by Mark Romang
“You can’t just pretend this night never happened, Josiah,” Arcadias said gently, his right hand finding his Glock 19. His fingers wrapped around the grip. He racked the slide.
“I’ll give you two more hours to find your gold and clear out. And then I’m bringing the heat,” Barrett said over his shoulder as he reached the first step.
Arcadias followed after Barrett. “I can’t let you go, Josiah.”
Officer Barrett stopped in his tracks and turned around. He looked at the Glock in Arcadias’s hand. “So you’re going to shoot me? That would be a stupid move. The feds and every police department in the nation would mobilize to hunt you down. You wouldn’t stand a chance, Arcadias. Now be a smart guy and take my offer. It’s the best you’re going to get.” Barrett turned and started down the steps.
Arcadias pulled the trigger. The Glock roared over and over and over again. Josiah Barrett’s body crumpled, pitching headfirst down the steps, coming to a rest in a bloody heap.
His body numb and hands shaking, Arcadias reentered the house. He shuffled into the parlor, still holding the Glock in his right hand, its smoking muzzle warm from shooting three rounds into Josiah Barrett’s back and side.
He felt their eyes, accusing and judgmental, fearfully track his every move. No one said anything, wary of the Glock and the death residing in its clip. Arcadias stopped in the middle of the parlor. He stood on rubbery legs, his stomach queasy.
Complete and utter silence rested heavy on the room. But then the silence exploded. A German cuckoo clock hanging on the wall came to life. A door opened on the clock and the bird flew out, its loud and annoying call deafening compared to the prior silence.
Arcadias looked at the cuckoo bird. Maybe I’m losing it. Maybe I’m as crazy as the cuckoo bird.
The cuckoo bird went back inside its compartment. The antique clock gonged loudly, signaling the ten pm hour. And all fell silent once more.
Chapter 32
When he heard the gunshots, Rafter’s worst fears sprang to life.
It took only an instant for Arcadias to plunge a little deeper into madness, diving headlong into an angry world where violence swallows up reason and civility. Fueled by desperation and fear, Arcadias shot and killed a cop.
And if he shoots a policeman, he’ll shoot us too, Rafter thought.
Damien looked at his brother in stunned disbelief. “Did you just do what I think you did? Did you just kill a cop, Arcadias?”
“It was Josiah. And he wanted out. If I had let him go he would’ve radioed for help,” Arcadias said in a soft and distant voice.
Damien shoved his hand into a jean pocket and pulled out his truck keys. “We need to cut our losses and leave now. Forget about the treasure, Arcadias. It’s not in the cards. If we leave now we might make it to Mexico before dawn.”
“No! We’re almost there. The treasure is right under our noses.”
Ned sat up in his chair a little straighter. “I’ve seen a lot of stupid people in my time, but you just may be the dumbest, Arcadias,” he said.
Arcadias looked at Damien. “Do you have any duct tape in your tool bucket?”
Damien nodded.
“Good, I’m going to shut this old man up. I’m tired of his mouth.”
“You don’t need to do that, Arcadias,” Rafter said calmly. “Ned will be quiet from here on out, won’t you Ned?”
Ned shrugged and glared at Arcadias. “I guess I’ve said enough. He knows what I think of him.”
“Okay, but one more word out of you and I’m taping your mouth. Got it?”
Ned stared at the floor and said nothing.
Arcadias stalked over to Ned. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear your answer.”
Ned looked up and grinned, showing a mouthful of coffee-stained dentures. “What is it you want? First you say ‘not another word’ and now you want me talk. Make up your mind,” Ned said.
Rafter studied Arcadias closely. The ex-history professor seemed to grow more unstable with each passing minute. And Ned seemed intent on pushing Arcadias completely over the edge. “He won’t be a problem anymore, Arcadias. I’ll take responsibility for him.”
Arcadias looked at Rafter; his ash-colored eyes fumed. Rage encompassed him like an ill-fitting suit. Fury leached out his every pore.
