by J. T. Lewis
Gabriel’s Revenge
By
J.T. Lewis
*****
Copyright 2012-2015 J.T. Lewis
License Notes
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This book is a work of fiction. The
names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or
organizations is entirely coincidental.
*****
To Susan, without whose patience and encouragement this project
would not have been possible
Prologue
June 7, 1998
The man walked determinedly toward his car, but his mind was elsewhere, on the case, or cases as it were. He was actually making good headway on the investigation by his reckoning, disturbing headway. He had found the link in the cases he had been looking for two days before, and it had changed everything! Even he couldn’t believe the ramifications of his find.
The night was warm and he removed his jacket and hung it over his arm, folding it carefully first. He rubbed his free hand through his military cut salt and pepper hair, letting his mind wander, enjoying the weather.
Reaching the car, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys to unlock his government furnished sedan, but his keys suddenly fell from his hand. He looked down in confusion and wondered why he just did that, and why all of a sudden he couldn’t seem to move to correct it.
He felt a hand then on his shoulder, hot breath on his neck. “I hear you’re looking for me,” the stranger whispered into his ear, “thought I would save you the trouble.”
The man reached quickly for his weapon, but his arm wouldn’t respond, still hanging limply at his side. Fear was creeping up his spine now. It’s an emotion that he had very seldom experienced, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit.
The hot breath again, “You will crumble to the pavement in a moment; let me help you down instead.”
Hands snaked under his arms, clasped gently around his chest and pulled backwards, lowering his growing dead weight easily to the pavement.
“There now, nice and comfy. Look at those stars; aren’t they marvelous?”
The stars were indeed beautiful, and the man took a good look at them for a change; it had been years since he had looked at the sky as anything but an overhead certainty.
“I’m very impressed with you; I wanted you to know that. There are very few people that could have put all the pieces together. I salute your tenacity detective; unfortunately you were starting to get in the way of my work. But I want you to know something; you are a rare breed indeed, one of the good guys.”
The man was thinking, thinking of his mom and dad. Funny what you think about in times like these. He missed them a lot; twenty years had passed since they had left this world.
“Let me put that coat over you; that concrete is probably getting cold. I want to make sure you are comfortable.” The man on the ground made out the silhouette of a stranger over him with a wide brimmed hat, the shadows completely concealing his identity.
Thinking now of his friend, he really only had one. That was ok though; true friendship was rare. He wondered how he was doing; it had been over a year since he’d seen him. He hoped he had found some happiness by now.
Wide hat over him again, “Time to say goodbye, and I must admit, it’s been a pleasure.”
The life slowly went out of the eyes; the man on the ground was gone. The stranger continued to look down upon the man in the deserted parking lot. Reaching down gently, he laid his palm on the man’s brow and slid it down, closing the eyes. He then crossed himself, finishing the ritual by taking to his mouth a pendant hung from his neck with a chain, kissing it reverently before letting it slide back to his chest.
“Yes indeed, a pleasure it has been. In a different life, who knows?”
The stranger rose up, removed his hat and wiped his brow. Replacing the hat fastidiously on his head, he looked down one final time before proceeding on his way.
Fingers to the rim of the hat, he tipped the hat slightly with a nod, “I bid you adieu, Frank Luther.”
Turning, he walked away nonchalantly, whistling a tune, the eerie yet vaguely familiar melody filling the quiet night air.
Chapter 1
August 20, 1998
I see the room ahead. No longer do I start in the room itself; I have to traverse a long, hot and dingy hallway to get to it. Arriving at the doorway, I notice the paint on the door is cracked and it is in need of repair. I also find it opened a bit, as if it had not been closed on my last visit.
I slowly entered the space, the atmosphere is dank, cold, and un-kept, the fireplace unlit. I head toward my chair and look down upon it from my standing position. The material appears overly worn; in a few places the chair’s stuffing is even exposed.
I sigh and take a seat in the dim glow shed from the single light on the table. I glance at the chessboard to my left, surprised to see a move had been made.
On my last trip, my first in over a year, the chessboard was on the floor, the pieces scattered everywhere. I had picked up the board and dusted it off, setting it in its rightful place on the table, picking up the chess pieces and setting them in their positions on the board. At the time, this seemed to be all of the energy I could expend on the room, leaving soon after.
The coffee cup had been empty then, but was now filled with the dark liquid of the past. I lifted the mug and sipped at the coffee; it is delicious but not quite as hot as it used to be. Still, it’s a definite improvement from last time.
