bucks to…well…I’ll show you.”
***
“What am I looking at?” said Deana. She was standing behind Jay, who was seated at his elaborate computer setup. There were four large screens in a 2 by 2 configuration. All had various articles and social media feeds on them. The one closest to her was where Jay was making his presentation.
The three-dimensional map had colored sections, complete with annotations and layers that Jay could toggle to expose or hide deeper structures. It was very professional. To Deana, it looked like a construction blueprint, or something an architect would present to an industrial client.
“Very nice,” said Deana. Her eyes moved around the map, looking for something that would indicate Leon’s whereabouts.
“The university was built at the site of an American Civil War fort,” he said. He brought up several images on another monitor. “The fort sat on the bluffs overlooking the Hudson river, and had rows of massive cannons to fire down on passing enemy ships. It didn’t see much use during the war, as West Point, to the South, addressed most of the river traffic.”
“Ok…” said Deana. She was already getting bored.
“The town of Fort Highpoint took the name of the fort as it grew up around it,” he continued. “The fort fell into disrepair after the Civil War, but saw use again during World War I and World War II, where it was given significant repairs and updates.”
Deana sighed. “So—“
Jay, concerned he was losing her, switched to a faster delivery.
“Later, during the cold war,” he said, “the fort was torn down, and plans were made for Eschaton University to be built on top of its foundation. The only thing that remains of the original fort is a static display of a Navy Brooke rifle—”
“Yes, I’ve seen it,” said Deana. She glared at Jay.
“The gun was forged at West Point Foundry, and made famous for sinking the Confederate submarine, Ardent Cooper, which was attempting to—“
“Ok, enough,” she said, with no small amount of impatience in her voice. “I don’t need a history lesson. Where’s Leon?”
“I’m getting to that,” he said. “But it’s important that you know some of the history, so you can make sense of what you see down there.”
“Down where?” said said.
Jay zoomed the map out, then scrolled down. There were many levels below the surface of the university. It was a labyrinth of rooms and tunnels of various sizes.
“Wait,” Deana said. “Leon went down into some tunnels under the college? Why? What was he looking for down there?”
Jay spun around in the chair to face her. “History!” He said with a grin.
“History? Couldn’t he find some history in the library? I’m sure Eschaton has a lot of really good books on the subject.”
“Sure,” said Jay. His face twisted into mask of sarcasm. “Fake books full of fake shit. Or, at best, half-truths. The true history…the real shit that went down…it’s here!” He pointed at the screen. “Underground.”
“Great…” Deana was not relishing the thought of going on a wild goose chase into some dark cavern. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “So where is Leon? Where did you take him?”
“Ok,” said Jay. He held out his hands, as if to say “slow down”.
Deana looked as if she was going to smack him.
“He saw images I’d posted. Where I found the best stuff—“
“Where!”
“It’s deep—“
“How deep?!”
Jay turned around to his computer. He scrolled down to the deepest level on his map—an area labeled “Undercroft”.
“What the hell does that mean? Undercroft.”
Jay was squirming in his chair. He looked away. “It’s like…the basement of a castle, or something.”
“Perfect.” Deana dreaded the thought. They don’t pay me enough for this shit, she thought. “Ok, let’s go—“
“Wait, wait!” cried Jay. “We can’t just go down there. You have to prepare for it. I…have to prepare. Set things up!”
“How long?! Leon could be in serious trouble. He could be dying!”
“Ok. I…give me a day. A day at least!”
Deana looked at him closely, to see if she could push him further. Jay’s eyes were bulging. He seemed like he was ready to jump out of his skin.
“Fine,” she said. She gave him one of her cards. “Call me when you’re ready. But please be quick about it. I don’t want to find Leon’s corpse down there.”
***
Deana went home and ate the remains of her Bison Burg meal. It was cold and greasy—not a good combo. She was in a foul mood, and she jumped when her cell rang.
“It’s Mack,” said the voice. “Sorry for the late call. I had to do some research. You’re gonna want to hear this.”
“Ok,” said Deana. “What do you have for me?”
“You were followed today.”
“Followed? By who?”
“None other than the chief of Eschaton security.”
“I’m guessing that’s not normal.”
“No,” said Mack. “Far from normal. They have a small army of security guards. You must be quite important to them, if the big guy himself is following you around.”
“Ok,” said Deana. “Security was watching me. What else?”
“That’s it,” said Mack. “But I did some digging on the security chief.”
“Lay it on me,” said Deana.
“This guy is Stanley Sincline, a career Army Intelligence officer. Lieutenant Colonel. He served in three wars—no combat, but highly decorated. Latest was two tours in Afghanistan. Got out a few years ago.”
“So?” said Diana.
“So?!” said Mack. “When I think of college security, I think ex-police officer. If you’re lucky, maybe a former FBI agent. Sincline should be in charge of a CIA black site somewhere. He’s extremely over-qualified for the position. And over-paid. His tax filings indicate that he makes more than Lynda Shields, the Chancellor of the university. About a hundred-grand more.”
“Your kidding,” said Deana.
“Not kidding,” he said. “And you have to wonder…what he’s doing there to pull that kind of check?”
***
Deana spent the next day pacing around her apartment. She tried to put the thought of Leon dying in a pool of blood out of her mind. No call came from Jay. And that night, she slept poorly.
***
Deana’s cell rang at nine the next morning. It was Jay calling to say he was ready to take Deana down to the Undercroft. He told her where to meet him, and she said she’d be there in 30 minutes.
Deana showered, put on some dark-colored work-out clothes and grabbed her small day bag. It was always packed with some essentials: a flashlight, first-aid kit, multi-tool, a bottle of water and some snack bars. She threw the bag in her car and drove across the Mid-Hudson Bridge. Gold morning light gleamed off the buildings of Eschaton University.
