Gabriel’s Revenge
2nd Draft
Prologue
June 7, 1998
The man walked determinedly toward his car, but his mind was elsewhere; on the case, or cases as it were. He was actually making good headway on the investigation by his reckoning, disturbing headway. He had found the link in the cases he had been looking for two days before, and it had changed everything! Even he couldn’t believe the ramifications of his find.
The night was warm and he removed his jacket and hung it over his arm, folding it carefully first. He rubbed his free hand through his military cut salt and pepper hair, letting his mind wander, enjoying the weather.
Reaching the car, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys to unlock his government furnished sedan, but his keys suddenly fell from his hand. He looked down in confusion and wondered why he just did that, and why all of a sudden he couldn’t seem to move to correct it.
He felt a hand then on his shoulder, hot breath on his neck. “I hear you’re looking for me,” the stranger whispered into his ear, “thought I would save you the trouble.”
The man reached quickly for his weapon, but his arm wouldn’t respond; still hanging limply at his side. Fear was creeping up his spine now. It’s an emotion that he had very seldom experienced, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit.
The hot breath again, “you will crumble to the pavement in a moment; let me help you down instead.”
Hands snaked under his arms, clasped gently around his chest and pulled backwards, lowering his growing dead weight easily to the pavement.
“There now, nice and comfy. Look at those stars, aren’t they marvelous?”
The stars were indeed beautiful, and the man took a good look at them for a change; it had been years since he had looked at the sky as anything but an overhead certainty.
“I’m very impressed with you; I wanted you to know that. There are very few people that could have put all the pieces together. I salute your tenacity detective; unfortunately you were starting to get in the way of my work. But I want you to know something; you are a rare breed indeed, one of the good guys.”
The man was thinking, thinking of his mom and dad. Funny what you think about in times like these. He missed them a lot; twenty years had passed since they had left this world.
“Let me put that coat over you; that concrete is probably getting cold. I want to make sure you are comfortable.” The man on the ground made out the silhouette of a stranger over him with a wide brimmed hat, the shadows completely concealing his identity.
Thinking now of his friend, he really only had one. That was ok though, true friendship was rare. He wondered how he was doing; it had been over a year since he’d seen him. He hoped he had found some happiness by now.
Wide hat over him again, “time to say goodbye, and I must admit, it’s been a pleasure.”
The life slowly went out of the eyes; the man on the ground was gone. The stranger continued to look down upon the man in the deserted parking lot. Reaching down gently, he laid his palm on the man’s brow and slid it down, closing the eyes. He then crossed himself, finishing the ritual by taking to his mouth a pendant hung from his neck with a chain, kissing it reverently before letting it slide back to his chest.
“Yes indeed, a pleasure it has been. In a different life, who knows?”
The stranger rose up, removed his hat and wiped his brow. Replacing the hat fastidiously on his head, he looked down one final time before proceeding on his way.
Fingers to the rim of the hat, he tipped the hat slightly with a nod, “I bid you adieu Frank Luther.”
Turning, he walked away nonchalantly, whistling a tune, the eerie yet vaguely familiar melody filling the quiet night air.
Chapter 1
August 20, 1998
I see the room ahead. No longer do I start in the room itself, I have to traverse a long, hot and dingy hallway to get to it. Arriving at the doorway, I notice the paint on the door is cracked and it is in need of repair. I also find it opened a bit, as if it had not been closed on my last visit.
I slowly entered the space, the atmosphere is dank, cold, and un-kept; the fireplace unlit. I head toward my chair and look down upon it from my standing position. The material appears overly worn, a few places the chair’s stuffing is even exposed.
I sigh and take a seat in the dim glow shed from the single light on the table. I glance at the chessboard to my left, surprised to see a move had been made.
On my last trip, my first in over a year, the chessboard was on the floor, the pieces scattered everywhere. I had picked up the board and dusted it off, setting it in its rightful place on the table, picking up the chess pieces and setting them in their positions on the board. At the time, this seemed to be all of the energy I could expend on the room, leaving soon after.
The coffee cup had been empty then, but was now filled with the dark liquid of the past. I lifted the mug and sipped at the coffee; it is delicious but not quite as hot as it used to be. Still, it’s a definite improvement from last time.
I spent what seemed like an hour studying the chessboard, wanting a plan in my head before committing to a strategy. Finally comfortable with my decision, I moved my piece before leaning my head back on the chair. The effort had exhausted me and I sat there for a few minutes, sipping at my cup with eyes closed. I opened my eyes once more and the room seemed a little brighter, a little warmer, but my eyes were still heavy so I closed them once again.
