The Labyrinth of Blue Towers:
The Disappearance of Jack Arneson
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 1: Friday, June 10, 2011, 7:21 pm
Chapter 2: Saturday, June 11, 2011, 8:38 am
Chapter 3: Thursday, June 28, 1984, 10:10 am
Chapter 12: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 8:00 am
Chapter 21: Saturday, June 18. 2011, 9:26 pm
Missy ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She’d only slept for a few hours, but that would have to do for now. She felt totally ragged-out and her mouth was dry. She wanted to take the time to brush her teeth, but Peter seemed to be in a big rush to leave. Without much conversation, the three climbed into the cab of Peter’s truck and made their way to the Monastery.
It was dark. Where had the day gone? Missy caught sight of the LED readout of the truck’s dashboard clock: it was a little before 9:30 pm. Was she dreaming? How could Boyd be dead? It occurred to her that a million thoughts should be racing through her mind. She should be asking a ton of questions, but her head, still yearning for the comfort of the hotel pillow, felt far too muddled. Not that it mattered. Peter wouldn’t share any details. He seemed positively gleeful at the prospect of showing the women what had happened to poor Boyd, and this struck Missy as not only odd, but a little disturbing. She dismissed it as nothing more than an inappropriate reaction to a situation that surely did not come up very often in life. Although, since she and Jeanette had gotten into town, that certainly was no longer the case: two deaths in less than 12 hours, both people whom they had never spoken to before today. What had they set in motion?
Apparently Jeanette had also been sleeping hard when Peter banged on the door. Looking as if she was about to melt, her aunt sat, slumped against the passenger door, straining to keep her eyes open, her forehead pressed against the coolness of the glass. She didn’t seem to be in a mood to talk, so Missy turned her attention to Peter’s profile.
He was classically handsome.
Or maybe just cute/boyish. She stared at his neck. It looked so muscular. She wanted to lean in and press her cheek into the area right below his ear, where his jaw line began. She shook away this thought. It was inappropriate, especially given the circumstances. What was wrong with her?
The scene in front of the Monastery was very similar to the one they’d seen at Abe Longren’s earlier in the day, right down to the pristine white rock in the drive. The only noticeable difference was that there seemed to be a few additional vehicles. As Peter led them along the northern side of the Monastery, past the side parking lot. Missy took note that several of the brothers were arguing with a uniformed Deputy - something about not allowing vehicles into a cemetery. The Deputy seemed determined, but the brothers were equally adamant. It probably had something to do with the sacredness of the ground, or maybe they were afraid the vehicles would leave tracks in the pristine grass. Based on the looks on the faces of the monks, Missy was pretty sure the Deputy was not going to win this one.
The trio made their way toward an area behind the church which was alive with light. The grass beneath their feet was damp as their breath formed clouds and hung in the air. How strange for this time of year, thought Missy. It must have something to do with low altitude and the rock that surrounded the town. Missy could hear a series of portable electric generators plugging away, providing the distant, klieg-like illumination, their rhythmic puffs the only soundtrack to the night. As they grew closer, the brilliant white light cast the scene in a kind of ghostly splendor. The artificial glare bounced off the white and grey marble of the various tombs and stones and, from their vantage point, it resembled a tiny, ancient Roman city.
There was no fence, and therefore no gate. The age of the cemetery was immediately evident by the size and design of the stones which populated it. These days, no one, save the very, very wealthy could afford such massive memorials, nor were there probably many artisans capable of doing such intricate work. Looming over them stood monuments featuring angles in various poses; some triumphant, some warrior-like, and some collapsed in mourning. The cherubic faces of vacant-eyed children peppered the eerie landscape, their tiny smiles taking on a menacing leer in the harsh, unnatural light. Ornate mausoleums and raised tombs bearing the names of the long-forgotten surrounded them, lending the cemetery a sense of stately order. Throughout the grounds were immaculately maintained and the grass recently mowed, though some of the tombs were covered in a type of clinging ivy lending the entire area an air of mystery.
Peter swiftly made his way to the middle of the cemetery. Following behind, Missy came upon a sight which made her lose her breath. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. On the ends of a long, raised tomb bearing the name OSWIG, stood two tall, marble angels facing one another, their massive wings trailing behind them as if windswept. Their hands folded in prayer, they appeared poised as guardians protecting the entombed...
And their new charge, Boyd Dean.
Extremely thick ropes, the kind Missy imagined they used on ancient ships, hung in nooses around the angels’ throats. The taut ropes angled down and were connected to a thick beam of wood to which Boyd’s feet had been nailed with large iron spikes. He was completely nude; the blasts of artificial light lending his pale skin a marble-like appearance. The length of his body was supported vertically by another, much longer beam, his outstretched arms running along a lower, horizontal beam to which his hands had been nailed. Wrapped in a crown of thorned-ivy, his head hung back and slack. As Missy drew closer, for she felt compelled to take in the full horror, she noticed that his mouth had been crudely sewn shut with a kind of rough, brown string. She’d expected Boyd’s eyes to scream in terror, or accusation, but they didn’t; they were dead - as blank as those of the stone children who had born witness to his execution. She couldn’t take her eyes from his face, for in death, Boyd appeared to have found a kind of peace which had eluded him in life.
Missy was in a world of her own in that moment. She was only slightly aware of Jeanette, who had frozen in place several yards from the abomination, and Peter, standing a small distance behind Jeanette, observing both women’s reactions. Entranced, and through no will of her own, she found her hand reaching up, wanting to touch the dead man’s face. Her fingers were about to make contact with the white, waxy flesh, when a voice rang out behind her, from the left “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get away from there!” It was Sheriff Paul. Missy froze. The next thing she felt was the Sheriff's stern grip on her upper arm, as he led her away from the foot of the macabre crucifixion scene.
The Sheriff sputtered, “Jesus Christ, Jason... this is a god damn crime scene. Try to preserve it a little, will ya?” A uniformed man, much younger than Sheriff Paul sprang into view from behind Boyd’s body, a look of fear and admonishment on his freckled face.
Sheriff Paul sustained his rant, turning his fury on Missy and Jeanette. “How did the two of you find your way out here?” That’s when he spotted, Peter, in the background “Peterson! What the hell you thinking? Get these ladies back to their hotel, pronto. And stay with them, if you have to, but make sure they’re in lockdown, or I’ll throw you all in jail! Now get the hell out of here!”
Peter, unmoving, stared hard at the Sheriff for a moment. Then a tiny, impish smile spread across his face. Without a word, he took Missy from the Sheriff's grasp and guided the transfixed Jeanette back the way they had come. The women moved like sleepwalkers back into the darkness, neither having the need or desire to look back; for the image of Boyd hanging upside down on that cross was now burned in their memories forever.
Hustling them toward the relative safety of his truck, Peter looked from one woman to the other, and said, “Come on, ladies. Looks like you could both use a good, stiff drink.”
Still in throes of shock, neither disagreed.
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Next week: Chapter 22
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1 comment:
Holy shit.
And why did he take them there? What the hell??
XOXO
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