by Graham Marks
To top it all he now had this girl, Stella, sticking her nose in where it really wasn’t wanted. Why did people assume they could do that? He thought about Stella for a moment, about how sure of herself she’d been, like she knew so much more than he did. He briefly wondered what her story was.
But he had way too much on his plate already for that kind of stuff right now, including the whole owl and coyote thing. Thinking that he had animals following him didn’t help matters much, either. It was weird, but the dreams had been way weirder. Did it all mean anything? Who the hell knew, certainly not him. Unlike Stella, he wasn’t sure of anything.
Gabe dropped a gear and sped up. He just hoped whoever owned the antique store didn’t give him the runaround.
Chapter Five
The store looked closed – lights on, but no one home – although the sign on the door clearly stated that its opening hours were 10.30am to 6pm, and it was only 5.05. Gabe looked back at his bike, chained to a bench, just checking again that he’d done what he already knew for sure he had, then pressed the entry buzzer. Nothing happened. He was about to press the button again when there was a loud click, which meant some unseen person was letting him in. Pushing the door open, Gabe glanced up and saw a small CCTV camera staring back at him. He obviously did not look dangerous.
As the door swung to and locked behind him, he noticed there were at least two more cameras pointing his way, and for a second he wondered if he was now trapped, unable to get out unless he was let out. He stood in the shop, unsure of what to do next, and waited, listening to clocks ticking out of synch with each other.
The place didn’t appear to specialize in anything particular; there was silverware on show, pieces of overly ornate furniture, items of jewellery and some paintings in heavy gilt frames. Gabe didn’t know if the stuff was seriously valuable, but on the other hand it didn’t feel like he was standing in a thrift store surrounded by junk.
“Can I help you, young man?”
Gabe jerked round and saw a man had come out from the back of the shop and was standing behind a glass-topped counter. He was tall, perma-tanned and turning jowly, his thinning, very black hair cut short and spiky. He was wearing a dark suit and a strawberry pink shirt, with shot cuffs but no tie. It was a look, but Gabe hadn’t a clue what it was trying to achieve.
“I saw your sign…”
“Good,” the man cleared his throat and looked at his polished fingernails. “That was its purpose.”
“The one saying you did valuations?”
“Ah, that sign.”
“And I have something…” Gabe swung off his backpack, careful not to knock anything over – this was definitely a ‘You break it, you buy it’ place – and knelt down to unzip one of the pockets.
“Is this a family heirloom? Does it belong to you?” The man raised his eyebrows, head slightly on one side.
“No… I mean, yes…” Gabe stood up, unfolding the old duster he’d wrapped round the bracelet and kicking himself for not thinking he might be asked where he’d got it from. “It isn’t a family thing, but, yeah … you know … it, um, it belongs to me.”
“May I?” The man beckoned Gabe over to the counter.
Gabe didn’t move. Actually, he couldn’t move and he had no idea why. He was here in this shop for one reason only: to find out how much the bracelet was worth. And to do that he had to let this man see it…
“Do you want a valuation, or not?”
Gabe looked at the man, feeling the tension building in his shoulders. He nodded. “Yes … yes, I do…”
“Well –” the man sniffed and gave a swift, humourless smile – “I don’t have all day.”
“Sure…” Gabe pushed away the urge to leave and held out his hand, feeling a strange sensation of betrayal as he did so.
The man took the bracelet from him in a way that made it appear as if he wasn’t at all sure whether it was clean or not. He then switched on a lamp and got a small jeweller’s magnifying glass out of a drawer. “Now, let me see…”
Gabe watched the man get the feel of the weight in his hand and saw his eyebrows do the little jump that happens when you prove yourself wrong. The man had thought he was being given a piece of cheap garbage, and now he was thinking otherwise. Gabe became aware that he was breathing in an almost panicky way, that he didn’t like watching someone else with the bracelet. His bracelet… He shook his head and tried to overcome the feeling, but it wouldn’t let go.
