A Place For Hope A Place For Love

A Place for Hope, A Place for Love

This is my entry for the Literotica Winter Holidays Story Contest 2024! Just before Christmas, a young woman named Emily vanishes beneath the streets of London during a Charles Dickens walking tour. The tour guide, Willow, frantically searches through the tunnels and long-buried rubble of pre-war London trying to locate her before it's too late. Join these two women in an adventure romance, as together, they uncover the meaning of true hope and true love.

"True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings" -- William Shakespeare.

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Chapter One

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"Welcome back, everyone, to the land of the living. I hope you enjoyed your Charles Dickens Christmas Tour. We caution you not to take home any of Dicken's ghosts as they make poor house guests. However, you are welcome to visit our gift shop where we have interesting books about Charles Dickens and his works, along with T-shirts and other ghostly goodies. If you enjoyed your tour, please leave us a like on social media."

I bowed, offering them a flourishing wave to direct them toward our gift shop. The members of my tour group applauded as they always do. Looking closely at their faces, I saw enough to know they enjoyed the tour and weren't just being polite.

I walked over to my co-worker, Eavin, and winked, "I brought them back alive."

He frowned, then said, "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon. You'll want all day tomorrow and the day after, I suppose?"

I knew where this was going. We weren't leading any tours on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but I played along, "If quite convenient, sir."

"It's not convenient, and it's not fair! A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of December! Be here all the earlier next morning. And besides, I've got you down to lead four more tours during Christmas week. You're the best guide I've got."

"I will indeed, sir. Thank you, sir! And a Happy Christmas to you, Mr. Scrooge!"

Eavin said, "I have one more group still out and they won't return for another hour. Say, how many did you have on your tour?"

I replied, "The usual. Sixteen."

He said, "I only counted fifteen here in the gift shop. Did you have a last-minute cancellation?"

"No, I checked the list of people who signed up, and I'm certain I started with sixteen."

Eavin said, "Then, you're missing one!"

"Oh, shit!"

"You know the rules, Willow. You lose one, you go find them."

I scanned the people in the gift shop and by process of elimination, figured out the missing person was a skinny young woman named Emily. She came by herself and was a little ratty-looking. I remembered her carrying a red, half-meter-long sling pack. Though she didn't say much, it sounded like she had a Scottish accent. She kept writing things in a small notebook, but was very protective of it, as if not wanting anyone else to see. What drew my attention to her was how she kept looking everywhere except where I pointed.

"I bet you lost her in that muddled maze of narrow alleyways in Olde London, or maybe at Scrooge's counting house. She could have wandered off in Leadenhall Market with all the olde Victorian Christmas decorations."

"No, I counted sixteen after we completed the overground portion of the tour and went underground. Should we call the Metropolitan Police to help?"

Eavin said, "Not unless you want the Tabloid headlines to read, 'Woman vanishes into thin air during Dicken's Ghost Tour'. Take a med pack and an extra torch with you. Since you'll be underground, you're on your own. Cell phones won't work unless you get close to a Tube Station. If I don't hear from you in the next hour, I'll call the whole team, and we'll come looking for both of you. Let's hope she didn't wander off somewhere and get lost."

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Chapter Two

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I started backtracking at the last stop on the tour, the basement of the old Swallow Theater. One of the few theaters remaining from Shakespeare's times, it had escaped both the Great London Fire of 1666 and the German Blitz during World War II. Much of the surrounding neighborhood did not fare as well. As part of the tour, we arranged with the friendly theater owner to allow access to their basement. Few know that Charles Dickens also wrote an opera and several of his stories were performed as plays, including one, 'The Cricket and the Hearth', at this very theater.

I went down the back staircase of the theater and into the basement. The theater stored props from its long history, and our tour group added a few specifically for the Dickens tour. One of the most popular was a broken chandelier used for a past performance of the Phantom of the Opera. Emily seemed fascinated by the chandelier, and I warned her not to touch it. That was the last time I saw her. Shining her torch on it, I remember her saying, "The glasswork is beautiful."

