Farlan glared at the two. Bailey didn’t respond.
Farlan walked to the bureau and gently lifted the Fabergé egg. “The Hen Egg with Sapphire Pendant; missing for quite some time. It’s stunning and worth a fortune,” he said, admiring it from all sides. The gold-encased egg was propped open like an oyster on display. Nested inside was a miniature jeweled hen and a large sapphire. “Such arrogance, those Russians,” he said, shaking his head back and forth. Then he smiled. “Oh well, it’s lost to history no more.”
Liam found it odd that Farlan was so singularly focused on the egg, when another piece of treasured artwork was in plain view. The Leónardo Da Vinci painting, Leda and the Swan, graced the wall on the opposite side of the fireplace from where the bookcase was located. Set within a thick gilded frame, the painting assumed an entirely new grandeur now that he wasn’t viewing it from a black-and-white photograph.
As if reading Liam’s mind, Farlan picked up the aged set of papers. His dark eyes skimmed the page. “Incredible,” he said as he flipped to the second page and read, then to a third page. His entire demeanor changed. His eyes widened, as if jolted by a surge of electricity. Farlan finally took full stock of the room, roving his gaze from one side to the other. Holding the egg and papers, he drifted to the bookcase. He studied the titles on the top row, then glanced back at the paperwork.
“Fascinating,” Farlan remarked. He turned to Liam and Bailey with a euphoric expression. “I assume even in your school system you’ve heard of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey? In all, there were thought to be eight volumes. These,” he pointed back to the top row, “these are the missing six volumes. These books fill in all the plot holes. It was unknown if these books even existed, yet here they are.” Farlan’s eyes were wild with greed. “Aye, these, by themselves, are worth a fortune.”
He returned his gaze to the bookcase, studying a title of a book on the second shelf. “My God, Plato’s Hermocrates; the companion volume to his works Timaeus and Critias. Do you have any idea as to the magnitude of this discovery? Because Plato never finished Critias, it was assumed he never wrote the third novel in the trilogy that addressed his ideas regarding the universe, yet here it is.”
His excitement caught fire. Barely catching his breath, he scurried to the corner of the room where he examined a life-sized, bronze statue of a female wearing cross-slung fabric and holding a helmet in one hand, while grasping a spear with the other. Farlan again consulted the paperwork. “The Statue of Athena Lemnia, created by Phidias around 450 BCE for Athenians on the Island of Lemnos,” he said in a reverent whisper. “There are only copies known to be in existence.”
He stared at the paintings on the walls and back at the papers once again. “A Da Vinci thought to be destroyed,” he said, pointing to Leda and the Swan, “and no less stellar, an unknown water-lily painting by Claude Monet.” He looked at Liam with a maniacal gaze, clinging to the egg and papers with an ever-widening smile. “It’s all so magical; all so valuable. Some of these were only rumored to exist, while other pieces were assumed lost from the pages of history. The assembled artwork in this room is unlike any collection in the world.” Perspiration glistened on his brow. “It appears those age-old tales of a wealthy American accumulating priceless artwork were not so farfetched.”
Something caught Liam’s attention on the ceiling. Farlan happened to notice Liam’s furtive glance upward.
“What do you see, laddie?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Partially obscured by the multi-level, wagon-wheel chandelier, but well-illuminated due to the close lighting, was a recessed rectangular area rising up several feet into the marble ceiling. It was roughly three-feet wide by six-feet long. Its interior walls were also marble. Farlan walked directly below and looked up. “That’s neither an entrance nor an exit. Perhaps it was to be ductwork but was never finished,” he mused. “Nevertheless, it’s time to go, lass.” Farlan aimed the gun at Liam as he grabbed Bailey by the arm.
Liam’s throat went dry.
Bailey didn’t move.
Farlan kept the gun trained on Liam but spoke to Bailey in a fiery tone. “I said let’s go.”
Hesitantly, she walked to Farlan. He picked up the egg and pushed Bailey toward the open steel door. She glanced back at Liam in utter despair. Liam had to act. In desperation, he charged at Farlan, but Farlan targeted Liam’s forehead.
