The Golden Talisman

by J. Stefan Jackson

  “Yeah, pretty much. I also took two undergraduate courses he taught, and guess I grew closer to him after being around him so much.”

  “Ah-huh...” Peter turned the journal back over, opening it up again to a marked page near the front. “You’re graduating with a major in journalism, is that correct? Or, is it baseball?” He cracked a wry smile.

  Jack couldn’t help smiling a little as well. “I wish it was baseball. But I’ve got a knack for writing, I believe. I hope to do all right with that as a career instead.”

  “I see you were a two-time all-SEC selection during your sophomore and junior years—and, an all-American honorable selection during your junior year as well. What happened this year?”

  “Tendonitis in the elbow of my throwing arm.”

  “Ah, I understand. That’s too bad.” Peter seemed genuinely disappointed for him “Well, who knows, maybe you’ll become a successful reporter one day.”

  “That’d definitely be nice.” Although unsure where this line of questions was headed, Jack appreciated Peter’s approach as compared to Frank Reynolds or Steve Iverson’s. At least it didn’t hurt.

  Peter paused to sip his coffee, and then continued. “Let’s revisit the night you found Dr. Mensch, Jack,” he said. “According to the report I’ve got here, the front door was slightly ajar, and when Dr. Mensch didn’t respond to your knock or calls out to him, you went inside his house. That’s when you found him lying on the floor in the middle of his living room. Correct so far?’

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t try to move him?”

  “No. But, I did check his pulse. I mean, I thought he was dead. There was blood everywhere, and his face was covered with it. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not, and once I felt a slight pulse on his wrist, I immediately called for an ambulance.”

  “That’s consistent so far with the evidence,” said Peter. “Your shoes tracked blood from the living room to the phone in the kitchen. Other than the front door ajar, and of course the ransacked living room, did you notice anything unusual or out of place?”

  With the main floor in disarray, it was hard to tell if things were where they should’ve been in Dr. Mensch’s home. Jack did remember experiencing the creepy feeling of being watched while he stood on the professor’s front porch. While he was inside the house, he was almost certain someone else was in the house with him. He figured if there was someone there, they were likely hiding upstairs. Unfortunately, by the time the police and paramedics showed up, he was so distressed about Dr. Mensch’s condition that he forgot about this. He hadn’t thought about it again until he visited the professor in the hospital four days later. “No...well, maybe.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows and motioned for him to continue.

  “It’s nothing I can prove, but I’m pretty sure there was somebody in the house when I arrived. I should’ve mentioned this to the cops that night, but I was so upset it slipped my mind.”

  “I see,” said Peter. “Whoever it was must’ve made their escape before the police arrived. You’re probably not aware that the upstairs rooms were in much worse shape than what you saw on the main level.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that, no sir.” Definitely not, Jack thought to himself, irritated that no one else had told him this fact before now.

  “Okay, then. Let’s move on to the eighth of May, the night Dr. Mensch died. Did you visit him in the hospital before his death?”

  “I tried, on the morning following his attack. But, the nurses on duty told me I couldn’t see him, that he was still unconscious. They said I could be there quite awhile before he might awaken. Dr. Sutherland was waiting there also. He told me to go on home. I guess he could tell I hadn’t slept much since the incident from the previous evening. He said he’d call me when Dr. Mensch was better—when, or if I should say, he regained consciousness.” Jack paused to take another drink from his Coke, and Peter used the opportunity to flip through a few pages in his journal while he sipped on his coffee.

  “A nurse named Annette Rison stated you came to see Dr. Mensch around seven o’clock the evening of the eighth,” resumed Peter. “Tell me what happened from the time you got there until the time you left.”

  “Since Dr. Mensch had regained consciousness, I really looked forward to seeing him that evening,” said Jack. “He was pretty weak and most of his head was covered in bandages. But he was glad to see me, even if he couldn’t talk much. Most of my time with him was spent sitting in a chair next to his bed. I’d say I was there for half an hour or so, and then I left.”