Emily had to be close, so I yelled out for her but received no response. Scattered within the basement were several old dust-covered octopus furnaces, their duct work likely stripped for scrap metal during the war. Today, they resembled large iron Venus de Milo statues. Impressive for their size, London was much colder in the time of Dickens, and both Oliver Twist and Ebenezer Scrooge were well acquainted with snow.

I yelled again but received no reply. Then I checked the iron gate leading from the basement into underground London. I have a key, but found the gate locked. Where was Emily? Did she really disappear like a ghost?

I used my torch to scan the sides of the main path we had set up to travel through the various props. Behind the chandelier, I noticed footprints in the dust. They led past one of the solid brick arches supporting the main theater floor above, but there were no return footprints. I followed the path and saw the dust disturbed on the opposite side of an arch. Emily must have hidden here as I led the tour group up the stairs.

Leading away from the arch, footprints continued towards a brick foundation wall. Scanning the base of the wall, loose bricks lay on the floor in front of a small opening through the wall. Peering through the person-sized hole revealed a rubble-filled room. Could this be Emily's path? Pushing my med pack through, I squeezed myself into the adjacent room.

Beneath many modern buildings lies the former street level of London. Much of this area was badly damaged during the Blitz of World War II, and rather than repair the bomb-damaged buildings, whole sections were buried and filled with dirt and rubble. Later, new buildings rose in their place, or rather, on top of their place, sometimes as much as ten meters higher than the prior street level. But not everywhere filled in evenly, and I knew there were gaps where the rubble and dirt settled.

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Chapter Three

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I stood up just inside the opening and scanned the rubble-filled room. Bricks, twisted metal, splintered wood, and plaster-covered lathe with teases of once-colorful wallpaper lay before me. It appeared as if the entire building had been blown apart, which perhaps it was. Covering all was a thin layer of dust and ash. I couldn't tell how large the room had once been, because, opposite me, the rubble reached all the way to the ceiling before sloping down to floor level at my feet.

Immediately to my left, and rising from the rubble was an old staircase. My eyes followed the steps upward, to what was once an opening, now lashed over with thick wooden planks. No one from above was using this room, and likely, no one there even knew it was here. I spotted an open door beneath the staircase, and a disturbed dust trail led to it. I scrambled over to it and noticed the rubble in front of the door carelessly pulled back. On the doorframe were fresh marks left by a pry bar. Was Emily carrying one in her sling pack? I was certain I was on Emily's trail. But where was she going?

I entered the adjacent room but found it almost totally filled with rubble. The low-hanging well-braced ceiling made it feel like a tomb. I hoped it wasn't, but I couldn't imagine the horror of living through what the people of London endured. I moved my torch over the rubble, looking for any opening Emily may have used. In the far upper right corner was a small hole.

Scrabbling up the debris, I peered through and saw the debris pile sloping away on the other side. I crawled through the narrow opening and slid down the loose material on my stomach. Ouch! Lifting my now filthy shirt revealed a long thin scratch, which fortunately did not break the skin.

I entered a more open space, perhaps the remnants of an alley or narrow street. While mostly covered with rubble, a V-shaped fjord ran through the middle between the stout-looking foundation walls of the old buildings, supporting what lay above. I saw places with disturbed dust, so I knew I was still on her trail. Following the fjord, the ash layer was much thicker here, and there were pieces of charred wood. As I disturbed the rubble, I smelled the lingering scent of smoke.

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Chapter Four

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My rough path extended about thirty meters before it ran into a more well-defined and partially cleared cross tunnel. I was not the first person here, though I had no idea when such clearing work was done. To my left, I heard male voices along with hammering, scraping, and the sounds of work in progress. After a slight curve in this new tunnel, I saw a light, revealing four men working on an opening in a brick wall. Keeping my torch pointed down to preserve my night vision, I approached them. As I got closer, I became worried when I saw that two of them had guns on their hips. Still unnoticed, I stooped to glimpse through the opening and saw what appeared to be a clean room for computers or a laboratory.

"Hallo!" I hollered.

