The Gilded Sanctum

by Keith Veverka

  “You have footage of him?””

  “Indeed. And all I have to do is release it.”

  “But now you won’t have to.”

  “Exactly. So I’m just going to save it for a rainy day. My ‘get out jail free’ card, so to speak. Just in case he tries to take me down with him. But that’s not going to happen.”

  “You had it all figured out, huh? From the beginning.”

  Castillo laughed. “Ah, yes, but you were the X factor. I did know your best days were behind you, so I knew you could be easily manipulated. Did you really think finding Amanda was going to erase your past, put an end to those violent nightmares I saw you struggle through on the camera, put you back in the good graces of the FBI? You’re damaged goods, Walker, and nothing was going to change that.”

  Starting to feel weak, Walker could sense his grip on the handgun loosening. His grasp of reality, or what he thought was his reality, was slowly slipping away. It was all a facade, a massive charade with him at the center. He had been played from the moment he had stepped onto this campus. His life had never been his own, and he had almost lost it in the process. “I suppose you set the fire at the storage shed as well?”

  Castillo nodded. “We needed to get rid of some old files anyway, so if it killed you in the process, that was just a bonus. No hard feelings for that one, right? At least you survived.”

  Walker began to lower his Glock, realizing his desperate quest for redemption was now at an end. He had not discovered the truth; he had only uncovered the lies which had led him to this place. There was no escape from the nightmare. What he thought was a way out was merely a mirage in the deserted wasteland his life had become. A life he was now convinced was over.

  As the lowered gun reached his waistline, Castillo sprung into action, tackling Walker with the weight and muscle of a trained fighter. Walker was crushed into the hard dirt, his gun released from his hand. Taken by surprise and still recovering from his inner thoughts, Walker was delayed in defending himself against Castillo’s fists, several blows landing hard on Walker’s head and face before he succeeded in knocking the larger opponent off of him.

  Walker rolled onto his stomach as Castillo fell into one of the wooden legs holding up the old counter which circled the room. Through blurred vision — caused by the punch to his left eye — he searched the dirt floor for his gun. Only off balance for a moment, Castillo quickly rose, scanned the materials on the historic workbench, and grabbed a blacksmith's hammer from the shelf. Larger than a traditional hammer with a head made of thick iron for forging steel, the blacksmith’s hammer made for a deadly weapon.

  He turned and descended on Walker, who was crawling away from him, by bringing the hammer down with ruthless force upon his body. The thick hammer slammed into Walker’s shoulder blade, the pain pounding through his muscle and reverberating through his bone. His left arm immediately went limp and the hammer struck him again in the center of the back. Walker felt the sharp blow recoil through to his chest along with a discordant cracking of bones. He instantly stopped moving, fiercely gasping for air to refill his bruised lungs, instinctively coughing and wheezing loudly as he tried to inhale.

  Castillo stood over his opponent, looking down at Walker’s battered body, blood seeping through his shirt, black bruises forming underneath the clothing, where the hammer had done its cruel work. He held the weapon high, enjoying one more moment of satisfaction at finally eliminating his nemesis, before going in for the death knell. Castillo set his sights on the back of Walker’s head. One more swing of the hammer and it would be over.

  The blacksmith’s hammer plunged downward with all the force Castillo could muster, but before it reached its target, Walker turned over, gun in hand, barrel pointed at Castillo’s chest. The .40 caliber bullet fired from the Glock hit Castillo squarely in the chest, and his body jerked back as the crude hammer fell from his hand and bounced along the ground. Castillo stumbled forward to catch his balance and looked down at the single spot of red in the center of his shirt, which rapidly expanded into a widening circle of blood that seeped through the cloth. He stared at the red hole in his chest, unsure of what to make of it, seemingly trying to process that he had just been shot. His face distorted by anger, Castillo lifted his head and glared at Walker with more rage than the veteran FBI agent had ever seen. And charged.

