DETECTIVE FICTION

The Secret Diary of Anaïs Nin — Paranormal Investigator

Part 3: from the frying pan into the fire

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A handy link to all my Anaïs stories

October 19, 1944, continued

The first thing I heard was the echoing and incessant drip of water somewhere nearby. The steady plunk, plunk — and the way it came from everywhere at once — told me immediately that I had likely been taken into the underground, the catacombs that snake beneath the streets of Paris.

I kept my eyes closed so as not to alert my captors that I was awake. I found myself propped upright; my hands were bound tightly behind my back. The leather holster still hugged my upper thigh, so I could only hope they had not removed the small pistol secreted there.

Despite my efforts to remain inert, my breathing must have betrayed me because a hollow, urbane, and all-too-familiar voice addressed me.

“Madam Nin, please. There’s no use playing possum. Let us be civilized and discuss your recent breach of contract.”

I lifted my head, still heavy from the chloroform they’d used to spirit me away. My eyelids, too, felt as though they moved through mud, and the room wobbled alarmingly before coming into focus. An…