Jewel

Paranormal Thriller

© Vicktorya
Background exercise for The Aquarians series
2006 January Blitz

 

Chapter 17

Scarlett smiled, hungry lips tasting luscious success. This was easier than poisoning a husband’s mistress in old France. No one has a clue about that, still. And with this – no fingerprints, no suspect, no trail. Perfect. She wouldn’t get cocky, though, there were always wildcards involved.

With the waxing grand cross, she plotted carefully. Another week and she could put her plan into high gear. The sun didn’t fully oppose Saturn until the 28^th.

Scarlett flicked on CNN to see the latest on Avery’s condition. Aquarians! Let them be damned. They can blame this on the Wahhabis, too. Like every other accident of man.

***

Jewel stared into her empty cup, trying to divine meaning out of what Marshall was saying. She remembered not one second of the night before, and for the first time wondered if she was losing it. She started to giggle.

Marshall smiled, in awe of so much about her.

Jewel gave a synopsis, spluttering laughter in the broken thread, “This is rich … Marshall!  Here I am … a continuously conscious soul from … god knows what planet … psychic daughter of the all powerful Avery Christian and an albino Welsh hieress … developing remote viewing to prove myself capable as a clarifyer of consciousness for …”  this next line cracked her up, she forced the words out “… for humanity’s screwed up astral plane … and now … I’m a temporary amnesiac … victim of some rose-killing magic … living in a mansion in the middle of a bull paddock … in middle earth!”

At this last line Marshall did have to laugh. Loudly. In the house, Madames Bucheress and Ariel made their puny presences known in the doorway, obviously disapproving of the lazy students.

Jewel noticed Marshall’s sight distracted, and checked over her shoulder. The view of those two gossiping figures only made her laugh harder. She continued her blasphemy more quiely, “ … in a real Hogwarts school … run by a couple of old witches … who wouldn’t be caught dead lifting a broomstick!”

Marshall gave a hearty guffaw. All she said was true. Jewel’s eyes glistened at him and she reached a hand to Marshall’s shoulder, bolstering herself for a next line. “Now, my mother is unreachable, but I’m not supposed to con tact her  … when my father is in a horrible accident … and likely the press will be on the doorstep by noon.” These last lines weren’t funny, but no less true. Jewel was on the verge of hysteria, but Marshall didn’t see humour in reality.

She squeaked a final line, “When they come to the door, tell them ‘Jewel is a 404 Page: You have a Not Found error!’”

Maybe tomorrow this would be funny, but now Marshall was concerned for his new friend. She fell into his arms. He scooted his chair closer. Jewel began crying. Real tears. Sad tears. Tears of pain. Marshall held her as she sobbed into Stone Temple Pilots.

 

 

 

Chapter 18

Maquique found himself at an Athens gay bar. He was deciphering the tattoos on a big blonde bouncer who accused him of being drunk. But Maquique was hot on a trail, and saw clues everywhere. So much so, he was drinking himself into oblivion. He didn’t remember when or where he started. Made it more of a mystery that way.

Maquique made it through her inquisition and was later slurring insights to his new found buddy, or both of them, who looked like bald transgender dwarves wearing lime green twinsets. “…I was mindin my own buznez and … Avery friggin Christian calls, wans me to do him a favor.” Maquique took continuous sips of whatever was placed before him. “Well, I’ve known Avery for ages. Ages and ages, and when I say ages I mean aaaages.” He slid off the barstool.

Frankie Goes to Hollywood was playing at full tilt. Whatever Maquique was saying couldn’t be heard by the dwarf, nor the skinny black crack whore, who was rubbing up against the cross-dressing neo-Nazi.

Whatever … Maquique had a story to slur up at their legs. “So like I saaaid … Avery Be Good Christian call me, want me, his buddy Mackie, to help his little girl. She’s a real cutie and can see thins ata distance … read minds … sumtimes. She ain’t that good at it though. So that’s where I come in.” Maquique noticed the little guy and the tall chick had left. They realized Maquique was a nutter ages and ages ago.

He accessed some measure of stability, with the assistance of a jovial dousing of seltzer raining on him from behind the bar. So he stopped his story here before spilling more of his dribbling monologue. Being devoid of an audience sapped his enthusiasm.

The swirling lights, booming rock, and a flood of alcohol still had less effect on him than the morning’s image. He saw roses dying in front of his eyes. That, now mixed with the smokey celluloid of neon screaming ecstasy … he focuses only on the hope of unconsciousness. He pushed himself upright and made a beeline towards the two doors, zig zagging perfectly into the dancers.

He continued conversation with the bouncer, who steadied him against the doorframe with a thick arm, her snake tatoo ready to bite his neck.

Maquique appreciated this familiarity. “So … I was 16 when I ran away from home … or 17 or 18 ….”

The blonde growling at Maquique’s potential height, “if you were 18, you didn’t run away. You left home.” Two patrons dipped under her arm, squeezing between her bulk and his hiccoughs.

“Right, sweetie.” Maquique agreed, “I LEFT. But daddy, dear Colonel Abrahamson, he was pissed off, didn’t want me to go. He actually had Mossad trail me. They’re … ”

“Go home and sleep it off buddy.” The bouncer flung him onto the sidewalk.

 

 

 

Chapter 19

Lyra came out of surgery seeing better immediately. What bothered her most about her albinism was the eyesight. Being teased and stared at wasn’t so bad, because you could get away from it, and frankly, she couldn’t see the subtle expressions on the faces of children as their faces froze upon seeing such stark paleness.