  “According to the report, Nurse Rison stated you did leave around 7:35pm. What did you discuss with the professor?”

  “Nothing much. He was too weak to have any real conversation. But, he did tell me I’d be welcome to join the expedition he and Dr. Sutherland planned for this summer.” Jack smiled sadly as he reminisced for a moment.

  “Are you sure that was all you talked about? Nurse Rison stated she saw Dr. Mensch hand something to you as she came into his room to administer his evening medication.” Peter studied Jack, as if he caught him in a lie regarding what really took place that night.

  “I honestly don’t recall that,” said Jack, a little nervous under Peter’s scrutiny, but determined to keep this fact from the agent’s awareness. “If anything, it could’ve been a cup or something. I remember helping him take a drink at least once while I was with him. That’s the last time I ever saw him—alive or dead. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the visitation at the funeral home. It was just too painful.”

  “All right, then,” said Peter. “As you know, Dr. Mensch was strangled shortly after you left the hospital. The coroner’s report placed his death around eight o’clock that evening. Oh, what the hell.” He closed the journal and laid it back down upon the table.

  “So, are we done?” asked Jack, hopeful that this latest interrogation was over. “I told you there wasn’t much to tell.”

  Peter smiled again, chuckling lightly under his breath. “On the contrary, we’ve just begun,” he advised. “True enough, we’re done with our questions in regard to Dr. Mensch—at least for now. Remember, I told you I’ve got other questions.”

  “Man, I’ve told you everything I know!” said Jack, unable to conceal his irritation. “There’s really nothing more I can give you. Go ahead and check whatever recordings y’all have made since last night if you don’t believe me!” He pointed to the surveillance cameras in each corner of the room, shaking his head defiantly.

  “Are you sure about that?” Peter reached over and opened the attaché case. He pulled out a large envelope and a pair of tattered old books. He sat the books down on the table and opened the envelope. He then carefully removed the envelope’s contents and placed them directly in front of Jack. “Recognize this?”

  Jack was unable to mask his astonishment at what now sat before him. A pair of color photographs rested side by side upon the table. Both were of the same object, a footprint, which most folks would probably guess as being reptilian. Nothing extraordinary about this, unless one noticed the photo also contained a John Deere tractor, and that the tractor and the footprint were roughly the same size.

  Accompanying the photographs was an item that Jack figured drew even more curiosity. A reptilian-like scale roughly the size of a standard football sat on the table beside them. It refracted light in a rainbow array of colors. Dismayed, he realized only a village idiot would fail to see that the footprint and scale were related to one another.

  “Where’d you get this??” he demanded, his voice a mere whisper as the initial shock hadn’t worn off yet.

  “From you,” said Peter, somewhat smugly. “Actually, this came to the FBI from Sheriff Joseph McCracken, who sent it to his nephew, Agent Marvin Depew. Apparently, you identified these items for Sheriff McCracken. That was on July 28th, 1999, nearly eight years ago.”

  Jack stiffened in his chair, fearful of where this interview now headed.

 
“This accompanied a report sent to Agent Depew by Sheriff McCracken, which was confirmed by Carl Peterson, the local Fire Chief in Carlsdale, Alabama,” Peter continued. “You told them both, and I quote, ‘a giant lizard that looked like a mix between a dragon and a ‘tyrannosaurus rex’ chased you through the woods behind your home.’ You further stated to them that this enormous creature was a ‘fire breather’ that you estimated to be around seventy feet in length. According to the report the creature caused a fire that engulfed the woods, but it mysteriously never spread to any surrounding areas.”

  He waited for Jack’s confirmation, which never came. “Well, Jack?....Is this what you truly encountered, or were these two gentlemen full of shit?”

  Jack remained silent. Sheriff McCracken and Carl Peterson died within a month of the incident in question, and to this day, he felt responsible for their deaths.