The man bent forward, eyeglass jammed to his face, closely examining the bracelet from every possible angle. It seemed to take forever but finally he put it down on the counter top. “Excuse me just one second…”
“Sure, OK.”
Gabe watched the man disappear into the back of the shop and quickly picked up the bracelet, an unexpected sense of relief flooding through him as he closed his fingers round it. He’d got the distinct impression the man was if not excited then extremely interested, and he wondered what would happen next. What would he do if the man wanted to buy it right there and then?
Instead of trying to figure out the answer to that question, he looked down at the velvet-lined trays under the glass. One had a display of old watches, hands all set to exactly ten minutes past ten, another displayed ranks of sparkling diamond rings, and a third contained various lockets and chains. Everything here had been brand new once, each piece probably somebody’s prized possession; he wondered about the different paths they’d taken to all end up here, in a cabinet, at the back of some shop in Studio City. The slight cough of someone clearing their throat made Gabe look up. The man was back.
“It’s nice… It’s, ah, very nice, in its way. I just, ah –” the man gestured towards the rear of the shop, smiling and nodding – “I just checked and I’d say it was worth, oh, I don’t know, maybe a hundred, hundred and fifty bucks. Or so? Around that.”
Gabe was shocked; the man was treating him like a kid and hadn’t even bothered to try and lie like he meant it.
“Oh, and yes … I was wondering…” the man frowned, looking down at the spot on the counter where he’d left the bracelet. “You have it?”
Gabe nodded.
“Yes, well, as I say, I was wondering whether there was … whether you had anything else like this? By any chance?”
“No.” Gabe slowly moved the hand holding the bracelet behind his back. “No, I don’t. And thanks for the ‘valuation’. I’ll think about it.”
“Look, I’m sorry if you didn’t like the price – why don’t you let me take another look? Maybe I can do better…”
“I have to go.” Gabe put the bracelet in his pocket. “But thanks anyway.”
“Look, this is, how shall I say, a bargaining situation. It’s what we do in the antiques business! It’s a trade, like in a souk, if you know what I mean? I say a price, you say a price, we dance a little?” The man actually performed some weird little dance movement. “And then, what we end up doing, we come to an agreement everyone’s happy with. That is what we do – how we do business…”
“Well, I don’t have the time to do that today, mister—”
“LeBarron, Mr LeBarron,” the man interrupted, reaching into his breast pocket and bringing out a business card, which he offered to Gabe. “Call me if you change your mind.”
Chapter Six
Outside the shop, Gabe stood on the sidewalk looking at the card. LeBarron Antiques and Collectibles, it said, in two lines of flowery script that you could feel when you ran your finger over it, underneath which was the name Cecil LeBarron, in a plain font, and right at the bottom, in that same font but smaller, the address, phone number and website.
Gabe stuffed the card in his back pocket and went over to the bike. He was totally sure the bracelet was worth more than a hundred and fifty dollars. Way, way more. Had to be, or why had Mr Cecil LeBarron acted like he did? So the first thing he had to do was go straight back to the canyon and find out if there was any more to be dug up before anyone else came alo
ng and discovered the skeleton. Second thing: do some proper research.
He’d dialled in the four-digit code for the bike lock, and was wrapping the bracelet in the duster when the unsettling sensation of being watched crawled over him again. The same feeling he’d had when he woke up that morning, only much stronger this time. Then his right hand locked solid round the bracelet. Freaked by what was happening, Gabe’s head swivelled like he was at a pro-tournament tennis match, searching for any sign of an owl, or even a coyote.
Not a thing.
Gabe stared down at his hand, the bracelet held in its claw-like grip. His arm hurt bad, and the intense pain was creeping up towards his shoulder. Panic was starting to take hold of him again when something made him stop and slowly look up. On a bench right opposite him sat a man. Just some old guy wearing a tatty yellowy-brown leather jacket, dusty work boots and washed-out jeans, so pale they were almost white above the knees. A faded red baseball cap was pulled low enough to make it impossible to see the man’s eyes, but Gabe knew he was staring straight at him. And he knew he’d seen him before.