As she got older she saw her condition as blessing more than curse. She’d long ago given up what others thought about her. She was beautiful and knew it, as did anyone who saw past the lack of colour of her skin. Strikingly beautiful, like her twin.

She called Zulieka to tell the encouraging results. No answer. Even though Maquique’s suspicions were off the wall, Lyra drove past her own turnoff in Bristol and continued up M4 another hour’s drive to Glyncorrwg. She was enjoying her new clarity. As Lyra neared Atan Forest she marvled at an unusually thick snow blanketing sparkling hills.

She turned up the long drive to Zulie’s home, rolled down the windows and reveled in the brittle fresh air on her face. The normally green hills now exquisitely white on white, winking winter sunshine into happy eyes. The tires crunched over dry snow, crackling a symphony of shattering ice.

Lyra pulled to a stop in front of the wide rock-hewn estate. She’d also stopped blaming herself for not accepting this part of their inheritance. Old homes could sap all one’s funds in maintenance. When she was 21, she had no intention of living in isolation and didn’t need a white elephant. She preferred her assets liquid.

Stepping up the seven stone stairs, she slipped. Lyra fell hard on hands and knees. “Damn.” Her black boots were made for city sidewalks, not icy rock steps. She stood on shakey legs. Stockings seeping with blood staining their black inky, palms scraped raw, their white pinkened and dotted with red.

With a shudder and a deep sigh, Lyra very carefully surmounted the next few steps. She knocked the tarnished brass dragon knocker hard three times. No sound in, or out. She knocked again.

***

Along with the California sun, stalwart in its morning duty, Avery’s health similarly rose hopeful. He was moved from intensive care to a private room. The media updated his progress regularly. For a man of advancing age he was in good health and should enjoy a full recovery.

The Jaguar was intact, but totalled. The freak of the accident was one tree pierced the side window, scarring Avery’s face and cutting near his juggler vein. The emergency team remarked that if he had been an inch further he would have bled to death. Concussion was their main concern, and its pressure on the brain.

At the garage, mechanics went over the car meticulously. The wrong brake fluid was the determination written up into the report. However, the brakes failed due to electrical interference in the retrofit ABS computer, and there was no way to trace blame to that.

© Vicktorya 2006

Chapter 20

Words: 418

It was so like the Roerich painting, the swirling flames. But no horse, no Kalki avatar riding over the mountains with a banner of freedom. Just a burning. Jewel drew it out and wrote it down.

She put her journal down and got dressed. She paid particular attention to her reflection in the mirror. She was glad she had her father’s skin, and not the deathly white of her mother and aunt. A little sun, a little burn, even down here in the ozone scarred sky of New Zealand

– she could colour.

Jewel remembered her skin against Marshall’s when he held her first the other afternoon. Her light hand on his tanned sinewy shoulder, so young and tight. So strong. So solid. Her skin translucent to his. She pulled her dark hair into a high ponytail. Rubbed pale pink gloss on her lips. Tasting raspberry. It was a hot morning and perspiration beaded on her smooth brow.

***

Lyra started to shiver. Sitting out here in the cold was ridiculous, but she didn’t want to risk driving out just when Zulieka would return. She must have been gone for quite a while though, as there were no car tracks out the driveway.

The phone rang inside the home. Three rings. Lyra got up and walked around the house. No sign of life. She entered the snowy courtyard, the lonely bench, she looked up the side of the house to Zulie’s bedroom. The window was cracked. The phone rang. Three rings.

Lyra walked to the stables. All the horses gone; likely at the farm in Cornwall this time of year. She had hoped for a friendly face. The clean pungent smell of damp hay lingered. Lyra went carefully up the steps again. She knocked hard on the green brass knocker to enter the Red Dragon again. No answer. She sat again. Closed her eyes.

Her eyes burned. She looked. Everywhere a melting. Her retinas? In front of her, the snow, it was melting, burning red. No. Her vision? She looked at her car. Burning. No. She looked to the door. Burning.

The phone rang again. Three times. Lyra quickly got in her car and left, hazarding her focus all the way back to Bristol, the road burning all the way. She’d call when she got home. Maquique must know something.

***

Jewel walked out of the cottage. Her plain white t-shirt too tight. Her blue jean shorts too short. Marshall saw her. They avoided each other, and felt only burning.

© Vicktorya 2006

Chapter 21

Words: 473

Marshall untangled the cord from the chapel to the front gardens. The electric hedger making short work of this garden task. It was hung up was on the small Madonna next to the Virgo stone. He flipped the orange cord over the short obelisk with its single word, PURIFY. Rivulets of sweat coursed down his chest, offering small relief from the heat.

The line went taut as he neared the grotto sheltering the statue of Mary. He heard “Oh God …” Repeating the same, he ran to her. “Jewel!” She was crumpled backwards on the bench, staring at the sky, crossing herself, moaning. She didn’t recognize him.

He scooped her up like a child and ran to the cottage. As they passed the chapel, she mumbled, “Ma … Ma  “ He was glad she knew him, but her eyes stared blankly. Her face beautiful, vulnerable, she was limp in his arms. He didn’t wonder yet if this blessing was cursed.

From an upstairs window in Denhy Manor, Madame Professors Bucheress and Ariel looked down. They knew it was an all too familiar sight. Sex. It was against the rules. They decided to call the Board.

“Ma   Ma  “ Jewel began to cry out louder as Marshall hurried her into the cottage. She was frail, like a child calling mother. Was that it, calling for mama? She could be in shock, heat stroke …. Or? Worry etched itself deep in his jaw as he laid her onto the bed.