“Take a deep breath, Arcadias. Don’t make this any worse than it is. You’ve committed enough crimes for one evening. Do what you came here for and leave. Don’t harm anyone else,” Rafter said.
“You’re one to talk, Rafter. You shot an arrow into Colette and now you’re preaching to me about committing crimes?”
Keith Jepson snorted. “I’m sure Jon shot the bow in self-defense. Which as the homeowner, he has the right to do so. Louisiana is a Stand Your Ground state. Jon doesn’t have the duty to retreat before protecting himself from an intruder. He has the right to use deadly force.”
“We’re not intruders. We paid for all the rooms. We’re guests,” Arcadias argued.
“Some guest you are, Arcadias. You’ll have four kidnapping charges and a capital murder charge hanging over you. You’re going to be a guest on death row before long,” Annie said, piping in.
Arcadias pivoted around. “It wasn’t a premeditated murder.”
Keith Jepson jumped back into the conversation. “Whether it was premeditated or not, it doesn’t really matter. Special Circumstances in a murder charge can often result in the imposition of the death penalty. Such circumstances can include kidnapping, wanton disregard for human life, and killing a police officer. I believe you have covered all three of those circumstances.”
Arcadias whirled back around to face Jepson. “I thought you said you were a family law attorney.”
“I used to be a criminal law attorney. But I got tired of defending people like you; people that I knew were guilty. So I switched to family law so I could help honest people like Jon and Annie.”
Rafter briefly closed his eyes. First Ned, and now Keith Jepson and Annie were piling on Arcadias. Couldn’t they see the fuse on Arcadias was already lit?
Arcadias turned to his brother. “We need to find this secret room ASAP. But to do that we need to tie our captive’s feet to the furniture. I don’t want them walking away when we’re distracted.”
“I don’t have any rope, Arcadias.”
Arcadias walked over to a lamp sitting on an end table. He pulled the lamp free from the socket. “We can use electrical cord in place of rope. We just need to gather up enough of it. And that shouldn’t be hard in a house this big.”
Damien nodded and started scavenging for cords. Rafter watched him go. Where are you, Lord? I can’t feel your presence. Come into this room and fill it up. We desperately need you to perform a miracle.
Chapter 33
His left eyelid fluttered open first. A moment later Josiah Barrett’s other eyelid opened. Barrett looked around but couldn’t see much. The view from his awkward position negated his vision.
He lay facedown on a soapstone walkway near the front steps, his legs and feet pointed up toward the gallery. Blood pooled around his midsection.
How did I get here? Did I fall down the steps?
And then his fuzzy brain remembered what happened. Arcadias shot him.
I wonder if I can move. Barrett concentrated on his extremities, sending signals to them. He wiggled his fingers, and then both feet. At least he knew now his spine hadn’t been severed.
He remembered how he’d turned to walk down the steps when Arcadias shot him. Two bullets entered his ribcage on his right side. The third bullet entered his lower back near his liver.
He should’ve never turned his back. Clearly he’d underestimated the ex-history professor. He never suspected Arcadias to be a sociopath. And his carelessness would likely cost him his life. Unless he could get to his squad car and radio for help, he would die tonight. Blood gushed from his side and stomach.
Barrett rolled onto his side and viewed his stomach. He saw a bloody hole jus
t above his navel. He quickly pressed a hand over the hole to staunch the blood flow. It didn’t work very well. Blood leached around and over his trembling fingers.
Oddly enough he felt little pain. The dying process wasn’t nearly as painful or scary as he thought it would be. It was the part following death that worried him—the great unknown. Did he really have a soul that continued to live? Was there really a place called hell? If hell truly existed he was in big trouble.
Barrett had been a bad cop for a long time. He’d served on a police force in seven different towns, and took bribes and used his badge to illegally make money in each town. He became a pro at deception, a master at covering his tracks. Never once had he been caught or even suspected of wrongdoing.
In one town he allowed a drug dealer to sell pot and meth to middle school kids in exchange for kickbacks. The kickbacks made a nice little supplement to his income there. But he eventually moved on. That was the key—move on to another town before someone suspects you.
