by Peter Spokes
Al looked over. “You okay, Bobby?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again, Al,” and then, “I’ve been to…” I tried again, “I met some… one but it wasn’t me they were expecting.”
“You’re sounding like you’ve hit your head, Bobby.”
“It was you…” I said quietly.
“What?”
“You were the one that was expected; you were the one she wanted to take with her!” I said miserably, the last with a raised voice failing in my attempt to curb my envy.
“Bobby – what are you talking about?”
I slowly raised my head and stared into Al’s eyes. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in that room and I would guess that a lot of thoughts have been going through your head; maybe thoughts of leaving this world; thoughts of death. Well, something in that room has been listening to you – not just listening but offering you an invite.”
Al stared at me for a few moments before looking down. When he looked up again the façade had gone and he looked so old and tired. My heart went out to him. “You cannot know how difficult it’s been, Bobby. This thing I’ve got robs of all dignity. I won’t be able to swallow; I’ll shit myself and not know it.
You bet I want out, Bobby – Jesus, I want out so bad. I have no family to mourn me and even if I did it would still be the right thing to do… we’ve known each other for many years, Bobby; you’re my only real friend.”
After a few moments; “What are you going to do?” I started. “I mean, how will you…”
“I know what you mean, Bobby, and I don’t know. There are some knives in the military weapons room. I could borrow one or a sword from a Samurai, I suppose, or maybe dive headfirst off the upper balcony.”
I felt a tremendous sense of disconnection from reality with this talk of possible options on suicide with my dearest friend.
“Initially I was interested in what – if anything – lay beyond death,” Al continued. “But though I spent time looking at the exhibits, it was the Angel of Death that I ended up standing before. I know its portrayal is dark and menacing but I honestly believe that anyone or anything that can rescue me from my current painful fate, I would consider them a very dear friend indeed.
I know it’s crazy but I found talking to it… well… so comforting and I felt that someone was … listening.”
“Someone was certainly listening,” I said. “She thought it was I that wanted to leave.”
Al looked up. “She? What happened?”
I took a deep breath. “I said earlier that maybe the Angel of Death appears differently to different people; well, I believe I was righter than I knew.
I feel she – sorry, it – appears as a loved one, perhaps someone very dear; maybe the familiarity helps with the trust and love of the magnitude of the moment.”
I knew what I was going to do but still I paused before reaching into my pocket and bringing out a small silver coin.
“Al, take this.”
“A Greek coin?”
“An Obolus, and you know it; you were looking for it earlier.”
Al looked up. “I knew we had one but I couldn’t find it.”
I shook my head, “No, you were away when there was a change of some of the coin cabinets.”
“But I thought you considered this all nonsense.”
“Not any more. I don’t know if there really is something there waiting for us after death or something a determined mind or perhaps a strength of will can create.”
We didn’t speak for several moments and then…
“Al,” I said, “most people would have referred to an intruder as a ‘he’; why did you refer earlier to the thing in the hall as an ‘it’?”
Al shook his head. “I don’t think I did…”
I looked down at my cup – the coffee granules were now gone. “You did; you said ‘it’s moving towards you’ – twice, I think.”
“Well… I was referring to the mark on my monitor and ‘it was moving towards you’.”
“I think you knew there was something up there… something for you which was why you were so keen to come up,” and then I added, “and I really don’t think our representation of the Angel of Death up there is entirely accurate.”
Scene 4: Al’s Time
We sat for a time – silent. It may have been minutes or hours before Al spoke, then, “Bobby, I’m going to go now,” and then he walked over and squeezed my shoulder; “Take care, my friend,” he said, then after one final look at me he turned to the doorway and walked through it.
For several moments I just stared at the vacant exit before looking away horrified at the options Al had before him.
I looked at the phone wondering what I should do.
Could Al actually drive a knife or sword into his body – and should I let him?
My eyes eventually rested on the monitor screen and I watched Al moving through the Hall of the Afterlife. Once there he turned and I saw his indicator move to where – I judged – Charon the Boatman was standing in his boat. After a moment, he walked over to the balcony and I realised his intention to jump.