“Jewel? … Jewel, it’s me, it’ll be okay.” She was burning up. He got a damp cloth and filled a glass with water. Blotting her brow he begged her to drink. She began to rouse, to focus her eyes on him. He persisted, “What’s wrong?”

Then she said that word. “Makeek.” With dreaded disappointment, Marshall felt a cut in his heart. The same word she repeated when she was so ill just days before. This was another thing he hadn’t remembered to her. Makeek makeek.

Marshall opened the double doors to the deck. Jewel needed more air. He was doing no better.

***

“Excuse me sir, could you step this way please.” The long checkin line at Athens airport had reached its end. Not with a polite “Enjoy your flight” or even a silent official stamping. Maquique followed the heavy steps of the burly customs officer.

His departure time already neigh, Maquique asked, “What is the problem?” He added, hopefully, “Sir?”

“Your passport. There are some irregularities.” A fist twisted on a silvery doorknob that opened to a small brightly lit room that held one gray plastic chair. “Wait here.”

Maquique did so. By the time his plane was landing at Heathrow, he was still waiting in the little room. The door had been locked behind him. He at least needed to take a piss.

© Vicktorya 2006

Chapter 22

Words: 498

Tucked up a skinny San Francisco street, Scarlett paced in a blackened apartment building. The news reported Avery Christian should be released from hospital early next week. She phoned a news station she thought would be interested in Avery’s investments overseas. There wasn’t nearly enough exposure on the variety of Mr. Christian’s enterprises..

***

In a skyscraper nearby, Ms. Francis feilded calls. “Yes, Mr. Christian is lucid and in full control of ABC Industries.” Another call, “No, there is no truth to that rumor.” The next, “Mrs. Christian? No, I’m not at liberty to discuss her schedule. Yes, in Wales.”

Finally Frannie slowed, “Who?” She stood, and managed a derisive chuckle, “No, certainly not. Mr. Christian is not funding paranormal experiments.”

Ms. Francis stiffened her lips. “Yes, his daughter is in New Zealand.” She looked out the window. “Miss Christian is attending school.” She began to reply several times, until she concluded, “I don’t believe that is any concern of yours.”

Ms. Francis would end this call. “Is there anything else? The number for our lawyer? Yes, I could give it to you. And I’m sure you’ll be able to find it yourself as well. Good day.”   

Ms. Francis called the head of the Board. “Xavier, you have a leak.” Twelve floors above the lobby of the ABC Tower, Xavier had been expecting this. Bucheress had been telling him everything.

***

With the city clamoring, Scarlett went into meditation to continue her day’s work. If Maquique was coming this way, they ought to be reacquainted. She settled into the lotus position. Where was he now?  She smiled to herself, inwardly seeing him stuck in the little holding cell. Well, we mustn’t let him get too frustrated. It will be a very long trip. She’d wait to send him a personal greeting until after he was on the plane. Meanwhile, she would visit his protégé.

***

Maquique banged on the door, hollering to be let out.

Surprisingly promptly, the door opened and a petite redhead charmed, “We’re very sorry for the delay, Mr. Abrahamson. Everything is in order now. We’ve rebooked your flight. Your bags are onboard. You’ll need to transfer at Heathrow.” She handed him some papers. “Your passport, gate and seat assignment, Sir. Boarding in ten minutes.”

Maquique thanked her and ran down the corridor. He had to find a toilet. What the heck that delay was about he didn’t care – dealing with Greek authorities was the least of his worries.

He was among the last to board, and as he entered the plane he was graciously escorted to first class. A steward was ready to assist him immediately. Maquique ordered a scotch on the rocks. “Make that a double.”

He looked around at the other passengers. No one else in the first class section, except, two men, looking sharp in dark suits. They also looked like body builders. They were sitting behind him.

Maquique thanked the steward for the drink and he snapped open the newspaper.

 

 

 

Chapter 23

“That should hold her.” Bucheress finished tying Jewel’s wrists to the bedframe. “We don’t want her hurting herself.”

Ariel pulled the doors and curtains closed on the bedroom. “God that screaming, you’d have thought she was possessed.”

“Yes.” Bucheress agreed. “Good thing we’re in the middle of nowhere, and so few are onsite this time of year.”

Ariel fluffed about, sniffing? “What is that awful smell? Like something died in here? You smell it?” Bucheress ignored her, pressing a damp cloth over Jewel’s eyes.

Ariel continued, “Well, I’m more sensitive than you … I’ll light some incense.”

With sandlewood smoke curling, the madams closed the door, trusting their ministrations of Rescue Remedy and flower essences, and some other things, would help Jewel rest.

“We’ve been getting calls from overseas.” Bucheress told Ariel as they clomped back into Denhy Manor. Ariel made a pert gesture with her little face and detoured Bucheress to the entrance hall and into the small room underneath the stairs, which was crammed with a computer and a mass of phone wiring.

“See this switch?” Ariel stood on tip toes, reaching to a silver button labeled: Telecom.  She pushed it and a row of green lights went out on a lower panel. “There, no more calls.”

“Well that was easy.” Bucheress admired.

“Let’s have a cuppa, shall we?” Ariel invited, and they trotted to the kitchen.

***

Marshall put the hedger away in the shed. He walked around the back of the house, hoping to avoid the madams and get to Jewel. He was passing the Will-to-Be stone in the garden mandala.

“Marshall!” Bucheress yelled to him from the kitchen window.

“Yes?!” He couldn’t hide his exasperation. “I’m DONE with the hedges, your DRESSER is outside your room, and I’m going to get cleaned up and then go into town so I can get that STUFF for you.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, ready to scream if she added one more thing to his day.

