Harrison shook his head as if to release unwitting cobwebs from his mind. He knew what he heard and would wait patiently to hear it again. Harrison cautioned himself not to start talking to himself—just listen. He stood still once again and waited. His patience was rewarded a second time, as the low moan was now distinguishable. It sounded like an individual in pain, perhaps a woman, and was coming from behind the boxes. Harrison made his way to the boxes. There was no obvious path through or around them. Harrison selected a box and lifted it to test its weight. He was able to lift it with some straining. He positioned the flashlight to afford him sufficient illumination. Harrison worked at rearranging the boxes to open a path leading beyond them. They were stacked three high and five-to-six deep. He worked carefully unaware of their contents and unwilling to take the time now to check them. Harrison moved box after box, gradually exposing a footpath beyond them.
Harrison estimated that fifteen minutes had passed as he relocated the last box. He retrieved his flashlight and walked through the pathway that he created. Harrison found himself on the other side of the boxes. He focused his flashlight and revealed several pieces of old furniture, one of which looked like a woman’s hope chest. Harrison heard no moaning during the time that he moved the boxes to create a passageway. He stood silently again as he directed his flashlight around the cellar. Harrison neither saw nor heard anything. The dirt floor and the walls revealed no other openings or doorways. He waited once again, but he heard nothing. Harrison walked over to the hope chest-like furniture. It was different in appearance in that the wood was not covered with dust and cobwebs like other objects in the cellar. Harrison realized that the furnishing was used recently.
Harrison flashed his light on the lock, but noted that it was not padded. A skeleton-like key was protruding from the lock. Harrison illuminated his surroundings once more before bending down to turn the key as if he expected something or someone to lunge at him out of the darkness—not that assailants ever pounced on him before under the cloak of darkness. Harrison focused the light beam on the key and turned it to unlock the chest. He took a deep breath and for the first time, un-holstered his gun. Harrison stood back as far as his outstretched arm permitted. His familiar adrenalin rushed as it always did in these times of heightened alertness.
Harrison lifted the top of the chest. He was breathing rapidly and his eyes widened as the image registered in his mind. In the chest lay a woman, unclothed, with her hands and feet bound by rope and a cloth gag around her mouth. Her body appeared badly bruised from head-to-toe and much dry blood was visible. The woman’s eyes were closed and she exhibited no movement. Harrison wondered if the woman was dead. He bolstered his gun and focused the light on the woman’s face. Harrison thought that if she was not dead, she certainly was left for dead. As he debated the issue in his mind, the woman let out a moan muffled by the gag. She was still alive although barely clinging to life.
Harrison began to aid her by undoing her mouth gag. He then unbound her hands and feet. Harrison was uncertain about moving her without knowing her condition beyond the fact that she was critical. He chose not to move her for the moment, but knew that she needed liquids for her emaciated body. Harrison was not ready to explore the floors above and remembered the bottles of wine on the wall. He retraced his steps through the pathway he created, shining the flashlight on the far wall. Harrison picked a random bottle of wine. He blew the dust off the bottle and walked back to the battered woman. Harrison approached the hope chest and gazed at the badly beaten woman. She lay motionless except for an occasional smacking of her lips. Harrison unwrapped the cork and stuck his knife in it. He crudely removed the cork, mostly in pieces, and situated the bottle near the woman’s mouth. Harrison carefully poured drops of wine on the woman’s lips. Initially, she did not react to the fluid. Not having this natural reflex was not a good sign. Harrison continued to pour drops of wine on the woman’s lips. He reached down and with his finger stimulated her lips by rubbing them. The woman responded to the stimulation and began licking the drops of wine. Harrison continued to pour drops of wine as the woman gathered what she could with her tongue.