I spent what seemed like an hour studying the chessboard, wanting a plan in my head before committing to a strategy. Finally comfortable with my decision, I moved my piece before leaning my head back on the chair. The effort had exhausted me and I sat there for a few minutes, sipping at my cup with eyes closed. I opened my eyes once more and the room seemed a little brighter, a little warmer, but my eyes were still heavy so I closed them once again.
Reopening them, I was staring at the night stars through a small rip in the canvas over my head. Checking my watch, I am unsurprised at the time displayed there, 5:30 AM.
It had been over a year since I had experienced the once frequent dreams, the night before having been the first time. They had been instrumental in giving me clues leading to the solution of a case last year, The Ghost Murders, my last case. Now the visions had returned, the meaning as usual unclear, but the implications…ominous.
I drug myself slowly off the blanket that was my bed. Grabbing my small bag and a canteen I head toward the latrine to get that out of the way before it got busy. When I finished my business I took a small swig of water and brushed my teeth, finishing with another swig to rinse. It would be the only time I could brush today due to the constant shortage of clean water, and I took a moment to enjoy the feeling of clean teeth.
It was growing light out so I headed back to my tent and grabbed my journal. Breakfast was an hour away, and I wanted to sketch one of my finds of the previous day before the actual work of the day got started. Traveling down a dusty r
ock-strewn path, I came to one of the Nazca mud brick tombs that we had been working on the day before.
Most of our finds to that point had been mummified remains, but yesterday I had stumbled upon a partial burial. These were typically bundles of bones wrapped in colorful woven and embroidered textiles, the dry climate of the desert helping to almost perfectly preserve the cloth for hundreds of years.
This particular tomb had also included a head jar, which is what I was there to sketch. These were vessels sometimes used in place of the head, the real head having probably been removed for some ceremonial reason.
Head jars typically had a human head or skull painted on the exterior, along with trees and plants sprouting out of the orifices of the depiction. This was my first, and I wanted to record the intriguing image in my grandfather’s journal.
The book was getting full, what with his original drawings and notes, as well as my drawings and letters to my wife. I had promised to write her every day and I had been true to my word up to this point.
The sun, having just crept over a rise in front of me brightly reflected off of the ring on my finger. Blinding me for a second as the glint caught my eye, I stopped drawing and held my hand out in front of my face.
My heart grew heavy momentarily as I looked upon the remnants of my marriage, my past life. My darling Betty had been shot in cold blood over a year ago now, the memory still painful to my mind every time I let myself think of it. The only satisfaction I had received was the final bullet I had put between the eyes of her murderer, an honor I would gladly exchange for one more conversation with my love.
I had months ago signed on for another year at the dig, finding the investigation of a long dead people preferable to that of the recently murdered. I’m not sure I could ever go back; everything at home would remind me of my loss, the pain that pierces my heart daily even here.
A shadow fell over me; the outline of a man with a brimmed hat filled the hole I was standing in.
“Good morning Julien,” I said as I got back to my drawing.
“Good morning my friend,” Professor Julien Taylor exclaimed with a smile.
He had only recently returned from the states, having taken a couple of months off to write and relax from the dig. I had remained during that time, watching over the dig with two local men while the others were away.
Diego and Amaro were both hard working natives, and we communicated well enough using a combination of some Spanish and Quechua I had picked up along the way. I had taught them some English also, helping to fill in some of the blanks in our communication. I now counted them as friends, along with the man who now stood before me.
Julien Taylor was the leader of our archeological dig. At 5’5” and 190 lbs. he was almost as wide as he was tall. How he kept his girlish figure with the amount of work he did and in this country’s oppressive heat was beyond me, but at 78 years of age, he had more energy than most people I have known half his age.
“You always look so sad and withdrawn,” he remarked with a less enthusiastic smile now on his face. “You’re affecting the rest of the crew in a negative way I’m afraid.”
My turn to smile now, “So I guess you want me to quit?”
Sitting down on a large rock, he answered, “No my dear boy, I gather that wouldn’t help, but I do wish there was a way I could aid you with your pain.”
My mouth drew tight, regretting that my hurt would have an effect on others. “I’m sorry Julien, for any problems that land on your shoulders due to my situation. If it ever gets too much, just let me know. I don’t want to be a problem.”
“Heavens no lad, you have a place here for as long as you need to be here, or until we run out of work. I believe I’ve mentioned before that you were born to this work my friend; it’s a damn shame you started so late in your life. I’m still not convinced however that this is where you need to be right now; I believe this is merely a convenient place for you to hide from the world.”
“Thanks for your concern professor,” I said as I got back to my drawing, “but I think this is exactly where I need to be right now.”
A thoughtful look crossed Julien’s face then, a worried one.
“Would you mind a little advice from an old man, Gabriel?”