The startled men immediately stopped working, and all four turned to face me. Two held pistols while the other two held torches. Their glaring lights struck my eyes, so I held my hands up as a shield.

"Don't shoot!" I yelled.

One of the men came up and rudely grabbed my arm.

"I'm a tour guide, and I'm looking for a woman who got lost. Have you seen her? I think she may have come this way."

"Put away your guns!" yelled the man attached to my arm. But he didn't release me.

"She passed this way about fifteen minutes ago. From inside our building, we noticed someone removing bricks to create a hole through our wall. When we confronted the woman, she ran off."

I asked, "Why do you have guns?"

The arm-holding man hesitated, then said, "We work for a drug company and must guard against Industrial spies trying to steal our secrets."

One of the other men softly sniggered and said in an accented voice, "Rats. We need guns to protect us from the rats. There are really big ones down here. You should be careful where you go."

I shuddered thinking about the rats, but as I looked at the men, I had a bad feeling about them and wondered which was more dangerous.

I imagined the Tabloid headline, 'Dickens Tour Guide disappears while searching for vanishing woman!'.

I wanted to get away as quickly as possible. I needed a cover, "If I don't find her soon, there will be dozens of searchers combing these tunnels looking for her, including the police. She may be hurt, so if you can provide medical assistance, I'd like to bring her back here."

A third man, possibly in charge, yelled, "Release her. Yes, young lady, please bring her back here and we'll take good care of both of you."

I asked, "Did you see which direction she ran off?"

He pointed, "That way."

"I'll be back as soon as I find her."

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Chapter Five

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NOT! I had a bad feeling about these guys and never wanted to see any of them again. They either worked for the government on some secret project or for some big drug corporation. Clearly, they wanted to conceal what was going on inside their building. I followed the more formal tunnel while scanning along the ceiling and floor for anything unusual. The roughly cleared narrow path was lined with rubble on both sides. I spotted an opening along the floor and stooped to investigate.

It was deathly quiet, but then I heard a woman crying. Very faint. Could it be Emily? I shined my torch into the opening and saw a small ledge, but after that, darkness swallowed my light. There must be a steep drop-off! I carefully crawled through and found myself on the lip of a foundation wall. Peering over the edge, I saw a dim light. It was Emily!

I shouted, "Emily, it's me, Willow, your tour guide. I've come to rescue you."

In her Scottish accent, she yelled, "I fell off that damn ledge and hurt my ankle bad, Willow. It might be broken."

"Let me try to get down to you."

I crawled along the top of the foundation wall towards a corner, where there was a slope of rubble, then scrambled down on my bum. I went over to Emily and set my torch to lantern mode.

"How did you get here?" I asked.

"I was looking at the props in the theater basement when I realized everyone had left. I called out but no one heard me. I was scared in the dark and tried to find some way out."

I replied, "Another tour group would have come through within an hour."

"I didn't know that. I looked around, found some loose bricks, pulled them out, and crawled through."

I said, "You could have gotten lost!"

"I did. But now I have you, Willow."

"Ommm. Right now, I'm just as lost as you. We can't go back the same way. I met some scary-looking guys."

Emily said, "When they saw me looking through a hole in their brick wall, they fired their guns at me."

"We'll have to find another way out of here, Emily. I'm not going back that way."

I checked her ankle and found it badly sprained, but not broken. I offered Emily a bottle of water and an energy bar while I taped her ankle.

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Chapter Six

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"Let me take a look around," I said.

We were in the basement of an old pub. Remnants of the bar and ragged sections of the floor hung suspended on the opposite wall, partially supported by an old staircase. Wooden booths dangled precariously along a different side, resembling theater boxes overlooking a stage. The pile of debris scattered across the floor at our level confirmed my suspicion. Broken tables and chairs, pint glasses, and pieces of the former tin ceiling, all joined with the usual rubble. There were even hats, aprons, and other articles of clothing left behind by people who fled when the sirens went off. They believed they would return, but either never made it, or found nothing to return to.

I scanned the ceiling and saw strong-looking thick wooden beams strung between the foundation walls. The structure appeared solid and capable of supporting whatever lay above us. I had no idea how far below ground we were.