As Harrison continued providing the dying woman a weak link to life, the stranger gradually opened her eyes. Harrison rubbed the woman’s hands and called out softly, “Wake up, please. Wake up.” She seemed to be peering directly at Harrison, but he observed only emptiness in her eyes. The woman did not acknowledge the figure that knelt beside her. Harrison gently shook the stranger’s shoulders and called out once more, “Wake up, please. Wake up.” The woman stirred and opened her eyes for the second time. Harrison shook her gently once again and asked, “Can you hear me?” He repeated his question much more slowly, “Can - you - hear - me?” The woman’s transparent gaze became focused as she squinted her eyes and for the first time must have realized that she was not alone. Harrison smiled at the stranger and said, “That’s better. You can hear me now, can’t you?” The woman did not speak, but affirmatively nodded her head ever so slightly. Her eyes moved rapidly as her alertness and consciousness of her situation improved. The stranger’s face exhibited pain and reflected the severity of the battering that she received. Harrison took pity on the woman and said, “You’ve taken quite a beating. Try not to move.” After a brief pause, he asked, “Who are you?” The magnitude of the woman’s anguish became apparent as she attempted to speak. Her lips moved, but no sound accompanied them. She drew her head back as if her pain intensified and shot through her face. The stranger fought to control her agony only to shake her head in silence. Tears began streaking down her face reflecting her physical pain as well as her growing awareness of her situation. Perhaps she was remembering the events leading up to her present condition.
At that moment, the stranger became aware of her state of undress. She glanced at her nakedness and averted her eyes from the kind gentleman who knelt beside her intended coffin, quickly showing her embarrassment. Harrison observed her shame and shined his light around the cellar in search of a blanket or some other fabric. He spotted what appeared to be an old sheet covering a piece of furniture. Harrison stood and held out one finger to the woman motioning her to wait. He noticed her acute panic as he was leaving and assured her that he would return quickly. Harrison hurried to retrieve the blanket, shook it violently to release what dust it held and returned to the woman. He lowered the blanket and softly covered her nakedness with the cloth. The stranger did not utter a word, but her facial expression broke into a slight smile in appreciation of Harrison’s random act of kindness.
The thought that this gravely beaten woman somehow was linked to his mission did not escape Harrison. The woman was frail and critical, her wounds were likely mortal, but he needed information from her before she lapsed back into unconsciousness or death. Harrison realized sadly that he could do nothing to save the woman, but perhaps dispense justice by avenging her assailant or assailants.
Harrison renewed eye contact with the woman and asked once again, “Tell me, who are you? Why are you here?” The woman looked at the kind stranger, licked her lips several times and spoke in a broken, whispered voice, “Mary Lou. My - name - is - Mary - Lou.” Disbelief came across Harrison’s face which must have projected some impact on the woman. Her eyes widened and she appeared fearful as if she had said something wrong or offended the gentleman. Harrison, too, was shocked by her revelation. His facial expression shifted to one of dubious belief as his questioning conveyed more of interrogation than querying for information: “Mary Lou? Mary Lou Hawthorne?” The woman was taken aback by the gentleman’s declaration. Neither the beaten woman nor the kind gentleman spoke for a moment. Finally, the wounded stranger acknowledged the man’s inquiry: “Yes. I am Mary Lou Hawthorne.” Harrison asked, perhaps as a reality check, “Wife of Jacob Hawthorne?” “Yes,” was her weak reply as the woman closed her eyes and nodded affirmatively. She added, “Well, one of Jacob’s wives.”
Harrison could not believe his good fortune. Despite
Mrs. Hawthorne’s physical condition, he must make what he could of the opportunity afforded him. The other Mrs. Hawthorne who assailed him slipped through his fingers. He did not want this to happen a second time. Harrison looked closely at Mrs. Hawthorne. The extent of her bruising and dry blood suggested that she was well beyond saving. For that, Harrison felt sadness. No woman, no person, should die under such isolated and dreadful circumstances. Harrison asked honestly and rather apologetically, “Forgive me, Mrs. Hawthorne, but I must know what happened to you and Marilyn Hawthorne.” Mrs. Hawthorne replied: “Who are you? How do you know so much about us?” Harrison wanted to avoid a lengthy explanation, but believed this dying woman was entitled to some details. He responded to her inquiry, “My name is Harrison Rossetti. I am an agent of the United States government charged with the protection of the President of the United States.” Mrs. Hawthorne closed her eyes and swallowed. She remarked, “I can see why you might be interested in Marilyn.” She closed her eyes, shook her head and then spoke hysterically: “You’ve got to stop him! Please, you’ve got to stop him! Oh, Marilyn! Where is Clona?”