Reopening them, I was staring at the night stars through a small rip in the canvas over my head. Checking my watch, I am unsurprised at the time displayed there, 5:30 AM.
It had been over a year since I had experienced the once frequent dreams, the night before having been the first time. They had been instrumental in giving me clues leading to the solution of a case last year, The Ghost Murders, my last case. Now the visions had returned, the meaning as usual unclear, but the implications…ominous.
I drug myself slowly off the blanket that was my bed. Grabbing my small bag and a canteen; I head toward the latrine to get that out of the way before it got busy. When I finished my business I took a small swig of water and brushed my teeth, finishing with another swig to rinse. It would be the only time I could brush today due to the constant shortage of clean water, and I took a moment to enjoy the feeling of clean teeth.
It was growing light out so I headed back to my tent and grabbed my journal. Breakfast was an hour away, and I wanted to sketch one of my finds of the previous day before the actual work of the day got started. Traveling down a dusty rock-strewn path, I came to one of the Nazca mud brick tombs that we had been working on the day before.
Most of our finds to that point had been mummified remains, but yesterday I had stumbled upon a partial burial. These were typically bundles of bones wrapped in colorful woven and embroidered textiles, the dry climate of the desert helping to almost perfectly preserve the cloth for hundreds of years.
This particular tomb had also included a head jar, which is what I was there to sketch. These were vessels sometimes used in place of the head, the real head having probably been removed for some ceremonial reason.
Head jars typically had a human head or skull painted on the exterior, along with trees and plants sprouting out of the orifices of the depiction. This was my first, and I wanted to record the intriguing image in my grandfather’s journal.
The book was getting full, what with his original drawings and notes, as well as my drawings and letters to my wife. I had promised to write her every day and I had been true to my word up to this point.
The sun, having just crept over a rise in front of me brightly reflected off of the ring on my finger. Blinding me for a second as the glint caught my eye; I stopped drawing and held my hand out in front of my face.
My heart grew heavy momentarily as I looked upon the remnants of my marriage, my past life. My darling Betty had been shot in cold blood over a year ago now, the memory still painful to my mind every time I let myself think of it. The only satisfaction I had received was the final bullet I had put between the eyes of her murderer, an honor I would gladly exchange for one more conversation with my love.
I had months ago signed on for another year at the dig, finding the investigation of a long dead people preferable to that of the recently murdered. I’m not sure I could ever go back, everything at home would remind me of my loss, the pain that pierces my heart daily even here.
A shadow fell over me; the outline of a man with a brimmed hat filled the hole I was standing in.
“Good morning Julien,” I said as I got back to my drawing.
“Good morning my friend,” Professor Julien Taylor exclaimed with a smile.
He had only recently returned from the states, having taken a couple of months off to write and relax from the dig. I had remained during that time, watching over the dig with two local men while the others were away.
Diego and Amaro were both hard working natives, and we communicated well enough using a combination of some Spanish and Quechua I had picked up along the way. I had taught them some English also, helping to help fill in some of the blanks in our communication. I now counted them as friends, along with the man who now stood before me.
Julien Taylor was the leader of our archeological dig. At 5’5” and 190 lbs. he was almost as wide as he was tall. How he kept his girlish figure with the amount of work he did and in this country’s oppressive heat was beyond me, but at 78 years of age, he had more energy than most people I have known half his age.
“You always look so sad and withdrawn,” he remarked with a less enthusiastic smile now on his face. “You’re affecting the rest of the crew in a negative way I’m afraid.”
My turn to smile now, “so I guess you want me to quit?”
Sitting down on a large rock, he answered “no my dear boy, I gather that wouldn’t help, but I do wish there was a way I could aid you with your pain”.
My mouth drew tight, regretting that my hurt would have an effect on others. “I’m sorry Julien, for any problems that land on your shoulders due to my situation. If it ever gets too much, just let me know, I don’t want to be a problem.”
“Heavens no lad, you have a place here for as long as you need to be here, or until we run out of work. I believe I’ve mentioned before that you were born to this work my friend, it’s a damn shame you started so late in your life. I’m still not convinced however that this is where you need to be right now, I believe this is merely a convenient place for you to hide from the world.”
“Thanks for your concern professor,” I said as I got back to my drawing, “but I think this is exactly where I need to be right now.”
A thoughtful look crossed Julien’s face then, a worried one.
“Would you mind a little advice from an old man Gabriel?”
I stopped my drawing, thinking I probably didn’t want any of his parental guidance at the moment, but nodding my head anyway.