He felt guilty about it now though. In the back of his mind he could still see some of the kids’ faces as they filed out of the school. The kids were grown up now, but some might be addicts now. And he played a major part in their addiction.
There’s no getting around it, I’m a scumbag. And I deserve this.
Barrett started to crawl toward his squad car. To do so he needed both arms to push off and help him. When he lifted his right hand from his stomach the blood squirted out unchecked. He crawled forward in the grass for a few feet and stopped to rest. He immediately plugged the bullet hole as he rested.
Weird sensations took over his senses as he lay in the grass. He could feel the rhythms of the earth vibrating against his body, almost like the ground possessed an actual heartbeat. And he could hear every insect skittering in the grass, chirping and calling out to attract a mate. It was as if he were watching a nature show on television and had the volume turned all the way up.
Someone in the house must have turned a light on. The front yard had been dark and murky only seconds ago. Now a scintillating light bathed the yard, setting it alight. It was as if an atom bomb exploded. Barrett could see every blade of grass sparkle under the intense light. The sight was oddly beautiful. He never thought grass could amaze him so.
But the light made him feel exposed. If Arcadias looked out a window he would see him crawling toward the squad car. He might come out and shoot him again. Barrett almost said a prayer for protection. But then he remembered he hadn’t said a prayer since his childhood. He didn’t quite know how to go about it.
The light isn’t going out. Forget about it, he told himself. Get to the car.
The squad car sat about thirty feet away, but seemed thirty miles away. He wished now he would’ve parked next to the steps. But for some reason he parked at a distance in the circle drive.
Barrett gathered his legs underneath him and pushed up with his hands. With great effort he made it to all fours. I can do this, he thought. Holding his stomach, he stood to his feet and lurched forward like a drunken sailor. His head swam. The ground and sky spun crazily. He lost his balance and toppled over, sprawling out onto his left side and shoulder.
The light intensified even more. He didn’t understand the luminescence at all. The puzzling light shone too intensely to be a mere porch light or street light. And the light appeared brightest near the squad car.
As his life faded, breathing became more difficult. His lungs functioned at only a small percentage. And like a butterfly leaving a cocoon, he felt like he was detaching from the inside out. Maybe I do have a soul. And it’s trying to leave my body.
Barrett tilted his head and stared at his squad car. For the first time he could see something glittering inside the light. A form almost humanlike stood in the light near his car.
Barrett opened his mouth. A strangled cry escaped his throat. What he saw didn’t reside on earth. His bulging eyes witnessed something supernatural. The word, “angel,” popped into his mind.
If angels existed, then there must be a God and a heaven. And if there were angels, there must also be demons and Satan, which meant a hell, terrible and gruesome, also existed somewhere.
Barrett closed his eyes and reopened them, hoping the angelic being might have departed. But the angel hadn’t left his post by the squad car. And his tall form grew more distinct within the light. He towered over the vehicle. Barrett could see the angel wore a blinding white garment. The angel looked directly at Barrett; his beautiful blue eyes didn’t blink.
He’s here for me, Barrett thought. He’s going to take me somewhere. And yet the death angel didn’t move. He stood resolutely by the squad car and waited…waited for Barrett to come to him.
Barrett found his lips moving. Words tumbled out his mouth in a rush, his voice hoarse and wet with blood. “God, have mercy on me. I know you sent this angel to take me from earth. I deserve hell. I truly do. I’m rotten to the core. But I pray you will forgive all my sins and let me live with you and your son. I don’t need a mansion; just a small room will be fine.”
Barrett tried to stand again but couldn’t make it to his feet. His depleted strength quavered. His legs had turned to jelly. But he didn’t give up and struggled forward. Barrett didn’t want the angel to come and take him away. He figured the angel waited for a specific moment or event to happen, and when the moment came the angel would leave his post and escort him into the afterlife.
So he crawled army-style, inching ever closer to the squad car. God, if you would grant me just one wish, please let me stay alive long enough to make it to my car and call in. I finally want to do my duty. I want to protect and serve, he said silently.