The beaten woman turned away from Harrison. He asked with urgency, “Stop who?” Mrs. Hawthorne did not turn toward the man. Harrison asked more emphatically, “Stop who Mrs. Hawthorne? Stop who?” The fading woman turned toward Harrison and responded to the gravity of his voice: “My husband. You must stop my husband.” Anguish shot across the woman’s face as if another discharge of torment exploded through her body. Although Harrison was affected emotionally by the woman’s tortured state, he requested information nonetheless and he needed the details immediately. He touched softly the face of Mrs. Hawthorne and spoke gently: “Mrs. Hawthorne, Mary Lou, do you know if President Ashton is alive?” There was hope in Harrison’s face and voice, but he began breathing quickly, almost inducing an acute panic attack. He was afraid that this woman might have information about the demise of Elizabeth Ashton, details that he did not wish to hear. Mrs. Hawthorne did not respond immediately. Harrison showed his impatience: “Well, do you?” This was not a side of the kind man that Mrs. Hawthorne had experienced throughout their brief encounter this evening.
The badly beaten woman coughed and closed her eyes in pain. Upon opening her eyes, she peered directly at Harrison and spoke as best as she could with the physical insults on her person. “Mr. Rossetti, I was not included in the original plans of my husband to substitute Marilyn for the President.” “Then you are aware of your husband’s intentions?” interrupted Harrison. “No, not fully. I know that Clona was included, but I don’t know the extent of her role or her whereabouts.” Harrison knew obviously of Clona Hawthorne’s self-imposed demise, but saw no reason to trouble Mary Lou further. He was, after all, unaware of her relationship with Clona. His thoughts focused once again on the dying woman’s account. Her demeanor changed and ire arose as she continued, “My bastard husband had this done to me! I wouldn’t agree to support him like Marilyn and Clona.”
Mary Lou’s anger taxed her diminished resources. She coughed again, but this time she spat up blood. Harrison removed his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the blood from her mouth. The dying woman cried, “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” For a moment, Harrison did not know how to respond. He wanted to lie to spare the woman her fate, but decided to tell the woman what she didn’t want to hear: “Yes, Mary Lou, you are dying. There is nothing that I can do for you here except avenge those who shortened your life. However, I can’t do that unless you tell me what you know.”
The dying woman nodded her head in inevitable agreement and continued her story: “My husband developed a growing paranoia over the years about the intrusion of government in his life. He complained frequently about taxes, the acquisition of his land against his will through eminent domain, the decay in the moral fabric of the Office of the President and politicians in general, liberals—his anger and defiance against the government grew irreconcilable.” Mary Lou paused and asked in her weakened condition, “Please, I need some water.” Harrison retrieved the bottle of wine and lowered it to her lips. She took several swallows of the liquid and weakly pushed it away. Harrison returned the bottle of wine to the floor and attempted to refocus the dying woman. Time was escaping and he did not know how long the woman would maintain consciousness. He asked again, “Where is President Ashton?” Mary Lou nodded her head and spoke although she began to wheeze: “I don’t know. I don’t know where the President is. I think she’s still alive—as long as Marilyn is in the White House. Marilyn had so many physical features similar to President Ashton that it was not difficult to further clone her image through expert reconstructive surgery. Jacob told us that he could use the President as a hostage to negotiate Marilyn’s release if the plan went sour. They must have her hidden in another building like this or on our ranch about 30 miles north of here.” “They?” interrupted Harrison. “Jacob has a number of friends and hired hands on the ranch that feel the same way he does. He has gathered a small army. They are radical and dangerous men who readily exonerated violence where the end to them always justified the means.”