  Walker fired two more shots in quick succession, each hitting Castillo in roughly the same spot as before, this time the force of the impact pushing Castillo backward as his feet left the ground. The first bullet punctured his left lung. The collapsed organ immediately began filling with fluid and would cause Castillo to drown in his own blood within minutes.

  The second bullet hit one of Castillo’s ribs, shattering it, and sending fragments of bone into two of the four chambers of his heart. The bone fragments severed the soft tissue protecting this vital organ and easily spliced the arteries and vessels in their way. His heart instantly collapsed, and Castillo was dead before his body hit the ground.

  Chapter 50

  Walker held his weapon in the same position for several moments after Castillo crashed to the floor. Castillo hadn’t moved since landing on the dirt ground, so Walker assumed he was dead. His three shots had impacted Castillo center mass — what they had been trained — because the vital organs housed there were the most susceptible to injury and eventually death. A head shot would have done the job as well, but Walker was in no condition for that. He had barely been able to reach for his gun and fire, let alone aim for his head while Castillo brought the ancient hammer down on him again.

  Convinced Castillo was no longer in this fight and would not be getting up again, Walker fell back to the earth with a grunt. He stretched his arms out next to him and took several long cleansing breaths. He could feel the pain of every inhale and exhale through his chest and back, and he was sure his shoulder blade was broken. Because the pain was so intense, he could barely move his left arm.

  After several minutes of lying motionless on the hard ground, Walker eventually — with another labored grunt — brought himself to a sitting position. He craned his neck as much as possible until the pain prevented further movement, and tried to massage his left shoulder blade with his right hand, but it was painful to the touch. He finally exhaled once more and got to his feet, stumbling at first because of the need to compensate for his immobile left arm.

  The severely injured detective used the counter to brace himself, pushing whatever supplies had been sitting with his gun, and they crashed to the floor. Finally stabilized, Walker looked down at Castillo — eyes wide open — as if still in shock that he had lost the fight. The former agent knew he had barely won the melee and was lucky to be alive. If his gun had been just two more inches away, he would be the one lying dead on this dirt floor.

  However, this was not the way it was supposed to end. Although Castillo had certainly deserved to die, Walker still had more questions for him. Needed more answers. But it was too late for that now. Walker wondered how Castillo had orchestrated this entire episode. And why? To what end? And how had Walker been so blind not to see it.

  Did he really think that solving this mystery would have saved his reputation, restored his status with the FBI, or repaired the damage he had caused to his family? Was he really that short-sighted? It suddenly materialized in Walker’s mind that he had been so focused on seeking atonement for his past that he lost sight of the truth right in front of him.

  All of a sudden, Walker’s hand gave way from the counter and he almost fell, jolting him back to reality and making him realize this wasn’t the time for self-reflection. There were still two women missing, and although the likely culprit was now dead, it was still possible for Walker to find them. He turned toward the tunnel entrance at the rear of the chamber, and exhaled as he pushed away from the counter and shuffled gradually across the room, his gun at his side.

  Walker had no idea what to expect on the other end of this tunnel. Nothing had met his
expectations thus far, so he was sure there would be more surprises ahead. For a man who had often contemplated death, he hoped at this moment at least, he would live through it.

  Chapter 51

  The final tunnel sloped downward, and Walker lost his footing multiple times as he navigated the rocky ground. Because it was further buried in the earth, this passage also seemed darker than the others, and there were no lights this time, no openings ahead. He continued to use his only source of light — the scuffed flashlight which was now beginning to wane — as a meager signpost to lead the way. His cell had also been cracked during the life-and-death struggle with Castillo, so a phone call was out of the question, but Walker doubted he could actually get a signal this far below ground anyway. At this moment, he was most assuredly on his own.

