by Al Turner
“Okay, I can call your dad. But I’ll only give the briefcase to this guy Sanchez. I don’t want my only brother to be pissed at me.”
“Understood, sir. We don’t intend to disturb the contents of the briefcase—only to look them over for any clues that may shed some light, if you will.”
“Dude, stop calling me sir. It’s either Joe or, in your case, Uncle Joe.” He glanced over at Carson. “How can you two be related, much less twins?”
“It’s a mystery,” Carson said.
“As for the briefcase, it’s well hidden. You’d be crazy to want to grab it at this time of night anyway. I wouldn’t. I’ll give Sanchez directions and he can go retrieve the damn thing. If you want to follow him out there, you’re more than welcome to.”
“We had to try, Uncle Joe,” said Tripp, as if in surrender. He glanced over at Carson, who, arms folded, was tapping her foot in an annoying manner, clearly unimpressed with his efforts. “I’m sure it’s a bad part of New Orleans to be in at this time of night anyway.”
“It’s not really the part of town, kid. It’s just not a place I’d go at night.”
“Some areas can be eerie after the sun sets.”
“You can say that again,” Joe replied.
“Daylight is usually a better time to stray from the land of the living,” Tripp continued.
“Right,” Joe said, then realized he was being interrogated. “Okay, clever nephew, no more hints for you.”
“Thanks, Uncle Joe,” Tripp said. He would have to be content with not getting any further details.
“Uncle Joe, can you tell us anything about our uncle Conner?” Carson asked. “People typically avoid talking about him.”
“Aside from he’s dead?”
“Right—that’s about the extent of our knowledge. It just seems strange how he died, don’t you think?”
Joe shifted his gaze between Tripp and Carson. “There’s a lot of strange crap about this family, kiddos. I’m happy to say I’m oblivious to most of it.”
“But not all of it, right?” Carson said.
“Look, when your uncle died, the shit hit the fan. My mom told me she’d never seen Pops like that. He went from charming to spooky. She said he became obsessed with some plan to make things right.”
“Make what right? How?” Carson asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Does your mom know?”
“She knew more than me, but you won’t get anything from her. She died many years ago.”
The three expressed their condolences. Carson hesitated, as if thinking something through. “Daniel, pull up that map on your phone. Let’s show Uncle Joe and see what he thinks.”
Daniel brought up the information, including the map they’d obtained. They crowded around his coffee table and went over it. Joe indicated he was unsure what most of the points on the map were but became interested in the one near Denton, Texas.
“That one,” said Joe, pointing, “is where my mom lived. This one, of course, is where I live. As for the others, you’ll have to ask your dad.”
“What happened to your mom?” asked Carson.
“She died from cancer about a decade ago. She tried reaching out to Pops before she left this earth, but he didn’t bother showing up until after her funeral. When he did pop in out of the blue, he started giving me things—I mean, lots of stuff. Sure, he always sent my mother money, but I guess it was his way of trying to prove he was more than a sperm donor.” Joe realized his tone had soured a bit with the last statement and decided to change it. “Look, my mother was a good woman. Whatever her reason, she loved the guy. She was never really capable of having another relationship after him. I tried to tell myself he must have had some redeeming value, but the only thing I ever saw was his ability to make you feel guilty for despising him.”
“Sounds like a talent I wish I had,” Carson said with a smile. Tripp nudged her in the ribs. “You know what I mean.”
“Right,” said Joe. He noticed Wanda was dressed and standing behind him, rolling her eyes. “Looks like it’s time to kick everyone out. I’ll pass along your concerns to your dad. Go home and get some sleep, or go chase some ghosts.”
“Uncle Joe, is there anyone else who could shed some light on the events of long ago?” asked Tripp, inching toward the door.
“You mean aside from your parents or Pops?” Joe paused to think about his next words and just laughed. “You could always try the Wicked Witch of the Midwest,” he said. “On second thought, stay away from that crazy old hag.”
“Who’s that?” asked Carson.
“I would guess that would be our grandmother, who lives somewhere in the southeast corner of Oklahoma,” Tripp said. “Pops once used similar if less colorful words to describe her.”
“He would know,” said Joe. “She was probably what drove him out to sea. Really, guys, forget I said anything. I’d stay far away from her.”
“We don’t know her,” Carson said. “How do you?”
“She paid a couple of visits to my mom when I was a boy—the first time being when she learned of Pops’s affair with my mom. She was sticky nice at first, but then she launched into some insane stories.”
“What kind of stories?” Carson asked.
“It’s not important,” Joe said dismissively.
“Please,” Carson said.
Joe gave a deep sigh. “I don’t really remember the details. Her second and last visit, after your uncle died, she said something about your grandpa being a leader of some dark cult, which had his own son killed. She rattled on about her dead son being caught up in another world or some other batshit crazy stuff like that. When my mother questioned the stories, your grandmother became this vile, hateful creature. She’s a scary woman.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Carson said, following Tripp and Daniel to the door. She stopped and went back to give Joe a hug. As she wrapped her arms around him, she whispered in his ear, “Good luck with your own batshit crazy woman.”