“Look around you; you are surrounded by a population that has been buried in this ground for hundreds of years. We carefully unearth their graves, study them, make sketches and take pictures, all in the name of science. We catalogue their belongings, assign numbers to them as identification, and sometimes even give them nicknames.
When we are through with that process they get reburied or moved or displayed, and then we put the information in a book and put it on the shelf.”
“We pry into every facet of their lives that we can think of, and yet, we really know nothing of them. Most of these people had loves and heartaches, friends and enemies, hopes and fears. There are a myriad of emotions and relationships that existed with these inhabitants that we will never be able to imagine, and certainly not know with any amount of certainty. And yet my dear boy, we can be certain beyond a doubt that they experienced these very emotions.”
Standing, he took off his hat, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and drying the brim before reinstalling the chupalla straw hat back on his head.
Not even 7:00 and already the heat was intolerable. The professor clasped his hands behind his back, pacing a few steps back and forth amongst the rocks as he looked for the words to finish his paternal advice.
When finally he stopped his pacing, he looked down on me with concern.
“What I am trying to communicate to you lad, is that we only inhabit this earth for a short while. We all make our mark on this world, some with great fanfare and some only by filling a hole in the ground.”
“You found a great love in a woman who no longer exists on this world, and no one else on this planet can really know what that means to you. But you found real love my lad, and real love never ends, it continues on when this world is but a distant memory in one’s mind.”
“What you need to come to terms with Gabriel, is that until you are again reunited with your lovely angel, what kind of mark are you going to leave on this world from here on out?”
“Are you going to do something with the time you have left, or are you just going to fill a hole in the end. A thousand years from now, people who dig us up may not know or care what we did with our lives, but how we live our lives needs to matter while we are here…to us.”
“Do something that is important to you my son, make a difference while you can, don’t waste your life standing still.”
“You can stick around as long as you like, but it won’t bring her back to you by just marking your time here Gabriel. Hiding from your world just gives you an excuse to avoid living.”
I felt a tear run down my cheek as Julien’s speech hit a nerve, and my heart. But what do I have to go back to in my world? An empty house? A job I’m not sure I have the stomach for anymore?
I heard Julien walking off, mumbling something under his breath. Following his progress, I noticed a boy riding a burro up the path. Stopping in front of Julien, he handed the older man an envelope before turning his burro around and heading back towards town. The professor looked down at the letter, then turned back towards me and returned to the tomb.
“Telegram for you Gabriel,” he said with concern as he handed me the envelope.
I have a confused look as I took the yellow envelope, puzzled as to who would send me a telegram. I had been in sporadic touch with a few people during my time here, but that had all been accomplished using the regular mail system.
Opening the envelope, I unfolded the paper and begin reading the short message. My blood ran cold as I finished reading the note, rereading it quickly once more to be absolutely sure that I had read it correctly.
The paper fell from my hand as the words sunk in with finality, a cold finality that I had hoped to never again experience.
Julien looked upon my face with much concern before he reached down and picked up the note to read it himself. A look of anguish crossed his face as he stepped closer, putting his hand on my shoulder and muttering “Gabriel my son, I am so sorry.”
I looked over at my mentor as he again handed me the yellowed paper and I read the words numbly once more.
GABRIEL CELTIC STOP FRANK MURDERED STOP NEED HELP STOP ALLEN
Chapter 2
August 20, 1998
I quickly grabbed onto the windshield of the old Jeep to keep myself from falling out as we returned to earth after hitting a not so small bolder in the path. Julien had offered to drive me to Nazca, the nearest real town from our dig. From there I would need to catch the next bus to Lima and the airport.
Normally I hated to travel and would take more time to arrange a multi-day trip such as this, but I was sufficiently numb enough to push through the two days it will take me to get back to Indiana without any planned delays.
“He was a good friend?” Julien asked over the noisy motor, eyes concentrating on the road ahead.
“He was my best friend,” I said without outward emotion, “but I haven’t been the best of friends to him as of late.”
The professor jerked the wheel to the left quickly, narrowly avoiding a deep hole situated directly in the wheel’s path. Once again I gripped anything solid I could find to avoid falling out of the Jeep.
“If he was indeed a good friend my boy, he would have understood your need to get away from everything for awhile. As the old proverb states, ‘The best of friends must part’, you mustn’t take his death on as another weight on your soul. This can’t be your fault lad; you were, after all, thousands of miles away.”
“You don’t understand Julien, we were also partners, and we always had each other’s backs. There is a very real possibility that I could have stopped whatever happened to Frank if I had been there, helped him solve the case earlier, something.”