  Walker heard the faint sound of running water about the time he estimated he had traveled about a hundred yards. He slowed his pace as he reached the exit of the tunnel, opening up into an underground cavern. This dungeon-like complex was the largest of the structures he’d seen, but it was mostly rock covering the floor and the walls, so it was also probably the deepest. In the center of the cavern was a circular hole, man-made, surrounded by uneven, yet expertly-cut masonry stones. The sound of the water grew louder and Walker realized it was coming from this pit. A well.

  Listening closely to the sound of the running water, Walker could feel the dampness in the air on his skin. He quickly deduced that an aquifer ran through this subterranean structure, providing the remote underground location with a constant supply of fresh water. What began as a natural cavern had probably been further carved out by Mosby’s rangers as it would have made for a perfect hideout — or staging area — and could have been occupied for longer periods of time.

  Impressed by the feat of human engineering, Walker was startled as his flashlight caught a flesh tone in the far corner of the cavern. He immediately centered his gun and light toward the human color, which was followed by a murmured groan. He strained to see in the corner of the chamber, but no shape was immediately visible. Walker stepped slowly in that direction, still unsure of his footing on the uneven ground.

  As he edged closer to the outer wall, a dark figure came into view. Sitting in a chair. Head lowered. Long hair. Hands tied behind her back. Although much more dirty and disheveled, he instantly recognized her from the picture he had been looking at for three days. It was Amanda Bryson.

  Walker rushed to her, partially stumbling, partially kneeling in front of her. He dropped his gun and flashlight on the hard ground and reached his working hand up to her neck. Her skin was warm and he could feel a pulse. She was alive. He pushed the hair out of her face and lifted her head, shaking it slightly to wake her. She appeared to be heavily sedated, so her eyes stayed closed, even with the jostling. He instinctively ran his hand over the rest of her body, looking for any blatant injuries, any signs of trauma. There were none. At least on the outside. The emotional trauma on the inside would take years to heal.

  Still kneeling, he moved around the back of the chair and fumbled to find her hands. They were tied together with a worn and fraying piece of twine. He gripped the thin rope and reflexively pulled on it, as if he thought it would break at the first tug. The twine was weak, but had been wrapped around Amanda’s hands several times and secured with multiple knots. Walker didn’t have anything sharp enough to cut through the threads, but he thought back to Castillo’s workshop and surmised he could retrieve something from there to cut through the bonds.

  He put his hand on her arm and patted it gently, knowing she couldn’t feel it, but it was more for him than her anyway, relieved that Amanda was still alive. After all that Walker had been through to find her, he certainly didn’t want to leave her now, but if he was going to mount any kind of rescue and get her out of here, he needed to get back to the workshop without hesitation. He slid himself back to the front of the chair, adrenaline pumping through his body, assisting him to move his torn muscles and broken bones. He reached for his gun and flashlight. But they were gone.

  Walker was confused. He thought he had put them right here. It was too dark to see clearly, so he moved his hand in concentric circles over the damp rock, searching desperately for his lost items. His hand finally touched an object. But it wasn’t a gun or a flashlight; it was a boot. And it belonged to someone standing over him.

  As Walker looked up, a wooden bat swung from out of the darkness and struck him on the left side of his head, the blow pounding his skull and blurring his vision as he landed hard on the damp stone floor, and everything faded to darkness.

  Chapter 52

  Walker awoke to a massive pounding behind his eyes. He squinted as the pain drifted upward to his forehead and temples and ensconced him in a mental fog. He was seated upright, but lurched over, his head laying on his chest. Blood seeped down from the large bruise just below his hairline into his left eye and dried there, so his one eyelid was crusty and difficult to open. He was unsure how long he had been unconscious.

  As he gradually regained consciousness, Walker attempted to move his arms, but realized they were pulled tightly behind him, feeling the scratchy twine on his bound hands. Looking downward with his one good eye, he realized he was seated in an old wooden chair — like one you’d find in a classroom — another length of rope wrapped around him several times, securing him to it. He wiggled his hands, tied behind his back, but it only made the thin cords of twine cut more deeply into his skin. He was now exactly in the same position as he had found Amanda — another captive in this deep hole in the ground.