Joe laughed. “Thanks. Good luck on your quest.” He walked them to the door and then decided he couldn’t just send them off into the night on an aimless search. He knew they would strike out whether he said anything else or not. One more hint won’t hurt, he told himself. It’s not like Sanchez wouldn’t catch up to them and find it first anyway. “If you do insist on visiting our local tombs, you might try the ones north of here—toward the lake.”
“Thanks Uncle Joe,” said Tripp.
“You didn’t hear it from me. Now get outta here,” Joe said. He closed the door and turned to face Wanda, who seemed ready for a fight.
***
After the door shut, Tripp, Daniel, and Carson walked to her Jeep.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now we find the cemetery Uncle Conner was buried in,” Tripp replied.
“Why the hell would we do something like that at this hour?”
“Because, dear sister, that’s where Uncle Joe will be sending Sanchez to retrieve the briefcase.”
“Why don’t we just wait for Sanchez and follow him there?” Carson asked. She wondered how her brother could actually be more in favor of going to a place with dead people than she was.
“Spooked are you, Carson?” Daniel asked, ribbing her.
“A little,” she admitted.
“It is not the dead we should be worried about—it’s the living that are armed with guns,” Tripp said. “As to why we shouldn’t just follow Detective Sanchez, I’ll simply ask you this: Do you want to actually examine the contents of the briefcase or simply admire its exterior from a distance as it’s taken back to Pops?”
Carson’s adventurous spirit came alive again. “Good point. Let’s do this.”
TOMB RAIDERS
They left the Lower Garden District and headed northward—per Uncle Joe’s hint—and searched for some sites closer to the Lake Pontchatrain area. Daniel had created a list from his web search of the area. They would split up and search ea
ch cemetery quickly and then move on to the next one. They were making reasonable time, all things considered, until Carson was pulled over for speeding. To the others’ relief, she managed to talk her way out of it—proof she could be charming when it suited her.
At one of the larger cemeteries, Carson’s frustration had started to tax her spirits. To lift them, she hid in the darkest, most foreboding spot she could find and waited for her brother and Daniel to come near. She caught them both together as they searched for her. She started by making her best eerie sounds and threw small stones in different directions, then jumped out at the most opportune moment. The startled looks on their faces was her reward.
They scolded her and moved on. As more time passed, however, any hope of finding the gravesite before Sanchez arrived started to fade. They decided to refuel their bodies and relieve their bladders at a twenty-four-hour convenience store. Tripp struck up a conversation with the Indian clerk. After telling the man he was a private investigator searching for a particular gravesite, at night no less, the man gave him a few leads to follow. Tripp wrote them down and thanked him.
After using the bathroom, Carson decided to call her uncle to find out how long ago Sanchez had arrived and departed to the place they searched for. To her surprise, he had been delayed due to both a flat tire and a rusty lug nut that refused to come off. He had left Joe’s place only moments before she called. When she told them about this lucky break, the others regained a sliver of hope.
As they set out with renewed vigor, Tripp shared the short list of local cemeteries. One that wasn’t on Daniel’s list and was much smaller than the others caught their interest, so they headed to Lazarus Tombs. Carson noticed it was protected by a locked iron gate. She, Tripp, and Daniel quickly scaled it and, with flashlights out, began their search. Winding their way around the impressive stone monuments, they noticed a circular pattern to the place.
Strangely, some tombs were not marked, while others had names they were unfamiliar with. Less than a minute after starting, Daniel called for the others. As they approached, the light from his flashlight illuminated a stone sepulcher.
“That’s it!” Carson shouted, running her hand across the engraved lettering. Her flashlight traveled down to the engraved words “Conner Page” and “October 17, 1991.” It continued to a scripture reference, Luke 17:33, followed by an inscription below that. She felt puzzled as she read it.
a Time for a son to exit
a loss to father and mother
death found but One
life hid the other
“What the hell does that mean?” asked Carson.
“Poetic,” Tripp said.
“It must be a code for something,” Daniel said excitedly. He and Tripp stood there and studied the words.
Carson read it again to herself but found nothing useful. It sounded like gibberish. Getting impatient, she started pacing in a circle around the sepulcher. On the second pass around, Tripp and Daniel were still going over the possible meaning of the epitaph. They agreed it referred to the death of one brother and the survival of the other. What puzzled them, though, was the capitalization of the words “Time” and “One.”
“Maybe we should look for a clock,” Carson said, wanting to move on with finding the briefcase. She shone her flashlight around the area. “No clock,” she said and started to search the rest of the grounds.
“Where are you going?” Tripp, looking suddenly inspired, asked.
“To search for clues,” Carson said, flashing her light on the next gravestone. “Or maybe I’ll just walk in circles.”
“Circles,” Tripp repeated pensively. He walked to the center of the graveyard where there stood a tall stone fountain with two cherubs, one above the other, pointing in different directions. He held out his flashlight, turned slowly, and counted. “Carson, I believe you’re correct. There is a clock of sorts.”
Carson, whose patience had grown thin, joined her brother near the fountain. She watched him turn on one heel a full 360 degrees. “Or maybe it’s just a stupid poem meant to make people waste their time,” she said.