  Carl was reported missing in early August, roughly two weeks following the July date in question. His bloated remains were recovered from an abandoned rock quarry just outside Mobile, Alabama a few weeks later. The case had been closed quickly, as it was quietly decided by the coroner’s office down in Mobile that the fireman had committed suicide by swallowing the double barrel of a shotgun. There remained many unanswered questions surrounding his death, largely due to the rumored discovery of an extra shotgun casing found just a few feet from his body, lying near the splattered remnants of Carl’s brain and shattered skull cap.

  As for Sheriff McCracken, he along with a rookie deputy named Charlie Adams, who recently joined the Carlsdale Sheriff’s Department, were found murdered in the dilapidated frame of an old barn. The unknown killer, or killers, left their nude bodies in an obscene position, with piano wire wound tightly around their necks and a pair of bullet holes through their skulls.

  The sheriff’s briefcase, which apparently contained some very incriminating papers along with a small vile of pure cocaine, was conveniently discovered just outside the barn. These items were enough to satisfy the ABI agents assigned to the case, who wasted little time destroying Sheriff McCracken’s squeaky-clean reputation as a law enforcement officer. The ‘real’ Joe McCracken, they reported, was no more than a sexual deviant who preyed upon younger, vulnerable males like Deputy Adams. According to their report, the sheriff somehow lured poor Charlie to the barn and was in the process of forcing himself upon the younger man. An unidentified enemy, likely a miffed drug dealer from the evidence found at the crime scene, happened upon the two men and murdered them both execution style after torturing the pair first.

  Jack never believed either report.

  “Could my answer get me killed like Sheriff McCracken?”

  Surprised, Peter abruptly looked up from his journal. “Why on earth are you asking me that?”

  Jack eyed him evenly. “I know y’all killed them both.”

  “Do you mean me personally, or the agency I work for? If you mean either one, I assure you that we had nothing to do with any of this!” Peter stood up immediately and leaned over the table toward him. For a moment he simply glared at Jack, as if offended by his accusation. “I’m truly sorry that either man is gone, and partially from a selfish standpoint. I would’ve loved to talk to them about this stuff!” he said. “Do you really believe I’ve come here simply to hurt you?”

  In disgust he turned away from Jack, moving over to the wall nearest his chair. He stood there staring at the cinderblocks in silence while he gathered his thoughts. When he was ready to continue, he returned to the table, holding Jack in his gaze as he sat down again. “There is so much that I long to learn from you—so much I believe we can help each other with,” he said softly. “I have information that can prove useful to you, as well, Jack. I can help you tie some loose ends together of your own. But before I’ll do that, you’ll need to honestly answer my questions. They aren’t many, but I need the truth from you in answering each one.

  “I’m sorry, truly sorry, for the loss of people close to you, and I’d like to get to the bottom of why they were murdered and by whom—same as you. In order to do that, I need your full cooperation. You have information—key information that I really need you to share with me. Work with me? Please??....I promise I’ll make this as painless as possible, and do it as quickly as possible. Then, you and Jeremy can return home later tonight. How about it, Jack?”

  Jack remained quiet, silently pondering the pros and cons of cooperating or not cooperating. Potentially, there was much to lose with either option. After he reflected on the sorrow and torment he had endured over the past eight years, he relented to Peter’s request. “Okay. I’ll give it a try.”

  “You’ll be glad you did. I’ll make certain of it,” Peter assured him as he leaned back in his chair. “Now, back to my earlier question. Is this a piece of some seventy-foot dinosaur that rampaged through the woods behind your place, and are these actual photographs of its footprint?” He picked up the scale and photographs and moved them even closer to Jack, who motioned that it wasn’t necessary to do so.

  “Yeah, they are.”

  “And this thing actually breathed fire through its mouth, like one of those mythical dragons we all read about as kids?” The agent seemed tentative, as if the question sounded absurd and preposterous once it poured forth from his mouth. Yet, the excitement written all over his face told Jack that the man was inclined to believe in the existence of such a being, if only he would confirm it.