I looked at Emily. "There's a door over by the staircase. I'm going to check it out and see where it leads. Otherwise, we'll have to take a chance with that rickety-looking staircase and try to go higher."

I went over to the wooden door and pulled it open, hoping it led to an exit. Unfortunately, it was just a storage room. Inside were six neatly stacked casks, with various markings for scotch and whiskey. On the floor were several wooden crates containing full bottles of spirits. A strong odor of alcohol hung in the air, but there was no musty smell. I took photos with my cell phone and grabbed a bottle to show Emily what I found.

After returning with the bad news, I handed Emily the bottle. She examined it closely, then struggled with the cork stopper before pulling it out. She surprised me when she took a swig!

"For the pain!" she laughed. "Och, that was good! This is eighty-five-year-old Scotch whisky I'll have you know. Nineteen and thirty-nine! I'm from Scotland, in case you haven't guessed from my accent. This is uisge beatha, the water of life!"

"Is it still good?" I asked. "You won't get sick, will you?"

"All I know is that it tastes great, and I'd rather have this in me to dull the pain in my ankle than any pills." She took two more swigs and then put down the bottle. "I hate to leave it behind, but let's start hobbling up those stairs!"

I cleared a path on the staircase and then slowly helped Emily up. She used me as a crutch to take the weight off her bad ankle. I had left her shoe on, trying to keep down the swelling, and I also wanted to avoid her stepping on anything sharp. Arriving at the main floor level of the pub, I left Emily to explore. I moved behind the stout-looking bar rather than risk walking too close to the precipice. The pump handles were still in place, waiting for the barkeep to pull a pint for the next patron. Somewhat odd, the two large handles were unadorned with any brand names. Partially filled bottles of different spirits lay toppled behind the bar. The floor was littered with cigarettes and packets of something called Smith's Salt 'n' Shake Potato Crisps. The gnawed-on bags had been emptied, but that must have happened long ago, as they now lay buried beneath an undisturbed layer of dust.

I took photos with my cell phone to show Eavin. If we could ever find this place again, perhaps we could figure out some way to include it on one of our underground ghost tours. Unlike our arranged setup in the theater basement, this was real!

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Chapter Seven

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Continuing past the end of the bar, I came to an opening leading into another section of the same establishment. Though tussled, it was largely intact, and opulent by comparison, resembling a parlor. I went back to help Emily, and we entered together. The furniture was more refined, not the rough-looking wooden pieces in the pub. Beneath the dust, the thick red carpet bore an elaborate pattern, and the walls were well-appointed with classic pub decor.

We walked over to what may once have been the front door and scrambled over a pile of debris. We emerged into a large, somewhat open area, which appeared to be a rubble-filled street scene. The long-forgotten narrow street was lined with various shoppes, including the pub from which we exited. A centimeter-thick layer of ash covered the debris, which consisted of broken pieces of wood, bricks, plaster, and stucco, along with twisted pieces of metal, iron pipes, and glass. The addition of slate shingles implied I was standing on the remnants on the second floor of these shoppes. Not far overhead was an ominous-looking ceiling, studded with sharply pointed pieces of wood and metal, wedged within it. I shuddered, imagining myself staring into the maw of a huge apocalyptic dragon, one who had just destroyed an entire city block of London with its fiery breath.

The rubble varied in thickness, ranging from almost nothing, all the way up to the ill-looking ceiling. In places, the original cobblestones were still exposed. A handful of half-buried gas streetlamps stood defiantly, now lit only when the beam from our torches brushed over them.

"I know this place!" yelled Emily. "I can get us both to a Tube station from here."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I know places where you can drop down to the original street level of pre-war London. I like to explore here to see what things were like in the past. Sort of like spelunking. Why do people crawl into caves? To look around, to discover, and see things few others would see. We call it stravaiging in Scotland, which means to wander aimlessly without purpose, enjoying wandering for wandering's sake. I prefer to do my wandering underground."

"So that's why you were so comfortable going through the foundation wall at the Swallow Theater."