Arriving at the bus station, I saw an old adobe building with a sign whose aged and dust covered letters indicated it was a terminal of the Civa Line of busses. I jumped out of the Jeep and started pulling my bags out of the back. Turning toward the station, my way was suddenly blocked by the short statured professor holding out a calloused hand in my direction.
“My friend, it is indeed sorrowful to see you go, and I have great sympathies for the loss of your friend. I know this is not a way you would envision of going back to your former life, but people are asking for you and that tells me you must be very good at what you do.”
“London once said, ‘The purpose of man is to live, not to exist’, and I hope from the depths of my soul this sojourn helps you find what you are looking for from your life.”
I grabbed my friend’s hand and shook it with lackluster enthusiasm.
“I can’t promise anything professor, I can’t even promise that I can figure out what happened to Frank. But I have heard your thoughts, and I know deep down you are right, that I am just treading water here. I will try; try not to be somebody that just fills a hole in the ground.”
“That’s all I can ask lad, that’s all I can ask. Now go and make it right, a mystery is waiting and your friend’s life can’t be wasted. He deserves your best, and I have a feeling your best is extraordinary.”
With that he patted me on the shoulder, climbed back in the Jeep and turned to head back toward the dig. I watched him go for a few seconds, then turned and headed to the bus station, a dusty and decrepit hole in the wall.
Buying a ticket to Lima, I learned that it was six hours until the next bus left for the capital. I also bought a lukewarm burrito from the ticket agent, and headed across the plaza to a little park with a couple of small trees, the only shade around.
Kicking off my sandals, I sat easily on the hard packed earth, my body accustomed to the hard surfaces that abounded in this country. The knees of my well worn jeans bended easily as I crossed my legs while sitting to eat the stale food. I had but two pair of jeans left of the five I had brought with me when I had arrived, both of these hung from my frame due to the loss of weight and toughening of my body since I had been here. I had become totally acclimated to the climate and living conditions that I had volunteered for in this country, and I was totally relaxed as I took in my surroundings.
Although it was only midmorning, there are very few people about. I noticed a couple of men relaxing down the street under the small veranda of the only saloon in town. A group of five or six kids kicking a ball up and down the road was the only sign of real activity I had observed since arriving.
I ate about half of the burrito, re-wrapping it in its thick brown paper, I would eat the rest on the bus. I pulled my well-worn and faded Cincinnati Reds ball cap down over my eyes, no fedoras or straw hats for me; they actually got in the way more than the additional shade warranted on an archeological dig.
The hat had actually been a gift to me from Frank before I had left the states, a thoughtful gift from my friend during what turned out to be our last visit together. I was rushed at the time, quickly shoving the cap into my luggage and shaking my friend’s hand for the last time. I had not thought about head protection of any kind as I prepared for the trip, so his thoughtful gift had actually been my most used piece of clothing.
Closing my eyes, I thought about my friend. Why had this happened to him I wondered, what had transpired that would lead someone to murder my friend?
Although we had been partnered up for years, we had become very close during our last investigation. He had finally opened up to me like the true friend he was during that case, a mystery that I had to admit would have made a good book. (1)
After Betty’s death however I was depressed, even suicidal I had finally admitted to myself just a few months before. When I had happened upon a magazine story about Julien and the dig, I jumped at the chance to get away from there as quickly as possible, leaving Frank on his own… and getting him killed.
I quickly shook off those thoughts however, I didn’t yet know the what, or the why of it, but I would be of no use to him second guessing my every move when I got back.
While I was thinking about Frank, I was laying on my back with my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes closed.
I heard movement off to my right; someone was approaching slowly towards me. I stayed relaxed and listened to the quiet padding come closer and closer, the sound seeming to stop about a foot and a half from my position. There was silence for about thirty seconds before I heard the slight rustle of paper nearby.
My right arm shot out like a snake, its mouth clamping onto a wrist with a steely grip while an exclamation of surprise escaped my prey’s lips.
***
I pushed up my cap with my left hand, seeing before me a boy of about ten; my hand clamped on his thin dirty wrist, his holding what’s left of my lunch.
Quickly dropping the burrito, he started jabbering in Spanish how sorry he was and a whole bunch of other information that I only caught part of do to my limited understanding of his language.
I recognized him as one of the boys that had been playing ball a few moments ago, a quick look around confirmed that there are no others skulking about. They had probably gone in out of the heat. I let go of his hand and picked up my canteen, sipping some water as the boy continued his life story, his face sincere and making no effort to run.