I stopped my drawing, thinking I probably didn’t want any of his parental guidance at the moment, but nodding my head anyway.
“Look around you; you are surrounded by a population that has been buried in this ground for hundreds of years. We carefully unearth their graves, study them, make sketches and take pictures, all in the name of science. We catalogue their belongings, assign numbers to them as identification, and sometimes even give them nicknames.
When we are through with that process they get reburied or moved or displayed, and then we put the information in a book and put it on the shelf.”
“We pry into every facet of their lives that we can think of, and yet, we really know nothing of them. Most of these people had loves and heartaches, friends and enemies, hopes and fears. There are a myriad of emotions and relationships that existed with these inhabitants that we will never be able to imagine, and certainly not know with any amount of certainty. And yet my dear boy, we can be certain beyond a doubt that they experienced these very emotions.”
Standing, he took off his hat, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and drying the brim before reinstalling the chupalla straw hat back on his head.
Not even 7:00 and already the heat was intolerable. The professor clasped his hands behind his back, pacing a few steps back and forth amongst the rocks as he looked for the words to finish his paternal advice.
When finally he stopped his pacing, he looked down on me with concern.
“What I am trying to communicate to you lad, is that we only inhabit this earth for a short while. We all make our mark on this world, some with great fanfare and some only by filling a hole in the ground.”
“You found a great love in a woman who no longer exists on this world, and no one else on this planet can really know what that means to you. But you found real love my lad, and real love never ends; it continues on when this world is but a distant memory in one’s mind.”
“What you need to come to terms with Gabriel, is that until you are again reunited with your lovely angel, what kind of mark are you going to leave on this world from here on out?”
“Are you going to do something with the time you have left, or are you just going to fill a hole in the end. A thousand years from now, people who dig us up may not know or care what we did with our lives, but how we live our lives needs to matter while we are here…to us.”
“Do something that is important to you my son. Make a difference while you can; don’t waste your life standing still.”
“You can stick around as long as you like, but it won’t bring her back to you by just marking your time here Gabriel. Hiding from your world just gives you an excuse to avoid living.”
I felt a tear run down my cheek as Julien’s speech hit a nerve, and my heart. But what do I have to go back to in my world? An empty house? A job I’m not sure I have the stomach for anymore?
I heard Julien walking off, mumbling something under his breath. Following his progress, I noticed a boy riding a burro up the path. Stopping in front of Julien, he handed the older man an envelope before turning his burro around and heading back towards town. The professor looked down at the letter, then turned back towards me and returned to the tomb.
“Telegram for you Gabriel,” he said with concern as he handed me the envelope.
I have a confused look as I took the yellow envelope, puzzled as to who would send me a telegram. I had been in sporadic touch with a few people during my time here, but that had all been accomplished using the regular mail system.
Opening the envelope, I unfolded the paper and begin reading the short message. My blood ran cold as I finished reading the note, rereading it quickly once more to be absolutely sure that I had read it correctly.
The paper fell from my hand as the words sunk in with finality, a cold finality that I had hoped to never again experience.
Julien looked upon my face with much concern before he reached down and picked up the note to read it himself. A look of anguish crossed his face as he stepped closer, putting his hand on my shoulder and muttering “Gabriel my son, I am so sorry.”
I looked over at my mentor as he again handed me the yellowed paper and I read the words numbly once more.
GABRIEL CELTIC STOP FRANK MURDERED STOP NEED HELP STOP ALLEN
Chapter 2
August 20, 1998
I quickly grabbed onto the windshield of the old Jeep to keep myself from falling out as we returned to earth after hitting a not so small bolder in the path. Julien had offered to drive me to Nazca, the nearest real town from our dig. From there I would need to catch the next bus to Lima and the airport.
Normally I hated to travel and would take more time to arrange a multi-day trip such as this, but I was sufficiently numb enough to push through the two days it will take me to get back to Indiana without any planned delays.
“He was a good friend?” Julien asked over the noisy motor, eyes concentrating on the road ahead.
“He was my best friend,” I said without outward emotion, “but I haven’t been the best of friends to him as of late.”
The professor jerked the wheel to the left quickly, narrowly avoiding a deep hole situated directly in the wheel’s path. Once again I gripped anything solid I could find to avoid falling out of the Jeep.
“If he was indeed a good friend my boy, he would have understood your need to get away from everything for awhile. As the old proverb states, ‘The best of friends must part’; you mustn’t take his death on as another weight on your soul. This can’t be your fault lad; you were, after all, thousands of miles away.”
“You don’t understand Julien; we were also partners, and we always had each other’s backs. There is a very real possibility that I could have stopped whatever happened to Frank if I had been there, helped him solve the case earlier, something.”