“Right,” said Tripp. “There’s no time to waste. Let me give you a boost.”
“Boost? To where?”
“The top of this fountain,” Tripp said.
“Why?”
“I’ve a theory I need you to confirm,” Tripp said. He cupped his hands and waited for her to put her foot on them so she could begin her climb.
After a brief hesitation, Carson used her brother’s support to lift her high enough to grab the first stone cherub. She climbed it to the point where her head was the highest point in the cemetery. “Now what?” she asked.
“Shine your light on the top of each sepulcher and tell me what you see,” Tripp said.
At first, Carson simply guided the beam of light across the tops, but after scanning about three gravestones she noticed the obvious pattern.
“What do you see?” asked Daniel.
“Would you believe a clock?” Carson shined her light at the other structures. Each had a Roman numeral engraved on top.
“Where’s the one o’clock position?” asked Tripp. “I’m betting that the capitalized word, One, from the inscription on Conner’s tomb has some reference here.”
“There,” Carson said, pointing opposite to where Conner’s tomb was. “Uncle Conner’s tomb is at the seven o’clock position.”
“Excellent,” said Tripp. He headed to the tomb Carson had identified as one o’clock and began searching around the dark stone structure. At the base of the rear side, he noticed a glint as his light passed over the spot. Looking closer, he found a brass lever. He pulled it toward him. It was difficult to move at first but started to give as he tugged harder. Gurgling, like water traveling through a pipe, could be heard.
“Something just happened,” Daniel called out from the other side, still shining his own light on Conner’s tomb.
Tripp headed back and stopped to help Carson, who had started her climb down from the fountain. They joined Daniel back at the original gravestone.
“The water valve I just opened must have triggered the mechanism to unlock the tomb door.” Tripp shined a light in the new hole that formed when a circular stone panel moved aside. He stuck his hand in the hole and pulled a handle he found. With the sound of metal sliding within the stone walls, the entire bottom half of the tomb was freed and swung on hidden hinges. Tripp opened the concrete door and peered inside.
Carson was squeezed tightly next to him, trying not to miss anything he might find. “Is there a body?” she asked.
“No, but there’s something inside.” Checking the cramped surroundings, he cautiously leaned in and produced a dark brown leather briefcase. Judging from how Tripp heaved it, it was heavier than it looked. “I believe this is what we’re looking for.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” said Carson, dancing in one spot. She wanted to grab it from her brother but forced herself to wait. “C’mon, let’s open it!” she sang.
Carefully setting it down, he examined the case. It was aged but seemed sturdy. The locking mechanism consisted of a series of four dials, numbered zero through nine.
“This should be easy,” Daniel said. He produced a stethoscope from the pack he wore across his body. He listened while Tripp carefully went through the numbers, signaling when the correct one was hit. After a moment, they heard the click of the lock as it released.
“Good job, boys,” said Carson. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. Cautiously, Tripp opened the briefcase and they all hovered over its contents.
“What is that thing?” Carson asked.
“Some type of computer?” Tripp said.
“Actually, I think it’s some sort of player device. Look, a single disc in that glass window in the base of the case, and the lid contains the monitor screen. Probably a simple old CD or DVD player. Here’s the plug,” Daniel said, pulling the cord out a corner that had been covered with a flap.
�
��Great,” said Carson. “Where do we plug the damn thing in?”
“We can take it with us,” said Daniel.
“No,” Tripp said. “We have to glean what we can from looking it over and put it back for Sanchez to retrieve later.”
“Forget it,” Carson said. “I say we take it with us. That way we have all the time we need to see what’s on that player thingy.”
“Lest we forget, Detective Sanchez is retrieving this for a reason,” said Tripp. “Aside from his being very upset if we were to take it, we might also be obstructing him from using it for whatever good he intends.”
“Damn,” said Carson, conceding her brother’s point. “Then we need to find a plug somewhere so we can power this baby up. Daniel, got anything in that pouch of yours?”
“I don’t for this old dinosaur. You should have a standard plug in the back of your Jeep that would work off the vehicle’s battery.”
“I do. C’mon, let’s hook this baby up.” Carson was over the gate at once and reached through the bars to accept the briefcase from Tripp. He handed it to her while Daniel climbed over.
Daniel stopped when he realized Tripp wasn’t following. “You coming?”
“No,” Tripp said, pointing back to the cemetery. “There are a couple of things I need to check.” Something seemed to be eating at him.
“Don’t be long,” Carson said.
Carson and Daniel revved up her vehicle, opened the back hatch, and plugged the device into the available standard socket. Holding their breath, they found the power button and waited. Slowly, the old screen started to light up.
“Ancient technology,” said Daniel.
“As long as it works,” said Carson with renewed optimism. “Don’t forget to record this.”
“Right.” Daniel pulled out his Smartphone and started the video recorder.
As they watched, the black screen displayed the words
“Dream Stream Proof of Concept
Project: Echo”
After a moment, two men in white coats appeared on the screen. One was tall and thin, the other a bit shorter and stockier. The taller man had a confident manner, while the shorter one smiled pleasantly.