From what I could make out, his story was a familiar one in this part of the world. Although his father had a job of sorts, he normally only got to work one or two days a week, not enough to adequately support his family.
I motioned for him to sit, asking him a few simple questions about his family and what his father did. I found out that his name was Juan, and that he had eight brothers and sisters. His father worked as a grave digger for a local cemetery, sometimes getting up to three graves a week to dig. He was also very proud that he knew some English words, which he then recited to me as if we were sitting in class.
Juan seemed an honest although apparently hungry urchin, the petty thievery not likely a habit in my estimation. He was also apparently quite content to hang out and talk all afternoon if I wanted, but I had in my mind to get a couple of hours of shuteye before the bus arrived.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a couple of Sols and handed the boy the coins, his eyes lighting up at his windfall. I told him those were his if he kept an eye on my stuff while I took a siesta, and if he made sure I awakened before the bus arrived.
Juan shook his head excitedly and thanked me multiple times before stationing himself at the next tree, alert eyes scanning the plaza for danger. I gave a short laugh as I pulled the hat back over my eyes and leaned back, easily getting comfortable again on the hard ground.
The bells on the local catholic church rang in the distance, making me think once again of my sweet Betty, a devout catholic from birth. She would have insisted on us exploring the church if she had been here, she had always enjoyed exploring old religious buildings of her faith. A pang of loneliness ached in my heart as I thought more of my wife, of our life together.
I finally had to put it out of my mind for awhile as I tried to relax and get in a short nap before the bus arrived. All of the stress of Frank’s murder was weighing on me, and I was emotionally drained. It took only a few minutes for me to fall asleep, but a fitful un-restful sleep it turned out to be.
***
I found myself in the hallway as I was making my way to the room, the doorway was closed, the door itself painted with a fresh coat of paint. Opening the door, I was welcomed to a warm, comfortable and well lit room.
I took in the ambiance for a few moments before heading to my chair and taking my seat. The cup was there as usual, filled with the steaming ebony liquid of the past. I take up the mug and drank in the heavenly brew, the coffee very hot but not burning as it traveled down, seemingly warming my soul in the process.
I clutched the cup in my hands like it was life-giving oxygen as I looked around the comfortable room. The flames of the fireplace caught my eye as I watched the little wafts of smoke make their way up the chimney.
I noticed another move has been made on the chessboard, so I took some time to study the play while I sipped more coffee. I had been in love with the strategy of the game since my grandfather taught it to me when I was eight, and before I knew it I had spent a considerable amount of time in thought before making my next move. Time in this room however didn’t seem relative to anything in the real world, hours could be minutes, and seconds can be hours.
Sitting back, I relaxed and took another sip of the black elixir, feeling it flow down my throat like liquid silk. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes, enjoying the atmosphere of the room, thankful that it was back in my life.
Opening my eyes once more, I found that I was standing in the deep shade of a tree at night, sniffing the air told me instantly I was in Indiana again.
As I was trying to figure out where I was, I heard someone approaching…Frank!
I now recognized the parking lot at the courthouse, Frank probably heading toward his car at the end of the day. I tried to leave my position to go talk to my old friend, but my feet were firmly planted in the earth, as rooted as the tree I was standing next to.
As he got to the car, he stopped to dig the keys out of his pocket. An unexpected feeling of dread came over me before I noticed someone come out of the shadows.
“Frank! Watch your back!”
My warning went unheeded as the shadow smoothly advanced on Frank; very quickly the man was standing behind him.
Nothing happened, he was just standing there. Horror shot through me though as the stranger suddenly layed Frank to the ground, the limp form of my friend telling me he was no longer in control of his body.
I could make out the form of the shadow, a man wearing a long garment and a wide brimmed hat. I was momentarily confused by the extra clothing worn by the man on such a warm night, before I noticed the stranger leaning over the unmoving form of my partner.
Picking up Frank’s coat where it had fallen on the ground, the man removed something from it and then proceeded to cover Frank with his own coat. It looked like he was speaking to him, but I could make out no sound except the words to ‘Hey Jude’ faintly coming from down the street.
The man suddenly straightened up and removed his hat to wipe the band with a handkerchief. I got a brief glimpse of a small round head, short hair or bald, glasses. Replacing his hat, the stranger looked down once more before tipping his hat in a kind of salute, then turned and walked away.
An eerie melody creeped into my head; the sound of the receding man whistling like it was just any normal night for a walk.
Sorrow filled me as I looked upon the fallen form of my friend, for I know I have just witnessed his murder. Helpless, I stood there, filled with grief and unable to move. It seems as if I have failed my friend all over again. I closed my eyes, covering them with my hands as tears started to flow down my cheeks.