“Oh good, honey. Just – don’t bother Jewel, she’s resting now.” Bucheress thought herself clever in diffusing a young man’s anger. “Thank you for your help. You did the right thing by calling us you know.”

Marshall strode directly to the dormitory. “I didn’t call you, you old witch.” He asserted to himself. He walked down the hallway, past his room, and out the back door. He slipped around to the cottage deck.

He couldn’t see in with the curtains drawn. He pushed the handle down. Locked. The front door would be locked too then, and he couldn’t risk being seen. He looked around the patio. A thin metal cover plate to an electric box was held loosely by two screws. He twisted them quickly left and pulled off the cover. He slipped it inbetween the doors, jimmying the latch, which released easily.  

He noiselessly entered the room.

Jewel had shaken the cloth off her face, her wrists twisted in black silk, the clock clutched in her hand. “Thank God it’s you.”

 

 

 

Chapter 24

Xavier repeatedly called to Denhy Manor. He finally resorted to email and hoped they got the hint. Bucheress could be so dense, but he had to try, so he typed: “NZQA will be making a regular visit soon. Please send figures for the B&B this month and marketing report. Secure the valuables; insurance being reviewed. X” Damn, he hated to leave a trail.

***

Marshall approached the bed to untie Jewel. His fingers shaking as he fumbled with the black silk. They both noticed.

Jewel eased his awkwardness. “Well, the bondage community wouldn’t have Bucheress – she can’t tie an elegant knot to save her soul.” Marshall smiled, his fingers inept.

“What the hell did they tie you up for? I said you had heat stroke.” Marshall began untying the other side. (What he wouldn’t give … )

“Oh, I was screaming. I expected to see someone, but it was Bucheress and Ariel!” Jewel smiled disarmingly, “That would startle you, wouldn’t it? They’ve thought I’m unstable ever since they heard what I was seeing. As if we weren’t here TO do remote viewing and psychokinesis and everything. If you actually do it, though, they think you’re crazy.”

“Well, I’ve been worried myself.” Marshall let the loosened restraint slide against her pale forearm. “Just the last couple of days. I mean.” He added quickly. “Not really worried.”

Jewel hopped off the bed. “Actually, I’m fine. I had … well, something weird happened out at the Mary statue. I was burning up.”

Marshall watched her stuff jeans and a jumper into a rucksack. “Hearing about my dad’s accident the other day through me for a loop. We’re just now getting closer, and …”

Jewel openned a drawer, pulled out delicate underthings, and pushed them into her bag.

***

Ariel surveyed the foyer. Christmas decorations STILL on the mantle. She swept her arm and candles flew onto the kauri floors. “THAT season is definitely over. Bucheress can have her boy clean it up.” Ariel had no time for debris.

Bucheress heard clattering as she emerged from the upper hall. “I guess you’ve read the message too?”

“Of course. Xavier is such a bore. He writes those paranoid messages – like someone would CARE what we’re doing here.” Ariel yanked at a cord of Christmas lights, flinging them to the pile of holly and wax. “B&B projections! We just TOLD him, AGAIN, that we aren’t going to maintain the bed and breakfast this year.”

“Well, I think he’s giving us a hint, dear. The part about a regular visit from NZQA.” Bucheress paused at a landing and pushed her plump finger into her plump chin, pondering.

“I know, they’ve never been here. We’re not registered with the Qualifications Authority. He’s so clueless. This isn’t a school. At least not on NZQA books.” Ariel jumped to grab a wreath off the back of the front door, succeeding only in cocking it askew.

“Exactly. He’s trying to tell us something.” Bucheress was feeling herself clever at this surmise.

 

 

 

Chapter 25

Marshall was feeling more nervous now than when he entered Jewel’s bedroom. She continued to grab things from the bathroom, and her wallet from a purse, put them in the pack and then slung it over her shoulder, and said, “But I’m fine now. I’m going with you.”

“Going with me?” Marshall reclosed the deck door completely, checking quickly to ensure he wasn’t seen. “Where?”

“To town. I overheard you tell Bucheress you were going.” Jewel smiled at him just so.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Are you?” Marshall felt a wave of heat again. His hands were still shaking, and he put them into his pockets. “If you need something, I can pick it up for you.” He felt hopeless, anxious, and was getting very excited. “I mean, you were just frantic an hour ago.”

“Nope, you’re going to get me out of here.” Jewel peered out the back door and left. Marshall followed her around to the dormitory. “Go get the truck and I’ll hop in quickly over here.” She was good natured but insistent. She seemed completely lucid.

Marshall knew he couldn’t refuse her. As much as he really felt like taking a shower now, he didn’t dare suggest a delay. He’d just have to go dirty as he was, thankful that he would fit in easily with New Zealand

’s idea of fashion for men. He only needed some gumboots to complete the look, but barefeet it would be.

“I have to get the keys in the office.” Marshall shuffled about uncertainly.

“Sure, no problem. I’ll be right here until you come around. No one will see! – don’t look so worried.” Jewel was finding him cuter by the minute. “Also, while I was tied up I figured out some things about what is going on. When you told me I was saying that word when I was out of it, I remembered.”

She shooed him out the door, keeping herself out of sight. “I’ll tell you all about it on the trip. Go!”

