Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(30)

“Dead body’s less happy than both of us.”

“No doubt.” But it troubled him on an elemental level, not only because it was primarily his, but because it was meant to be a place for fun, for families, for children to be dazzled and entertained.

It was meant to be safe and, of course, he knew no place was really safe. Not a pretty Irish wood, not an amusement park.

“Security’s duping the discs now,” he told her. “You’ll have the originals, and they’ll scan the copies. They’ll be enhanced, as the lighting in that amusement is deliberately low, and there are sections with fog or other effects. We use droids, anitrons, and holos,” he said before she could ask. “There’s no live performers.”

“The stuff runs on a timer?”

“No. It’s motion activated, programmed to follow the customer’s movements. As for timing, there’s a feature that funnels customers in their groups, or individually if they come in alone, into different areas to enhance and personalize the experience.”

“So the victim and killer, if they came in together, could and would have been alone—at least for a portion of the ride, or whatever it is.”

“Sensory experience. There are sections inaccessible to minors under fifteen to conform with codes.”

“You’ve been through it.”

“Yes, several times during the design and construction stages. It’s appropriately gruesome and terrifying.”

“Won’t scare me. I have the gruesome and the terrifying greet me at the door every freaking day.” She smiled to herself, thinking it was too bad Summerset wasn’t around to hear her get that one off.

The lights shimmered and sparkled against the night sky, and music vied with the happy screams of people zooming on the curves and loops of the coasters, spinning on wheels that flashed and boomed.

She didn’t much see the appeal of paying for something that tore screams out of your throat.

On the midway, people paid good money to try to win enormous stuffed animals or big-eyed dolls she considered less appealing than rides that tore screams out of the throat. They shot, tossed, blasted, and hammered with abandon or strolled around with soy dogs or cream cones or sleeves of fries and whopping drinks.

It smelled a little like candy-coated sweat.

The House of Horrors was just that, a huge, spooky-looking house with lights flickering in the windows where the occasional ghoul, ghost, or ax murderer would pop out to snarl or howl.

A big, burly uniform and a skinny civilian secured the entrance.

“Officer.”

“Lieutenant. We’ve got the building secured. One officer, one park security inside with the DB. We’ve got a guard on every egress. Did an e-scan. No civilians left inside.”

“Why is it still running?” she asked, studying the door knocker in the form of a bat with shivering, papery wings and glowing red eyes.

“I didn’t want to make the determination to shut down, considering you might have wanted to go through as the vic had.”

It was a reasonable call. “We’ll do a replay when and if. For now, shut it down.”

“I can do that from the box.” The skinny guy glanced at Eve, then sent Roarke a sorrowful look. “Sir. I have no idea how this could’ve happened.”

“We’ll want to find that out. For now, shut it down.”

“I need to go inside,” the civilian said to Eve. “Just inside to the box.”

“Show me.” She nodded to the uniform, who uncoded the door.

It creaked ominously.

Cobwebs draped the shadowy foyer like shawls over a body back. Light, such as it was, came from the flickering glow of ornate candelabras and a swaying chandelier where a very lifelike rat perched.

Something breathed heavily to the left, and made her fingers itch for her weapon. Shadows seemed to swoop and dive from the ceiling. Up a long curve of steps a door groaned like a man in pain, then slammed.

The skinny guy moved to a panel on the wall, aimed his little handheld. The panel slid open to reveal a keypad. He coded something in.

Lights flashed on, movement and sound died.

Glancing around, she decided it was a little creepier in the bright and the still. Anitrons stood frozen on the floor, in the air, on the stairs. In a mirror a face held in mid-scream while a severed hand holding a two-bladed ax hung suspended.

“Where’s the body?”

“Subsection B. Torture Chamber,” the skinny guy told her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Gumm. Ah, I’m Electronics and Effects.”

“Okay. Lead the way.”

“Do you want to go by the amusement route or employee?”

“The most direct.”

“This way.” He walked to a bookcase—why was it always a bookcase? Eve wondered—and engaging another hidden mechanism, opened the doorway.

“We have a series of connecting passages and monitoring stations throughout the amusement.” He guided them through a brightly lit, white-walled passage, past controls and screens.

“It’s all automated?”

“Yes, state of the art. To give the customers the full experience, we’re able to funnel them in various directions rather than have them all follow the same route and crowd together. It’s more personal. They can, if they choose, interact with the effects. Speak to them, ask questions, give chase or attempt to evade. There’s no danger, of course, though we have had some customers pass out. A loss of consciousness triggers an alarm in Medical.”