“Señor…Señor…wake up, de bus, it come!”
Chapter 3
August 20, 1998
The Robin’s song was repeated by another on the other side of the garden as the warm breeze meandered through the roses, carrying with it the sweet scent of cooking corn from the distillery across town. The man stood still for a moment, his eyes closed as he let the unexpected breeze cool him off from his efforts.
He smiled to himself at the thought; this was a joy, his efforts spent in the garden far from a chore. Opening his eyes once again, he took in the splendor of his little corner of the world. Bringing this beauty to the world was his one distraction from his work, his mission, and he reveled in the earthy pastime.
Removing the wide brimmed straw hat he used for his gardening, he wiped the band with a handkerchief. Replacing the hat onto his head, he then removed his glasses, drying the lenses as he took in the blurry colors surrounding him with a smile. Upon replacing the glasses, he again looked upon the circular garden before him, thankful that they had agreed to let him do this project in the previously unused yard.
Roses of every conceivable color filled the space in hues of red, yellow, pink and white. A stone pathway meandered through the garden, allowing one to experience almost every specimen up close. A concrete bench sat next to a small gurgling fountain halfway through the path, a place one could relax and leisurely take in the scent and splendor of the beautiful garden.
Sunny from morning until late afternoon, the garden was surrounded by an old stone wall, each end butting up to one of the two different majestic buildings that anchored the space. Access to the garden was gained through a small alleyway between these structures, a dark road ending at a bright and heavenly destination.
The man smiled once again at the analogy of life this place represented to him, his work having taken him along many a dark path. His purpose was true however, and his reward in the end would be beyond description.
A movement off to his left caught his eye, and he spent several moments trying to discern what it was. Finally, his eyes focused on the culprit, it having been camouflaged in the mulch, the black lined brown patches blending almost perfectly with the ground cover…a snake!
The man did not move for several seconds, watching the eight foot creature wind its way through the rose bushes. Waiting until the snake wound its way a little further, he slowly and quietly made his way to the snake’s position, finally reaching down and deftly clasping it behind the neck.
Holding the snake’s head up so as to look it in the eye, the snake started coiling itself around the man.
“Adeodatus, what are you doing out here, naughty boy escaped again,” the man said with a smile.
The man felt the familiar constrictions around his body as his snake, his friend, showed affection the only way he knew how.
Thinking for a moment to remember the day’s date, the man realized that it was indeed time for another feeding of the Burmese Python.
“Let’s get you home and find a nice juicy rat for you, shall we?”
Walking back to his quarters, the man smiled at his pet, enjoying the comforting hugs. The snake was only a little over a year old, and it would easily make twelve feet within its lifetime.
Entering his quarters, he hung his hat on one of the pegs by the door before taking the snake over to his pen, thinking he would probably need to make the pen bigger soon.
Pulling a frozen rat out of the freezer, he set it in the sink to thaw. He removed a knife from a drawer in his dark kitchen before picking up a deep-red apple from a basket on the counter. Adding a half pack of saltine crackers to his selections, he worked his way over to the primitive table for a late lunch.
He would try to get a nap after his meal, as he had much work to do this night. Another infraction had come to his attention lately, and it needed to be dealt with in short order.
His vows demanded it.
“It will be a busy night,” he thought to himself as he sat down on the sturdy but unadorned chair.
Bowing his head, he crossed himself before reverently kissing the cross around his neck. Taking up the apple and the knife, he patiently peeled its skin before cutting it up into seven equal pieces, eating each piece slowly with a cracker.
“A busy night indeed.”
Chapter 4
August 20, 1998
I groggily opened my eyes and tried to come to grips with my surroundings, the reality slowly sinking in. I sat up and looked around; Juan was smiling that goofy grin as he pointed up the road toward the sound of the approaching bus.
“De bus is come,” he stated excitedly.
Looking up the road, I made out an old bus at the head of a slowly approaching cloud of dust. Brushing myself off, I gathered up my things before digging in my pocket for a couple more coins.
Handing these to Juan, I thanked him for his help. The big goofy grin reappeared and he suddenly grabbed me around the waist in a hug before he headed off into town at a run, on a beeline toward his house to show off his good fortune.
His excitement brought a fleeting smile to my face as I walked across the road to the station to await my transportation.
“At least I can help somebody,” I mumbled under my breath as the memory of Frank’s murder creeped back into my head, remorse again being brought to the fore of my being.
I beat it back down with determination, there was too much to do right now, and I needed a clear head on my shoulders as I worked to get back to Indiana and start my investigation.