Last night. The man had been in his dreams last night…
Gabe’s stomach did a flip, and he dragged his gaze away from the man. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Images from the horrific dreams came flooding back, only now they looked like a shaky, badly made film playing in his head, complete with a hissed and whispered soundtrack that was impossible to understand. This person across the street wasn’t dressed like the masked figure had been, and he wasn’t wielding a blood-spattered gold knife or wearing a feathered headdress.
But the man across the street had been right there, killing the boy.
Sometimes in dreams you just knew things without actually seeing them.
Right now, in broad daylight, Gabe knew that this person, his face half obscured, was the same man he’d seen pull the living, beating heart out of the boy on the altar. There was no doubt. Gabe could feel the cold, fanatical anger radiating from him.
A breeze blew past, bringing with it the sharp, pricking aroma of burnt herbs. The smell funnelled straight up his nostrils and into his brain, intensifying the sounds and the pictures, for a moment making what was going on in his head more real than the world around him.
Fighting back, Gabe clutched at the only thought that made any kind of sense. He had to get away – now.
The sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream jolted Gabe into action, shaking off whatever had been paralyzing him. Stashing the bracelet and lock he grabbed his bike and launched off the sidewalk and on to the road without looking. Behind him he heard the screech of tyres and a horn blaring, but he didn’t care. He just had to put some distance between himself and the person across the street.
Someone he’d never seen before, except in his dream.
Which was not only crazy, it was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
Gabe rode, hunkered down and pedalling manically, flying through a couple of traffic lights way after he should have stopped, weaving between cars and getting in and out of spaces the sane part of him knew were much too close for comfort. But for a mile or more the sane part of him hadn’t been in control, not until the adrenaline had worn off and he could finally allow himself to coast to a halt. Panting like a beast, for a moment he had no idea where he was.
Covered in sweat, lungs heaving and muscles screaming, Gabe slowly calmed down. It was only when his heartbeat had settled back to something approaching normal that he saw his ‘escape route’ had brought him within easy striking distance of the canyon. It was where he’d been planning to come, before he’d gotten totally spooked by losing control of his hand, then seeing the man across the street. But now … now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to go back up there, even in broad daylight.
Before he’d freaked out seeing the man sitting opposite LeBarron Antiques and Collectables, his main doubts about returning to the canyon had been being found by a Park Ranger. He realized what he’d done the night before was wrong. Not real bad wrong, like murder or whatever, but not right, either, and no doubt illegal. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the difference between right and wrong, but that wasn’t what was getting to him.
For the most part the Law seemed to be all about whether you either got caught or you didn’t. Like school, but on a whole different level in terms of punishment. Last night, as he fell asleep, the way Gabe thought about it was that what he’d done couldn’t hurt anyone, and as it could really help his family it was, therefore, no biggie. He was beginning to have second thoughts because of the gold bracelet nestling oh so innocently in his backpack.
Life now was either ‘Before Bracelet’ or ‘After Bracelet’. Before Bracelet, all he’d ever associated skeletons with had been the ‘woo-hoo-spooky!’ cartoon nonsense at Halloween. Before Bracelet he’d never had a real nightmare in his entire life, certainly never been followed by a damn owl. After Bracelet he’d turned into this superstitious idiot, making connections where there were none. Was he simply giving coincidences a meaning they just didn’t have?
“Owls are nocturnal, right?” he muttered to himself, even as he checked the sky and the deep shadows between buildings. “They’re fricking nocturnal, dammit.”
Twenty minutes later, Gabe stood in the parking area by the entrance to the canyon, giving himself a final talking to. Like what was there to worry about anyway? Nada. The man across the street was just some guy who, coincidentally, happened to look somewhat like a person he’d had a crappy dream about. So what? And the thing with his hand was just like a muscle spasm, a cramp. Nothing more.