  A figure approached him, carrying a dingy yellow bucket by the handle, water sloshing around inside. As the stranger neared, the bucket was upended and a gush of freezing water slammed into Walker’s head and torso. He shuddered as the water whipped against his skin and irritated his open wounds, further ripping him from his grogginess. He shook the water from his face and tried to regain his bearings, focusing on the person standing before him. At that moment Walker’s faith in everything that was real drained from him like the excess water dripping from his body onto the stone floor below.

  Meredith Thomas tossed the plastic bucket to the side — it clattered against the nearby wall — as she slid another wooden chair along the hard floor in front of Walker. She sat and looked at him, a long hunting knife — similar to the one he had seen in the woods the night before — gripped in her right hand. She cocked her head as if surveying the damage she had done to his skull while also reveling in the satisfaction of the ropes she had tied and smiled. “Surprised?”

  Walker stared at Meredith through his opened right eye — and partially opened left — but was unable to speak because he couldn’t quite believe what his damaged vision was supposedly showing him.

  “Did I surprise you, Ryan? Especially after that time we shared together. You should never be too careful about who you meet these days.” She grinned, waving the knife at him, as if accentuating each word with a swing of the knife.

  Walker blinked his eyes, trying to to knock the pain from behind his sockets and focus on Meredith.

  She spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “I really wish you hadn’t killed Joaquin. He was so instrumental to this whole affair. But I guess he was just trying to protect me. I do think he loved me. I heard him telling you the story, all the things he did for me, but he would have done anything for me. That’s love, don’t you think?” Meredith reached out and gingerly touched the bruise on his forehead. “He was even willing to kill for me. I heard the two of you fighting. It was so violent. I really thought he was going to kill you, but you survived. Well done. Now I can kill you myself,” Meredith said, as she moved her hand down to his cheek, swung back, and slapped it loudly.

  Walker’s head swung to the right, and he let out a long sigh as the sudden movement reverberated through his body and thrashed at his previous wounds. He slowly brought his head back to its original position, blinking several times to try and recover from the sting
ing whiplash.

  “Ah yes, my dear Ryan” Meredith said loudly as she rose from the chair and bent over, pushing the blade to within inches of Walker’s face, putting her own face directly behind the handle, “this was all a setup. This entire episode was a massive stage play and you, my private investigator, were one of the actors.”

  Meredith stood up, glancing at the walls around her, deep in thought. “I’ve always loved plays, you know? Ever since I was a little girl and my father would take me to performances at the local theatre. In high school, I fell in love with Shakespeare, and could simply not get enough of those beautiful words, those enchanting stories. I think he’s what actually started my love of literature and my passion for the English language, a playwright who could put words to paper so powerfully — it literally took my breath away.” Looking back at Walker, Meredith said, “And so you should be very proud, Ryan. You’ve been cast into this play, unwillingly of course, but thrilling nonetheless.”

  Meredith sat back in the chair and positioned her face close to Walker’s, whispering again. “You have played a very important role for us. A role that no one else could have played. We needed someone who was damaged, struggling to cope with a mistake that was unforgivable. A mistake that had cost a life — a child’s life — and ruined him in so many ways.”

  Walker knew this story all too well, but hearing it again in the cold dampness of a dark cavern gave it enormous weight and his shoulders slowly buckled under the pressure. He slumped down as he again relived the nightmare which had haunted him for years.

  “We knew you had always wanted a chance to make amends for that poor little girl and her grieving mother. And so we would give you that chance. A chance to save another little girl and finally move on from that tragic mistake.” Meredith paused for a moment, then asked, “Did you think finding Amanda would stop the nightmares? I watched you in your apartment, tossing in your sleep, restless, unable to find peace. I was sad for you. I still am. But I needed you. I needed you for a very specific role. And now that you've fulfilled that role, I’m going to help you find that peace you so desperately sought.”