The bus stopped in front of the station in a hail of noise and dust, the bus’s squealing brakes fighting for attention with the muffler-less engine. After the ancient bus came to a complete stop, I was treated to a rain of dust as it settled out of the air onto my clothes and bags.
I removed my hat and beat it against my leg before wiping the majority of the road off my shoulders. The door slid open and I was greeted by a small dark-haired man with a few missing front teeth. Saying nothing, he merely smiled and nodded, motioning me in with his hand. Handing him my ticket, the driver nodded vigorously as he laid it in a basket and closed the door behind me.
Making my way to a seat, I heard the grinding of gears before suddenly being nearly thrown from my feet by the unexpectedly violent forward lurch of the vehicle. I grabbed the side of a seat to steady myself for a moment before continuing on.
I noticed there are only three other souls on the bus, none of them Anglos as Caucasians were sometimes referred to in this country. Not one of my fellow travelers lifted their eyes to acknowledge my presence, which was fine by me. I picked a dusty but empty seat well away from anyone else and settled in for the long ride to Lima.
I started thinking, taking stock of the vision I had before the bus came. I took out my journal and made some notes of the murder as seen through my mind’s eye in the vision. The funny looking little man, if it was indeed an accurate portrayal of the murderer, would seem to be someone easily identifiable.
But what of the motive, why would anyone want to hurt Frank, much less take his life?
“What did you get yourself into old friend?” I whisper to myself as I finish writing my notes.
Looking down on the page, I saw nothing else that immediately jumped out at me. I was however drawn to turn back a few pages, needing to update Betty.
Since her death over a year ago, my daily entries had filled page after page of my journal. Having found no better way to communicate with her, I still felt the desperate need to talk to her again, to hold her in my arms, to feel the tender touch of her lips on mine. I truly felt this exercise I had dedicated myself to was the only thing keeping me sane. Even so, there was an argument to be made that even that wasn’t working very well.
Taking up my pencil to start writing, I agonized over how to break the news to Betty as if she were sitting next to me. Betty and Frank were also very close, he taking her death almost as hard as myself.
Taking a deep breath, I put pencil to paper, letting it sit there for a few more moments before writing. Once I started however, I felt the relief of telling someone else; telling a good friend and lover what was inside of me. Letting out the emotions I had bottled up, emotions that if left there would surely kill my soul with despair.
August 20, 1998
My Dearest Betty,
Something terrible has happened…
Chapter 5
August 20, 1998
May 29, 1997
My Dearest Betty,
Well I’m on the plane; I guess there is no turning back now.
I know you said there was something here for me, that ‘they’ told you I was yet needed, and that I had more to do before I could join you. I haven’t seen it back home, and I needed to get away from there, too many heartaches, to many reminders of my loss, of you.
I can only pray that I am not leaving something undone by leaving. I feel like a coward, yet I believe the only way for me to move on is by leaving…at least for now. Forgive me my sweet.
I Love You
***
I had been drawn back to my first journal entry to Betty, from the day I had left Indiana. Doubts now assailed me once more as I reread the letter.
What if I’d stayed?
Would Frank still be alive?
My guilt was quickly forgotten by the pain in my head as it hit the ceiling, the bus having hit an apparently huge hole. Looking up at the driver, he seemed more than a little amused by the angry words coming from my bus mates.
Soon we had turned onto the Pan American Highway. Although ‘highway’ is a term used loosely to describe the road we were now on, the chances of a smoother ride from here on out prompted me to put my knees on the seat in front of me and try to grab some more shuteye before we arrived in Lima.
Yet another reminder of Betty occurred when a Spanish version of ‘Yesterday’ started playing over the crackly radio speaker above me. She had loved the Beatles, as well as the whole 60’s era of music. I was still thinking of her as I closed my eyes, almost immediately drifting into a fitful sleep.
***
The inviting room was now fully bright and warm I noticed, transformed fully back to the room of the past. I had still had to walk through the hallway to get there however, the meaning of that change still elusive.
Sitting down in the chair, I immediately grabbed the cup from the table, letting the hot black liquid slide smoothly down my throat. Looking over to the chess game in process, I saw where my opponent had made a move, so far so good. Seemingly, he had yet to see my strategy, his current move being one of two I had hoped he would make.
With a smile on my face, I quickly decided on the next move and slid the King’s Bishop into its new location. Leaning back into the chair once more, I was more convinced daily that my opponent in these mysterious games was my grandfather. How or why this may be the case was above my pay grade intellectually, but it gave me a warm feeling knowing he might be here with me.