Madness lurked in the man’s eyes and Liam froze.
“You will remain here until I get back. This will ensure the lass behaves, and I need her in case I have any unfortunate encounters with the authorities. I will be back soon. Oh, one last thing: I saw that the last letter to the combination was ‘n.’ What is the rest of it?”
“Go to hell,” Liam said.
“I’m done playing games with you,” Farlan snarled, placing the egg on the bureau. He pulled a small, plastic, oblong case from his pocket. With the hand holding the gun, he extracted a thin wire cord that zipped from the case. He spun Bailey toward Liam, looped the wire around Bailey’s neck and tightened it, his crazed eyes locking on Liam. She choked, clawing at the thin wire. Farlan squeezed tighter, and Bailey’s face drained of blood, her tongue lolling from her lips, horror filling her eyes.
“Tell me the combination,” Farlan shouted.
The pain and agony on Bailey’s face tore at Liam. “It’s lion. The word is lion. Let her go.”
Farlan did not relent. Flashes of indecision and callousness crossed his face. As if having an internal argument, he begrudgingly pulled the wire from her neck, allowed it to retract, and deposited the case back in his pocket.
Bailey coughed, struggling to catch her breath. With shaking fingers, she caressed the ligature mark that now ran around her throat. Tears were flowing from her bloodshot eyes.
He retrieved the egg and forced Bailey to the doorway with the gun in his hand. Her movements were sluggish. He handed her a penlight. “You carry this. My hands are full.”
“No,” Bailey finally spoke, her words dribbled out through her exhaustion, “you can’t leave him here. He’ll suffocate.”
“Aye, such is the fate of some men, or in this case, boys, but as long as you cooperate, missy, I’ll be back before his air runs out,” Farlan said.
Reluctantly, she took the flashlight.
Outside the open door, he turned and glared at Liam. “Good night.”
Farlan closed the door.
In the gloom of darkness, Liam heard the dial spin.
****
Leaving the underground parlor room, Farlan felt the rousing glow of success. As he forced the girl through the corridor, she whimpered and carried on about the boy suffocating, slowing their progress and putting a damper on his triumph. Not long after reaching the well-lit, finished section of the tunnel, she simply stopped responding to his threats to continue.
The girl dropped to her knees. She allowed the penlight to fall to the ground. “I’m not going any farther,” she said in a brittle voice.
Farlan fought back his temper. He had the egg and needed to stay in control. It would be best to dangle a carrot of hope before her. “I’m not a completely unreasonable man. True, I will detain you and your boyfriend until I’ve had a chance to procure the other valuables from the underground room, but afterward, you’ll be set free. You have my word of honor.”
Still on her knees, Bailey spoke resolutely, “No you won’t. We’re witnesses. I’m. Not. Moving.”
“Aye, have it your way,” Farlan aimed the gun at her temple. “Of course, after I kill you, I’ll kill your boyfriend, and your mother at Kirkside Apartments.”
In a split second, the young woman’s face changed from rebellion to absolute terror. The metamorphosis was spectacular.
“Oh, yes, I’ve done my research,” Farlan smiled.
The girl stood on shaky knees and half-walked, half-stumbled forward. The two continued up the underground corridor.
Farlan felt no remorse. Her feeble state was her own doing.
If only she had been quicker with the information about where the boy had gone when Farlan found her outside the college earlier, she would have saved herself the physical brutality he had unleashed upon her. She had no one to blame for her battered body but herself.
69
Rita and Drew arrived home. Pilot welcomed them as they entered the shop.
“Do me a favor,” Rita said, placing her purse on the counter. “Don’t jump bail. That was all the money I had, and considering what I had to put down on a credit card with the bail bondsman, that includes all the money I didn’t have also.”
“Rita, you didn’t have to get me out. The judge would have dismissed the charge once he realized I had no prior record.”
“And you would have spent days, if not weeks, in jail waiting for a court hearing. I couldn’t allow that.”
