The Catacombs (A Psychological Suspense Horror Thriller Novel) - Plot & Excerpts
But that was okay. Because this was real, I was awake, I wasn’t brain dead— “Will! Wake up, bro! Wake the fuck up!” I rolled onto my side. The chains clinked. Everything from my shoulders down was pins and needles. “Rob?” I groaned. “Will!” he barked, his voice hoarse, nasally. “Where the fuck are we?” “The cata…” My throat was parched again. “Catacombs.” “I know that! But what happened? Some fucking guy attacked me. Drove a bone into my face. Broke my fucking nose. And now I’m chained up. What the hell? What the fuck’s going on?” So I told him. Katja spent the day reminiscing, scrutinizing, doubting, despairing. So many lies! Lies she had believed unconditionally. Lies like that photograph she had found in her father’s study, the photograph he insisted was of her grandfather and grandmother before the war, even though her “grandfather” appeared identical to him, and her “grandmother” didn’t appear to be much older than her. Lies like when he drank too much beer and mumbled in a stupor of a living, breathing Paris, mumbles he would dismiss the next day as “dream words.”
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