As I continued to relax in the chair, I held the coffee below my nose so that the heavenly scent could be easily inhaled between sips. My vision was affixed to the fire as I watched the wisps of smoke happily curl off the ends of the yellow flames. My eyes suddenly felt very heavy, so I gave in and let them close slowly, the warmth of the room and the smell of the coffee enveloping me like a cozy blanket.
When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by a comforting blackness, but more. I felt like I was in a loving embrace, like there were arms wrapped around my shoulders. A whisper of a voice seemed to be flitting around in my head, maybe more like a buzzing or humming than a whisper. It was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand. I concentrated harder on the message, but it didn’t seem to ease my frustration.
“What are you trying to tell me?” I said in desperation, wanting more than anything to hear the words. Before I had time to think about it, the buzzing was replaced with a kind of whistle, an eerie whistle, someone whistling a song. After a few moments, I realized it was the song that Frank’s murderer had been whistling when he had left Frank laying dead on the ground.
I listened intently to the notes, they seemed familiar to me, but something was off, something was not right with the tune. What was it?
It was banging at my head, every note seemed to pound in my brain. What was it, a different key, or the cadence?
That’s it! The timing was slower than normal, but the name of the song finally popped into my head. I was so excited at figuring out the eerie music, that I stood up as the name escaped my lips in a loud voice.
“Onward Christian Soldiers!”
Chapter 6
August 20, 1998
Opening my eyes, I realized that that I had just loudly announced the song title to the bus passengers, after shooting straight up out of my seat before hand. Everybody on the bus was staring at me like I was loco, including the bus driver, whose smile had disappeared for the first time.
I quickly settled back down in my seat, pulling the hat lower over my eyes and grabbing my journal to make some notes of my vision.
Having come up with the name of the song, I wrote it down. I could not fathom what, if anything, the song would have to do with the murder. Frustrated, I spent the next twenty minutes trying to eke out a solution to the puzzle with no success.
I took out the half-eaten burrito and slowly munched on the cold food as I continued to read through my journal. The very old leather-bound book originally my grandfather’s. He had used it on his expedition to Egypt after WWI. The time spent in the arid country was used to help him forget the atrocities of the war he had just survived.
I had read and re-read his notes and thoughts over the last few months, and I had gained additional insights into the man that had been my hero as I was growing up. Also named Gabriel, he had been much in my thoughts of late, a fact that I wasn’t sure I could attribute entirely to the reading of his journal.
My eyes had once again grown heavy, the stiflingly hot air and the long ride combining to overwhelming my alertness. I modified my position once again and tried to get comfortable, not used to the inactivity that the long ride demanded.
Finally finding a position that wasn’t terrible, I closed my eyes and let the swaying of the ancient bus rock me off to sleep. A man full of guilt will find his dreams filled with demons demanding an accounting for his actions. A fitful sleep was the best I could hope for.
Chapter 7
August 20, 1998
My demons accomplished their job well.
I woke in a full sweat four hours later, I felt as if I had been drug through hell, and wondered if I would ever again feel rested.
There was a bustle of activity around me as my eyes slowly opened in the bright hazy interior of the bus. Pushing the bill of my cap up with a finger, I saw that my neighbors were gathering up their belongings. Sitting up straighter, I noticed that we were approaching the terminal of Jorge Chavez airport, the low building before me a miniature version of the massive architectural structures back home.
A loud pounding roar surrounded us as a Peruvian Airlines 727 rose up from behind the building. The plane seemed to slice its way through the hot hazy air surrounding the airport as it made its way to points unknown.
Exiting the bus took longer than expected as I realized that we had taken on quite a few more passengers since I had closed my eyes. The bus driver nodded his head to each passenger as they started down the steps; the never wavering smile painted onto his face.
It almost seemed that we were still inside the bus as we headed into the terminal, the stagnant heat as bad outside as that within the bus. Entering the door of the air-conditioned building was not much better, as the overworked cooling units did little to lower the temperature inside.
I made my way over to the ticket windows and secured a seat on that evening’s 10 hour flight to Washington DC. After a six hour layover, I would make a connecting flight to Atlanta, then on to Cincinnati.
There was a Western Union window down the way, so I sent off a telegram to Allen to ask for someone to pick me up tomorrow around 4:00 PM their time. With that out of the way, I needed to figure out what to do with myself for the next five hours.
Scoping out the small airport terminal, I found a food stand and bought a cola with ice, the first I had had in over a year. I had to admit that the drink was very refreshing. I promptly purchased another before making my way down the long corridor.