So, if he didn’t go and see what else there was to dig up, all he’d have was something he was pretty damn sure was worth a whole lot more than a hundred and fifty bucks. And that would be it.
He didn’t have a choice. If he was going to have any chance of helping his family he had to go back to what he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of as ‘the burial site’. Except it wasn’t a body, not really. It was some old bones. That was all. Just a load of bones.
Chapter Seven
It turned out the canyon was virtually empty; he’d so far seen a solitary dog walker some way away, and that was it. Plus it all looked so different in the bright sunlight. Even after what had happened yesterday, he would have to be a complete wimp to be scared by rocks and trees and brush. He was being extra-vigilant and wary because he did not want to get caught by a Park Ranger. That was all.
The fact that nothing, completely nothing, had occurred the whole way up to the tree Gabe had marked the night before was almost worse than if something had. It felt like a total comedown; all that worry, for what? Once he’d found a place that was as out of sight as possible to stash his bike, he got down to business. He wouldn’t be long. He’d be able to see exactly what he was doing and this time he wouldn’t have to bother trying to cover his tracks. In-N-Out, like the burger chain.
Gabe had come prepared for the job, having taken a small gardening trowel and a small paintbrush from the workbench at the back of the garage before he left for school. Getting them out of his backpack, he set to work.
As he dug, Gabe could feel himself becoming more and more agitated and twitchy. Much more nervous than he should have been if getting caught was all he was worried about. But he stayed, drawn to the promises he’d seen in the yellow glow of the gold bracelet.
Half an hour later he’d unearthed a tiny medallion, followed by three heavy, jewelled rings. And then he found something that scared the hell out of him. A gold knife, inset with light blue stones, with an arc-shaped blade. Exactly like the one he’d seen in his awful dream.
Gabe sat back on his heels and stared at the knife, searching for any signs of blood, mesmerized by the fact that he was holding something he’d dreamed about. Something he’d seen kill a boy. He was kind of shocked by how it felt, holding it. Having this knife, owning it, made him … he couldn’t quite put into words how it made him feel. Strong, maybe even untouchabl
e. And he wanted to keep it. Forever. He finally made himself put the knife down and checked his cell. Time to get back to digging. That was what he was here for – he could sit and look at what he’d found back home.
Some five minutes later, he finished teasing the dirt away from a nine- maybe ten-centimetre high crucifix. He carefully pulled it out, cleaned off the earth and turned it over. It was heavy, a solid chunk of precious metal, and it was different from everything else he’d found. The medallion, the rings and the bracelet were in pretty good condition, as was the knife, but the cross was twisted badly out of shape and the figure of Christ was all battered. And it looked warped, like it might have been in a fire.
Gabe glanced at the rest of his haul and then back at the crucifix, wondering what this obviously Christian object was doing with a bunch of stuff that was so definitely not Christian. Especially the knife. The only word to describe the knife was pagan. Finding the two things together didn’t make sense
The crucifix, like the knife, also had an almost visible power to it, making him feel as if it needed to be protected, kept safe. It wanted to be held. Gabe shivered. He needed time to take everything in, deal with the wildly conflicting reactions in his head and his gut. A cautious voice was telling him to put the stuff back, insisting that no good would come of having it. But a raw, more feral instinct reacted vehemently to the very idea of leaving the gold behind. And it was winning the argument.
Gabe turned his attention back to the skeleton. This body, this person, had to have been buried out here in the middle of nowhere, who knew how long ago, for a good reason. And the only one he could think of was that the people who had done it hadn’t wanted him ever to be found. This was a person who was supposed to have disappeared. Gabe shivered again, noticing for the first time how the skeleton’s jaw was wide open, like the person was silently screaming as they drowned in the earth … as if they had been buried alive.