  “Yeah. It was able to shoot streams of fire through its mouth. It could fly, too.” Jack was dead serious, though Peter couldn’t help snicker and raise his eyebrows a little.

  The agent reached over and picked up the scale, examining it like he could envision its appearance. “No shit. So it had wings, then?”

  “Yes,” said Jack, who could tell this information came as a surprise to the agent. “But they hardly seemed big enough to support its body. It was covered in scales just like the one you’ve got in your hand, and it had horns on its head and a pair of fan-like appendages on either side of its neck. If I wasn’t so frightened by it, I would’ve thought it was the coolest damn thing on the planet.”

  Opening up like this seemed to put him at ease a little. He was becoming more comfortable with Peter, and increasingly unconcerned with whoever else observed them. He smiled sheepishly at the agent, searching his face for clues as to whether he was still inclined to believe in the creature.

  “It must’ve been pretty harrowing to face something like that,” said Peter. I know I would’ve probably pissed my pants if I’d been there. It says here in the report that Peter Aderley did in fact piss his pants after he heard the thing roar just outside of his feed lot.”

  “It roared something awful, that’s for goddamned sure.”

  “It chased you to Ben Johnson’s farm, from what I understand. Are we on the same page so far?”

  “Well, not exactly. I actually lost track of the thing when I made it out of the woods. Sheriff McCracken was the one who told me it’d eventually made it out of the woods also, and then gone over to the Johnson’s place. Apparently, it’d been tracking mine and Banjo’s scent.”

  “The pet billy goat your grandfather, Marshall Edwards, kept?”

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “Actually, he was one of Grandpa’s most prized possessions. He claimed he could teach Banjo more tricks than any dog he’d ever owned.”

  Peter nodded that he was listening while intently reading another page in the journal. “It states here that this ‘dragon’ or whatever it was suddenly disappeared without a trace. Don’t you find that statement to be as incredibly strange and difficult to believe as the very existence of the creature in the first place?”

  “Sure. But it’s true. I never saw or heard from it again, and neither did anybody else from what I gather.”

  “Ah-huh...Well, at the very least that’s an experience few people on this planet will ever share, I’d be willing to bet. We may come back to it, but for now let’s move on. The next thing we’ve got
here is the fact your home was completely destroyed by a tornado less than thirty-six hours after this event we just discussed, on July 30th. You’ve got to admit that’s a pretty weird sequence of events. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yeah, I figure most folks would agree on that.”

  “I’ll bet most people would find it even more strange that for the most part, only your house was destroyed. Your neighbors, namely the Palmers, suffered only minimal damage. There wasn’t a single thing left intact in your yard other than an old tool shed in the back. Just like the Palmer’s place, it wasn’t harmed at all, correct?”

  Something in Peter’s demeanor shifted ever so slightly, and Jack was certain that only the most observant eyes would’ve caught this. The agent was on a covert mission of some sort, and he worried that at some point he was going to call on him to define or clarify some connection in order for Peter to complete his interrogative journey.

  “Correct,” he finally answered.

  Peter leaned back in his chair, tapping the edge of his pen against the bottom of his lip while he pondered the delivery of his next question. “You, your brother, and your grandfather fled from your home. At some point, the tornado overtook you and hurled your vehicle into a field less than a mile away. What do you remember about that experience?”

  “Actually, not a whole lot,” said Jack. He was now determined not to give more information than was prudent.

  “Please tell me what you recall.”

  “Well, most of it’s pretty hazy in my mind, other than jumping into Jeremy’s truck and speeding away down Lelan’s Road, only to be snatched up from behind by the twister before we made it to Baileys Bend Road

  . The last thing I remember was crashing into a ditch in the field. After that, I didn’t regain consciousness for three weeks, and I didn’t know if my brother and grandfather were even alive.”