Barrett squinted. His vision had all at once doubled. He saw two squad cars and two angels. He crawled toward the center of the squad cars, thankful Arcadias shot him with only a 9 millimeter and not a .45 filled with hollow points. He wouldn’t be alive now had that been the case.
Even as his organs shut down one by one, Barrett felt himself coming alive. For perhaps the first time ever—or at least for a very long time—he was doing something that didn’t solely benefit him. Serving others and putting their needs before his own made him feel good inside. A pity he had to reach death’s door to learn the value of selflessness.
Ten feet of grass and blacktop separated him from the squad car. He wished he could crawl faster. He felt like he moved no quicker than a slug. And like a slug leaving a slime trail behind him, Barrett’s escaping blood smeared the grass. To reach the squad car he needed time to slow down to a standstill. And yet his time on earth raced ever faster to its conclusion.
Barrett tasted blood, could feel it trickling out his mouth. He knew he bled internally. Its okay, I’m almost to my car, he told himself.
Seconds later, or maybe minutes later he reached the squad car. The light-shrouded angel seemed even more enormous this close up—a giant testament to power and purity. His stoic expression still hadn’t changed. He looked down at Barrett without pity. Only expectancy shone in his fierce blue eyes.
Barrett wanted to rest. He’d never experienced exhaustion this profound. But he couldn’t rest. He had a job to do.
Luckily he’d left the door open. He didn’t know why he’d done that, but he was glad he did. Barrett reached up and grabbed the seat restraint belt dangling beside the seat. He tried to pull himself up. But he’d grabbed the belt with his right hand—bloody from pressing against his wound. His grip loosened and slipped off. He collapsed into the grass.
Barrett listened to his lungs whistle as he lay there in the soft grass. He felt content to let the end come. But at the same time he wanted his last act on earth to mean something. Besides, he knew his late mother was watching him from above. Susan Barrett had read her Bible daily, praying just as often, and went to church all her life. Barrett wanted to make his saintly mother proud.
So he reached up his left hand this time. He grabbed the belt and hung on to it, while gathering his legs underneath h
im. But it took so long for his legs to comply. They had grown heavy and swollen and moved in awkward jerks.
To make the call to dispatch he would need to get to his feet one more time. It seemed like such an easy and natural thing to do. But the simple task posed an insurmountable challenge he couldn’t overcome. Barrett looked up at the imposing angel. “I could use some help here. You mind giving me a boost?” He barely recognized his voice. The words came out in gasping pants, muddled and garbled with pooling blood.
The angel moved from his post and held out his glowing hand. Barrett lifted up his bloody right hand and grasped the angel’s hand. Barrett immediately felt warmth enter his fingertips and move up his arm and into his upper torso. His whole body began to tingle.
The angel lifted him up as if Barrett weighed no more than a sack of feathers. And then the angel dropped him gently across the seat and console.
Barrett grabbed the police radio. He pushed the talk button, concentrated fiercely at pronouncing the words intelligibly. “Officer down at Whitcomb…Bed and Breakfast. Hostages…in…side,” he panted just before taking his last shallow breath.
As the dispatcher replied frantically back, Barrett felt his soul levitate up through the squad car’s roof. He realized then that the angel held him tenderly in his arms. They ascended through the night sky; all lit up like giant fireflies. When they rose above the roofline they stopped and hovered just above the widow’s walk.
Barrett looked down at the house. “Will the hostages make it out okay?”
“They are still in danger,” the angel said in a deep and melodic voice. “But help is on the way. Your conversion isn’t the only miracle taking place tonight.”
A smile broke across Barrett’s anguished face. He felt so pure, his soul—dirty and condemned only moments before—had been scrubbed clean and made pure.
Barrett noticed movement nearby. He turned his head and witnessed an amazing sight. The sky opened like a stage curtain being peeled back. A wondrous world, astounding and majestic came into view. He saw a golden city shaped like a cube. A towering wall shimmering with jewels surrounded the city.