***

Scarlett walked along the Bay. Cargo ships coming in and out of the harbor. Once docked, they unloaded and reloaded containers at the same time. A rather efficient process, for the mundane. She was nearly fascinated by the thought of all those goods destined for far shores. But, commercial trade … how droll afterall. Certainly moving goods from place to place was necessary, but moving minds was much more interesting than widgets. Thoughts and feelings much tastier commerce than loads of wine and coffee. Individuals and their convictions were what was effective in changing history. Just a few characters here and there, given the right motivation, this was what power was about. But to do it well, one needed to know one’s history, where one had been, and where one was going. This was her advantage. Scarlett knew very well who she was, who the other players were, and where they were all going to go.

 

 

 

Chapter 26

Having completed errands, Marshall joined Jewel at Drover’s in Feilding. She was laughing with the owner, Henry. Henry had an eye for the ladies, but was ever polite and protective. That Irish brogue however always suggested to Marshall to give a response of simple nodding smiles. Henry thought Marshall a bit thick, and returned to endless wiping of glasses at the bar. Henry kept his concern upon the unlikely couple.

Jewel glowed up at Marshall, “Everything done?”

“Yep. Couldn’t get the organic chicken feed Bucheress wanted, so she’ll be pissed. But what else is new?” Marshall flopped himself onto the chair and propped his feet on a third. With a look from Henry, Marshall put his dirty soles back on the ground.

“OK, so this is what is going on …” Jewel raced into an explanation. “’Maquique’ is what I’ve been saying when I’ve been … out of it. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before. He’s an old friend of my fathers, but … he’s not that old. Closer to our age than his. He’s been sending me messages.”

“Huh?” was all that came to Marshall. “You mean, in the distant viewing experiment? I thought you were doing that with your m om?”

“Yes, yes I am …” Jewel stirred her tall glass of tea with a thin straw. “This part isn’t clear yet, but … they are testing me.”

“Well, isn’t that the point of the experiment?” Marshall nodded to Henry who neatly delivered a latte’ in a large bowl with a mumbled hr mph.

Jewel reached to Marshall’s plate and took the chocolate fish. A soft melt of sweetness lingered on glossy pink lips, which was quickly flicked away by her tongue. She continued to unravel her thoughts as if she was just finding the end of the threads, “Yes, of course, but this is … different.”

Late afternoon turned to evening. Jewel convinced Marshall to stay for the Friday night band. She also convinced him to join in some drinks. Her several chardonnays and his few beers were having the likel y effect.

Marshall had just told her he was adopted, and she said that was the same as Maquique, and that that was how her father knew him. His friend, now Colonel Abrahamson, had adopted Maquique when he was about 10. That name bothered him to no end. He’d be glad to never hear it again.

The band started up rocking. Marshall would have preferred a quieter setting, although scooting closer to Jewel to hear had its advantages. Then – when three ascending notes, followed by three descending notes, released into a trail of five – his fear was realized. Jewel stood up and swooned, “This is my FAVORITE song; let’s dance!” The drums started rolling on Radar Love.

Marshall shuffled like a looby, but Jewel was mesmerized. She danced like a demon, a beautiful blur in swirling lights. The room was hitting red line. Jewel focused on the chick guitar player, and watched her turn into twins.

 

 

Chapter 27

Maquique jumped. The Greek pilot’s accented voice announced they would be landing at Heathrow soon. The two men glanced to each other when they saw the black shock of hair lurch awake in the reclining seat in front of them.

As the steward readied the cabin for landing, Maquique’s dream unfolded back to him. The last words he remembered were, “St. Stephen, so glad you’ve arrived. Too bad you missed a perfectly good 13th.” He thought only “huh?”, and was overcome with a coughing fit. It felt as though fingernails were wrapped around his throat.

Maquique eased his seat upright. The newspaper lay in the seat next to him, unfolded to a headline that read “Head of ABC Makes Full Recovery.” He tightened his seat belt and considered Lyra, doubtful she would take the news he was bringing in as favorable a light. Her niece the Dangereuse. Maquique doubted further that Dylan would have told his mother anything about his cousin. Lyra had always made it clear she wanted nothing to do with this past life nonsense.

London traffic was typically jammed. Maquique could finally accelerate as he headed up towards Bristol. His mini rental car however was not meeting his hopes of a flash arri val.

He drove into Lyra’s drive. She was waiting. Maquique got out, needing a break. Lyra did the albino beautiful thing, simply standing there, and he hated it. He stepped out of the tiny car. He wanted to put his arm around her, console her, embrace the reuniting. She wasn’t in the mood. He said “Hello” and walked past her to the door. Dylan stood in the open doorway, staring blankly. Maquique stopped 5 feet away, silent.

Lyra ghost standing behind him, Dylan ghost before him, Maquique waited.

“Buddy!” Dylan cried out.

“Buddy bud.” Maquique returned. He walked to the young friend and hugged him full. They embraced as only manly men could do. Full of loyalty.

Lyra passed them on the doorstep and entered the home. “A drink, Maquique?” She offered, confident in her resignation.

Maquique kissed both cheeks of his friend who he had not seen in ages. Tears welled in Dylan’s palest of eyes. A second hug from the thin black man. “My man. We’re back in business.”

Dylan nodded, and Maquique pulled him inside. “Yes, Lyra, don’t mind if I do.”

The investigation had begun.

***

After due preparation, and an hour’s drive, the three of them, Lyra driving, arrived at Zulieka’s unnumbered drive. Lyra paused. She put the sedan into neutral. “Are you sure?” She looked hard to the passenger riding shotgun.

Maquique answered, “As sure as I’ve ever been of anything.”

“Oh shit.” Said Lyra, inscrutable as ever. She put the car into first and they inched down the long drive. Moisture filled her newly corrected vision.

Maquique pointed to the back entrance, rock paving leading to a stone-linteled doorway. “Park here.”