He walked up to her and took her hands in his. “You’re incredible,” he said with a smile.
She was tired. For the first time, she abandoned all rational thought and acted on impulse alone. She leaned in just as he did, and they kissed, delicately at first, but once he released her hands and wrapped his arms around her, she gave up on any attempt at self-restraint. It was long and passionate and gratifying to make up for lost time.
Rita happened to open her eyes and caught sight of a piece of paper on the cash register counter.
“Wait,” she said, gently breaking free of his embrace.
“What is it?”
Rita picked up the sheet and read. “It’s from Liam. It says he went for a walk, but the time is from this morning.” She went to the stairs and called up, “Liam? Liam, are you there?” When there was no response, she dashed up the steps with Pilot on her heels. She searched the upstairs. It was empty.
She returned downstairs, pulled out her cell phone and dialed Liam. The call went directly to his voice mail. “Liam, I’m home with Drew. Call as soon as possible, please.” She hung up, chewing on her bottom lip. She checked her phone again. This time she called Bailey. It went unanswered. “I don’t like this. Bailey’s not answering either. These kids don’t go anywhere without their phones.”
“C’mon,” Drew said. “Let’s take Pilot for a walk and look for Liam. It’s a slow tourist day. We’ll find him.”
Rita leashed Pilot, and the three of them set off. “Let’s try Bailey’s apartment first.”
****
In the darkness, Liam drew the flashlight from his pocket.
Thank God Farlan hadn’t taken it away from him.
The room was large, so running out of air wasn’t an immediate concern. Still, the isolation and stillness were unnerving. Fear was close to overpowering him. He took a slow breath, knowing he had to keep his head on straight.
Liam used the light to find the high-back chair. He had spotted something underneath it when Farlan was distracted by the artwork. It was something out of place with the design pattern on the carpet. Liam grabbed the chair and slowly slid it across the carpet. Once clear, he shined the light down.
The symbols inside the circular seal were unmistakable. Liam shined the flashlight straight up, then over, until he found the recessed, rectangular area.
Of course! Between his compass, the rectangular area in the ceiling, and now the seal, he knew exactly where he was.
Liam suddenly had a plan.
The light licked around the room as he examined the items he had to work with. The bureau would provide a solid stand, but it wouldn’t get him all the way to the ceiling, plus he had the multi-level, wagon-wheel chandelier to negotiate.
He needed one more thing in order to have any chance of surviving. He walked toward the back corner to the empty coat stand. It was only five feet tall, but it would have to do. He carried it to the center of the room, and found it was heavier than he guessed.
Liam sat the flashlight on the chair, aimed at where he was working then set about arranging the furniture. He moved the chair and Cheval mirror off to the side, then dragged the bureau just to the side of the wagon-wheel chandelier above. The immense weight of the bureau made it extremely difficult to slide over the carpet. He moved it inches at a time and was breathing heavily and perspiring by the time it was in place.
Liam took a few seconds to catch his breath, then forced himself to continue. If Farlan got away with Bailey, he would surely kill her.
Liam moved the coat stand beside the bureau. He climbed on top of the cabinet and lifted the coat stand onto the surface while still holding the flashlight. Due to the size of the chandelier and how far it dipped down from the ceiling, he was eye-level with it. The problem was, even with the coat stand, he still couldn’t reach his target.
Only one course of action remained.
Liam raised the coat stand in one hand while holding the flashlight in the other. Awkwardly, he propped it across the chandelier. Then, slowly, he pushed it up and over until the length was balanced across the lowest wooden wheel. He brought the end back through a gap in the spokes in order to wedge it. When he was confident the stand wouldn’t fall, he took a second to rest and consider his plan.
It was risky, but it was his only choice.
Since the light was critical, Liam kept the flashlight on, but deposited it in his pants pocket, upside down so that it shined upward.
Liam swallowed hard, trying to steady his nerves. The longer he waited, the more his stomach hurt. If he fell, he would most likely die from the injuries he would sustain. It would be a horrible, painful death at that.