The dying woman was breathing heavily now in short breaths. Harrison felt guilty about letting her die this way, but he knew no other course given the circumstances. He said sympathetically, “Who did this to you, Mary Lou?” The woman closed her eyes and looked anguished as if the question caused her to relieve her beating. Mary Lou opened her eyes as tears once again rolled down her face. Her tone was nasal as she spoke: “The more my husband explained his plans to Marilyn, Clona and me, the more I realized that he was insane, that he would do anything to attain his goal, including violence and murder.”
The dying woman coughed and spat up more blood. Harrison again wiped her mouth and kept her as comfortable as possible. Mary Lou cleared her throat and continued, sometimes repeating herself, “Marilyn looked a lot like the President and a cosmetic surgeon completed the illusion. Clona was supposed to protect her and take care of anybody who got wise to her. I don’t know where Clona is. I…I was…My husband wanted me to…he ordered me to misappropriate funds for munitions as well as forge papers to hide identities and penetrate building security systems. I did initially what was asked of me. I was Jacob’s wife.” The dying woman stopped abruptly and took a long breath before continuing. “What I was doing deeply troubled me. I couldn’t sleep nights. I was a nervous wreck racked with guilt for the role I was playing in this conspiracy. My husband had concocted a campaign of hatred and vengeance for which he would stop at nothing. I became an unwilling pawn in his plan. I was no different from the other treacherous recruits except I was owned by the mastermind of the plot.”
The woman paused. She was wheezing heavily now and blood oozed continually from her mouth. Harrison continued to do what he could which he realized was very little. Mary Lou spoke again, “I told him, I told him I couldn’t go on doing this…being a part of something so villainous. I pleaded with him to abandon his plan and disband the militant army he was recruiting. I thought naively that my relationship with Jacob would place me in a position of influence, but his growing rage for what he believed was imposed upon his country blinded him to the point that there was no other paths to follow. He had committed himself even if such a resolution meant eventual imprisonment or death.”
Mary Lou turned her head away from Harrison, perhaps in shame, as she continued, “I was no longer anything to him except a traitor, one of those individuals he planned to roll over at all cost. I misjudged him. I guess he no longer had feelings for me. A marital relationship of thirty years meant nothing…Oh [she cried]…meant nothing to him. I was no longer useful to him, but with the knowledge that I possessed, I was quite expendable. I pleaded that I would say nothing, but he understood how troubled I was over the unfolding events.
As a reward for my loyalty, my bastard husband gave two of his recruits the privilege of eradicating a personal enemy of the cause. Jacob left and these two men began battering me with baseba
ll bats. I was stunned and disoriented with each blow and somewhere in the process I became unconscious. I have drifted in and out of consciousness in the dark not knowing my whereabouts, but certain that wherever I was it would be my final resting place. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been here, how long I’ve clung to a thread of life. Now you are here. I have spoken and can die in peace. I thank you for the kindness and benevolence not even my companion of thirty years would bestow on me. Avenge for me, sir, do not make my death a worthless one.” The woman who had fought to tell her story was now gasping for breath. Blood flowed incessantly and the woman was choking on her own fluids. Harrison reached out and held her hands. He did not want her to die alone without the comfort of another. The irony did not escape Harrison. Here he was able to comfort a dying stranger, yet he was not able to comfort his dying friend, Josetta.
It was not long before Mary Lou took her last breath. The once anguished face now seemed serene. Harrison bowed his head and prayed for her peacefulness. However, he also avowed that he would avenge her death as she asked…as he promised.
Harrison released her arms and stared at the dead woman.
He wanted to give her a proper burial, but he knew that he must return the surroundings to their previous condition. He could not risk leaving clues that suggested that somebody stumbled on the fate of this poor woman. Harrison lifted the sheet from Mary Lou. He bound her hands and legs and gagged her mouth, recreating the horrid scene. Harrison replaced the lid of the chest and corked the wine bottle before returning it to the shelf. He checked the sheet for blood and finding none, returned the sheet atop the furniture from where it came.
Mirror, Mirror at 1600 D.C. Page 14