 

 

 

Chapter 28

The band finished playing. Henry put on a Lorenna McKinnet CD. Dulcet Gaelic haunting hovered over the small town shy. The bar quieted and emptied, but still Jewel giggled on, falling welcomly towards Marshall. He had stopped drinking when the band hit the crowd raw.

Henry had watered down Jewel’s wine hours ago, sharing knowing nods and painful smiles with Marshall. Life was not unknown to any of them. But she was so tender still.

A dark sky under a full moon called, and Marshall cheered his friend out the door. She had as much to forget as remember, and he would not leave her side. Leaning into his strong arm, she was steered up the sidewalk to the long-waiting ute. Her voice babbled on about Wales now, about poetic love.

Marshall knew not where to lead this winsome trail. At the truck he balanced her on one side and reached for his keys with the other. He tucked her to him tight, keeping her up. Both cool and warm, she clung to him. He let his lips graze the top of her head, smelling heaven even amidst stale smoke. The heat of the night gave him a shiver.

His bare feet stepped on something soft. A bump. And then that sound, that second sound he never wished to hear again. Jewel’s scream invoked the stars, and they came crashing down. She fell to the doll dropped by a child on the walk.

Marshall was as quick as she to drop to his knees. Jewel touched a hand to the white-blonde icon. She saw it. Saw its blank eyes. Saw its roughened red lips. And she screamed again.  Jewel’s back arched as she convulsed. Marshall missed his moment – she was writhing on the concrete. Sounds coming out of her that no one would want to know.

Henry appeared from the night. He saw only Jewel and scooped her up with a whisk, carrying her stiffened body back inside. The music had stopped.

Marshall followed, leaving the dead doll lay where it fell.

 

 

 

Chapter 29

Words: 373

Scarlett wasn’t pleased by the events in Wales. They were frankly disturbing. Yet, she mused soothingly to herself, they were not a total loss. Zulieka was still out of the way. And this minor detail at least didn’t require more of her concentration today.

Her red cashmere wrap swung in a tapping caress to the back of her knees as she walked from the harbour to the central city. She entered the museum, smiling benignly at the servant behind the information desk, passing the donation box with sympathy.

Working with amateurs, however, was something she’d avoid in the future. Xavier obviously didn’t choose his co-workers with sufficient care. The situation in Wales could get complicated. However, she could only do so much.

Entering the basillica, it nearly did take her breath away – so recent made though it was. She could marvel at the architecture. It reminded her of Western France. Ah, the good old days, Scarlett thought, and my Courts of Love.

Her fashionable walking shoes were soundless in the cavernous temple of light. She looked up at the octagonal central dome, a filigree of gold and chocolate creams. It reminded her of the octagonal tower at Deny Manor. She had to marvel that a similarly finely proportioned piece of architecture could have been built just 100 years ago. Yet Denhy remained unnoticed, appreciated only by bulls and a handful of wanna be’s.

She should be thanked for turning it back into a Bed and Breakfast. At least someone could enjoy it.

Such a fine day for a walk. January in California was crisply tart. First, the pungent sea of the harbor, a stroll along the fish-wared wharves, boats bobbing in blue tide, and now this. So lovely. San Francisco was the finest for culture and variety.

Scarlett sighed as she wandered past rows of unframed paintings in the modern art gallery wing of the museum. Her problem de jour was the media. A few hints dropped to a few reporters had resulted in correct inquiries into Avery’s investments. Before long a full investigation into what he was up to would blow. Scarlett was only helping.

She crunched the last of her bright red apple delicious, and looked around for a waste basket.

 

 

 

Chapter 30

Bucheress and Ariel stood alike on the front steps, giving the newspaper woman a list of Denhy Manor’s extensive Bed and Breakfast program.

“Our most exclusive offering, of course …” Ariel elaborated with a twinkle and a grin, “Is the Prince of Wales suite.”

“It wouldn’t disappoint even a head of state.” Agreed Bucheress.

The woman continued, “And, the school? I understand you are operating a school here?”

Ariel and Bucheress looked to each other, back to the tall professional, then both spoke: “What school?” “Oh that!”

The woman jotted down something on her paper. “Yes, I’d love to come in and discuss it. Thank you for offering. I’ll take my coffee black.” She walked through them into the foyer, stepping casually over Christmas decorations strewn about the floor.

Ariel flapped her little hands at her side, tettering on her tall shoes. “I just remembered, I have some errands.” Bucheress gave her a stare. Ariel gallomped down the front stairs, circled around the Will-to-Love stone, and gathered herself quickly off to the cottage with little ‘eeks’.  

Bucheress joined the reporter in the foyer. Her face was fixed, but not her mind. “Sorry, we don’t have any coffee. Fresh out.”

“At a Bed and Breakfast?” The reporter amused.

“No. We have a lazy staff … and, unreliable deliveries. There are no students here this time of year.” Bucheress was standing her ground.

“No students. And, no guests?” The woman made further notes.

“No, not this time of year.” Bucheress offered confidently.

“Summertime … it, isn’t your peak season?” Incredulity was the professional’s forte’.

“You see … we have a more unique clientele than …” Bucheress tried very hard to find a word other than ‘normal’, but made a sound like a goat instead. “Our guests are not dictated by common tourist schedules.” She punctuated her coup by mouthing a condescending ‘please’, and rolling her eyes.

“Of course not.” The inquirier pushed open the door to the Emerald Room, taking in its luxurious appointments. She was stunned by the crystal chandaliers, lit in the sweeping Ruby Dining Hall adjoining. These ceilings, like the entrance hall, all at least 4 meters high, were embellished with ornate carvings, and shone of special craftsmanship.