“Dad, if you’re around, I could use some help,” he called into the darkness.
Checking once again to make sure the coat stand was securely in place, Liam grabbed the wooden wheel. He silently counted to three, then hoisted himself up. The chandelier dipped harshly under his weight. He instantly questioned his strategy, but it was too late to turn back. Liam lifted his right leg up in an attempt to fling it over the wheel, but missed. The muscles in his arms ached. He lifted his leg again. This time, the heel of his foot found purchase on the curved wood. Fighting against fatigue, he slid his heel farther inside the wheel, until he had wrapped his knee over the strip of wood. He was vaguely aware the chandelier was slowly turning.
His arms felt like they were tearing out of their sockets. With his legs hooked over the wood, Liam pivoted his body upward inch by inch, fighting through the excruciating pain until he was able to pull the balance of his weight onto the edge of the wheel, which listed at an angle. He gasped for air, allowing his body to relax, and slid farther onto the wheel until his head was next to the coat stand.
The meager light suddenly disappeared, and he heard the awful thud on the carpet below.
The flashlight had fallen from his pocket. He was engulfed in complete darkness.
Liam’s muscles ached, and his chest hurt from where he had rubbed it along the abrasive edge of the wagon wheel. The chandelier was still spinning.
Liam felt as if every force in the universe was working against him. His resolve began to evaporate.
He pictured Bailey, battered and being led away by that monster.
He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up.
In the inky blackness, he heard a creak over his head, as if the ceiling groaned. He knew the fixture was stressed by the additional weight. There was no time to waste. Praying it would hold, Liam lifted his body to a sitting position, adjusting so he could feel the spokes. He found the coat stand and struggled to lift it, hitting the second, smaller wheel above. When he finally cleared it, he lifted the coat stand outward seeking the ceiling, which he found. The rectangular opening should have been almost directly over him, yet he couldn’t find the recess. His arm quickly grew tired.
Maybe the spinning, listing chandelier had not settled back into its original position. Liam tried again, lifting the coat stand and running the tip along the ceiling, this time in a methodical pattern. When the end met no resistance, Liam knew he had found the recess.
Holding it in place with one hand, Liam struggle
d to stand on the chandelier, holding onto the top wheel with his free hand.
Much closer now to the recess in the ceiling, he detected the scent of vintage porcelain. If he had had any doubt about the rectangular opening, it vanished.
He knew exactly what was above him.
****
Docent Darlene Atworth had shown the nice, elderly Japanese couple around Memorial Presbyterian Church, answering their questions about the stained glass window, the massive pipe organ, and a sundry of other topics. They spoke English particularly well, and she had found them an utter delight, which was a good thing, because she had been bored to death prior to their arrival. As expected, the church had few visitors on this day after Thanksgiving. Therefore, Mrs. Atworth had welcomed their interest.
As a matter of fact, the Japanese couple was still meandering about, the last visitors left as closing time approached. Once they were gone, Mrs. Atworth would entertain the notion of closing a few minutes early. The thought of straying from strict guidelines struck her fancy.
From the nave, she watched as the Japanese couple dipped into the hallway that led to the Flagler mausoleum. She could hear their chatter, which alternated between Japanese and English. She chuckled to herself as she wondered whether that would be called Japanglish or Englanese.
Their voices suddenly escalated and turned frantic. Moments later, they shot from the hallway and quickly exited the church, fleeing as if they’d seen an apparition.
Distraught by their actions, Mrs. Atworth rushed after them to find out what was the matter. As she passed the entrance to the mausoleum hallway, she gasped and came to a halt.
Clink, clink, clink, clink.
The sound was coming from the hallway. Mrs. Atworth knew every sound the old church made. This wasn’t one of them. Mystified, she climbed the few steps up to the corridor.
Clink, clink. Pause. Clink.
The pattern was inconsistent, therefore, chances were it wasn’t mechanical. She walked faster, reaching the end of the corridor where the wooden gate blocked passage into the mausoleum.
Collecting Shadows Page 27