Bucheress followed lamely behind, kicking the candles into the empty fireplace.

The intruding woman asked, “Mr. Christian owns Denhy Manor, correct?”  

“Look, I have no time for chit chat.” Bucheress turned in place.

“That’s fine, I’ll just sit for a moment then. It is a lovely historical home. Registered, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. Lovely, I mean. And it takes a lot to maintain. So if you’ll excuse us … we have a lot to do.” Bucheress continued to pivot.

“With no guests?” Came that easy questioning tone again.

Bucheress saw Ariel through the windows, flapping herself forward and back around the cottage. “Tea?” she offered her guest, and walked quickly towards the kitchen.

The reporter followed, her smile in tow.

 

 

 

Chapter 31

Henry carried Jewel to his loft. Marshall followed and noticed she weighed no more than a case of beer in this man’s arms

Henry laid Jewel on his bed. “Wha didya do ta ‘er?” He demanded.

“Pardon?”

Henry, convinced this kid was thick, said slowly. “What ‘appened?”

Whether Henry believed Marshall’s simply-mumbled explanation wasn’t clear. “Ye best gitoutta ‘ere. Now.” Henry sat next to Jewel, patting her hand and talking soothingly. She was calling that sound.

Henry delicately pawed Jewel’s brow. “Eets alright, all okay.” Jewel was incoherent. “Poor girl … callin’ fer her mum.”

Marshall felt relief. At least she wasn’t calling ‘Maquique’.

Jewel’s eyes dilated, alternately staring and then shutting tight, her body stiffening and going limp. She weaped, and giggled. Henry had never seen such a thing. Marshall had seen this too often in the last days.

Henry ordered again to Marshall, “Out.” And he continued tenderly stroking the waif’s hair. He prayed silently, in the only old ways he knew.

“No.” Marshall held fast. He would not leave Jewel.

“Isshe well?” Henry asked Marshall. “Sick? On medicashun?”

“Huh?” Marshall wished he spoke the same language.

“Pills? Didshe take anythin’? Or insulin … what?” Henry thought of all symptoms. With long experience of drunks, overdoses, crazy angry people in bars and Belfast streets, he raced for a solution. “’Er bag? Maybe she ‘as sumthin inher bag? Where is it?”

Marshall raced to get Jewel’s bag out of the truck, where she had placed it before the band started playing. He never thought of this – maybe she was on medication. He didn’t know. She grabbed so many things before they left the cottage, maybe … 

As Marshall left the room Jewel began twitching, but her eyes focussing. She pushed Henry’s caring hand away, and tried to rise. Henry gently settled her back down.

She was not herself. Jewel remembered that doll – a sign. She convulsed. Her mother. Dead? Her father. Someone tried to kill him? He may be dead. How would she know? Now this man. This strange place. Fear took hold. She struggled against protective hands.

Jewel squeezed out of her depths, “Ma …Ma …!”, louder and louder. Henry held her shoulders down.

Marshall rushed back in the room, rummaging through her bag. Jewel saw him. She snapped into lucidity. They were hiding something from her. With unfounded strength, Jewel sat up, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, lips snarling. “Aaaaargh!” She struck Henry.

He grabbed her wrists and forced her back onto the bed. Jewel squirmed and kicked. Then Henry did something he never did before. He slapped a woman. Not hard, but sharp. He felt fear as well, and he was desperate.

Jewel fell back limp on the bed. She shut her eyes tight. The sting reminding her of that night of long angry arguing. Her rose died. The pink, yellow, ruby, coral. Every colour drained from her perfect new rosy life. It was now gray. She saw only in black and white. 

 

 

 

Chapter 32

At dawn, Jewel stepped out of the window, and noislessly dropped to the lower roof.

She left Marshall snoring on a wide chair. Henry had just left the room after a short bout of sleep on his floor.

Jewel quickly walked as casually as she could to the central square, past the statue of Nike and the large stone compass that pointed directions to major cities on the globe. She caught her breath once she had slipped into the public toilet. In her hazy reflection on the stainless steel that served as a mirror, Jewel ran fingers through her thick mane of hair and tidied herself as best she could for her escape.

Next, she stood impatiently in front of the bank ATM, withdrawing her maximum. (Thankful that at least those men hadn’t taken her wallet from her backpack.) The stockyard across the street was already busy with cows bellowing their nervousness as the box gave its familiar mechanical chug chug and offered her a daily allotment of inheritance.

With some sense of freedom she stuffed the cash into the pocket of her dove grey fleece pullover, jogged across the street, and disappeared in the mill of ranchers and truckers. The clamour of bulls and shouts, whistles and low rumbling of diesel engines was her music. The smell she could ignore in favour of the safety of a slaughterhouse; no one from Denhy would ever come here.

Jewel surveyed the drivers for a likely accomplice. Old men and young, prodding the cattle through the narrow ramps onto trucks. That one, neither young nor old. He stood by the door to his truck, finishing a cigarette as the bulls loaded on, their heavy hooves rocking the trailer. Jewel approached him with her most genuine smile, and he couldn’t resist a shy grin back.

“Interesting work?” she began.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” He replied. “Early hours, but I like seeing the sunrises.”

“Me, too.” Jewel replied, looking around their bustling horizon. “Hey, can I catch a ride?” she was eager. “Where are you headed?” she asked in a British accent.

“Wanganui.” He replied uncertainly.

“Me too!”

A man with a long cattle prod slammed the doors of the trailer shut with a bang, “There you go, Glen. Be careful, you have some wild ones onboard.”

Glen snuffed out his cigarette and waved a thank you in acknowledgement to the old feller. He held a hand to his passenger, and Jewel slung her backpack across to the passenger seat, hopped up, and slid in. Glen pulled himself up, pushed the truck into gear, and they pulled out of the stockyard.

“I’m Glen.” He offered. “You? Where you from?”

“I’m Raewyn. From England. Visiting friends.” Jewel breathed the fresh air of the open road. Eighteen wheels was a perfect way to put distance between her and those who wished her ill. She watched the changing of gears as Glen accelerated them west on Highway Three.

 

Chapter 33

Maquique opened the car door. Lyra would have preferred if he waited until she had stopped the car. “Where is the key?”

“Just try the front door first, please. She may have returned by now.”

Maquique responded with silent exasperation. He went up to the back door of the Red Dragon and rattled the handle. “A key?” he repeated.

“I don’t have one.”

“You’re her sister.”

“That doesn’t mean I have a key to her home.”

Dylan sat in the back seat, ignoring the bickering. With eyes closed tried to sense what was going on. As was ever the case, he and Maquique saw things differently. They hadn’t decided whether to call their views opposite or complementary, but they appreciated the distinctions.

“Well there has to be a key around here somewhere!” Maquique yelled to Lyra, who had gone around the home to the front, knocking to no answer.

“Not that I know of.” Lyra yelled back.

Maquique strode to the car, releasing the latch for the boot. “You just going to sit there?” he challenged Dylan.

“Yes.” Dylan knew no one was in that home. With more conviction, he knew Maquique wouldn’t believe him. He continued to sit, staring blindly ahead.

Maquique rummaged for the tire iron, muttering about keys and women. He pulled out what looked like a weapon to the back door, and started prying. The old door fell off the hinges with a hard slam on unforgiving stones. Maquique and Lyra entered.

Several minutes later, Lyra and Maquique were back sitting in the car.

“Why didn’t you say it, if you knew? Are you mute now too?” Maquique challenged

Lyra started the car, her face flushing with guilt for her son. She snapped at Maquique, “So where to now, Sherlock?”

From a nearby ridge, two men watched the antics binoculars. “Shall we notify MI5?” One asked. The other answered with a grin, “Yeah, sure – as soon as hell freezes over.” The first agreed, passing over a second pastry.

Lyra turned the sedan around and the three listened to the sloshing under the tires as they crawled back out Zulieka’s long drive.

And no, Maquique didn’t believe Dylan. Zulieka was missing and in dire danger. He was sure of it. He felt like he had arrived at a brick wall, and blinked at the green breaking through the light snow on the hills in the distance.

At the junction to the main road, a car turned in and blocked their way. Lyra gasped, her white fingers gripping the steering wheel. Maquique startled The dark windows and glare of sunlight obscuring the driver.

The two cars purred next to each other. Then, the dark windows began to scroll down, revealing the driver. Lyra saw her own reflection. In the backseat, Dylan smiled. Maquique still saw that brick wall, but he also saw a blue sky above it, soft clouds blowing free.

Zulieka smiled in her own amazement, “What are you all doing here?”

 

 

 

Chapter 34

Marshall woke, not knowing where he was. His neck was stiff, his arm asleep. He looked around the modest loft apartment, heard voices and glasses clanking below. Drover’s. Jewel. She must be downstairs with Henry. It was a good sign that she was up and communicating. Marshall used the toilet and looking at himself realized how filthy he was. A shower would be first order of the day. He’d go get Jewel, they’d forget about the night before, and go back to Denhy.

As Marshall went down the old stairs to the bar, Henry was coming up to check on them. “Hah isshe?”

Marshall was pretty sure he knew what Henry meant. He answered with a question, “Jewel?”

Henry shook his head in disgust and walked past him.

“She’s not there. I thought she was down here, with you.” Marshall thought it better to break the news quickly.

Henry shot upstairs. Empty, as reported. He spun back down the stairs and flattened Marshall against the wall. Things turned much less hopeful so quickly. “Now what?” He called.

“I dunno. She’s yer girlfriend!” Henry stomped down the stairs, determined to not be a saviour, again, and further, to have anything to do with the people at Denhy Manor.

Marshall was temporarily stunned on the last word. ‘My girlfriend?’

Henry wouldn’t respond to any of Marshall’s questions, so he got into the Ute and drove back to Denhy, guessing that Jewel must have gotten a ride home.’ He had placed the dead doll on the seat next to him, anxiety and hope and weariness mixed in his soul like a sour cocktail, blurring his mind.

When he arrived at Denhy, he walked uncomfortably through the home, and hung the keys up in the office. Neither Bucheress’ or Ariel’s car were in the garage. Marshall went to the cottage. It looked like it did the other morning when they left. Except the black ties were gone, and the bed was made.

Marshall couldn’t think about this. Jewel must have returned home sometime in the middle of the night. She could have called someone to get her. They must have gone into town.

It didn’t make sense to call the police. She was only missing from where he last saw her. He wasn’t sure what to do. Taking a shower was a good option. After draining all the hot water from the tank to the dorm, he turned off the tap. He was no clearer.

He knew he’d get hell from Bucheress and Ariel once they did return. He walked back through the main house. No one. He went into the library. He pulled out a book at random, switched on the table lamp, flipped the book open, and played with a magnifying glass. He realized that if he held it just so, over the gutter of the book, that it reflected a heart. Marshall flipped through the pages, thought only about Jewel. He didn’t care what the book was about.   

 

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