I don’t know if he stood there for hours or just a few minutes, but in my mind’s eye I saw him motionless; preparing himself. I knew that I should stop him and yet – I shouldn’t.
So, impotently, I watched.
Then the radio started up and I snatched it up.
“Al!” I shouted.
“Bobby! I can’t do it… would you… help me… as a dear friend?”
“Al, I can’t kill you!” I shouted.
“You must, Bobby; please… I beg you. Take away the horror that faces me now and the pain and indignity that will be mine in the future – Bobby, will you, please?”
I said nothing. My mind was a battleground of conflict but before I realised it, I had left the security room. Could I push my best friend from the balcony? Or drive a sword through his chest?
I had barely trodden the first step of the stairs when the radio started up again. “Thanks, Bobby, you’re a dear friend indeed.”
I wasn’t sure what to say but increased my pace taking the steps two at a time.
When I reached the balcony, Al was lying before the rail.
I knew he was dead.
Scene 5: Epilogue
I looked up into the policeman’s face.
I had finished.
“So, you helped him to die?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“But he was thanking you on the radio.”
“No, he wasn’t thanking ‘me’. I was still at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t me that he met on the balcony.”
I held the detective’s continued stare for several moments before he looked down at a sheet of paper that must have been handed to him earlier while I was recounting the tale.
I could see there were only two lines on it but he continued to stare at it for some moments.
“I think you need to get some rest, Mr Dane; all seems reasonable for it appears Mr DeMara simply suffered a heart attack. I would guess that in his weakened state the physical requirements of the job combined with the stress were just too much for him.”
I sat quietly and said nothing but wondered if I had imagined it: the apparent intruder; the beautiful voice in my head; and Rose…
“Well, let’s take a look at this Hall of the Afterlife,” he said. “Are you okay to join me, Bobby?”
“I guess…” I said reluctantly, and slowly stood up and followed the detective through the door.
At the top of the stairs I stared for a moment at the commanding figure of the Angel of Death and walked into the room.
Over near the balcony a lady in a white coverall was packing away some bits and pieces into her bag.
Al – my friend – had already been taken awa
y.
I walked over to the mannequin known as Charon the Boatman and noticed – as I expected to – the Obolus coin clasped in the skeletal hand where Al had put it. I left it there and walked over to the open coffin of my favourite vampire and looked back at the detective. He was engrossed in conversation with the lady in the white coverall. So, I looked down at Rose and gently ran my fingers down the side of her face.
The vampire’s eyes opened suddenly and focussed on me.
Oddly, I wasn’t surprised.
“Who came for him?” I whispered. “Who did he see on the balcony? … He had no one.”
“He had someone,” the vampire said smiling, “very dear to him and you already know who.
I came as you; his only real friend; someone he trusted.”
I looked down. “Poor Al.”
“On the contrary,” she said, “he went happily. All you need is just one dear friend.”
“Will you come for me? … I mean… when it’s my… turn?” I asked.
After a pause, I looked up but Rose’s eyes had closed again – almost.
Thick as Thieves
Chapter 1
Scene 1: Preface
I looked over at my co-conspirators, and waved away their objections with some impatience;
“At the end of each day, the paintings are removed from the Gallery Room and locked away in the crypt. Only the attending security officer and the bishop hold a key…”
“And that’s you… isn’t it?” said Mikey.
I took a deep breath. “Yes to ‘security officer’ and no to ‘bishop’,” I said slowly.
“When you tie me up…” I continued, “… you take my key, steal the paintings and you drive away. What could be easier?”
I looked at each one of them in turn and was met with the same blank expression.
Cretins, I thought. “Okay! You tailgate me as I arrive at the main entrance and enter, all the while keeping your heads down so the cameras don’t see your faces. We go to the security office where you tie me up and switch off the cameras. Then – what is it, Danny?”
“What if we don’t know how to switch off the cameras?” he said looking at the others.
“I don’t know how to work electrical stuff either, Mr Gibson…” said Luis.
“They all seem complicated,” added Mikey.
I stared at the three of them. “I am going to be with you – remember? Okay… forget that. I will switch off the cameras. You will then take my storeroom key, go down and steal the paintings. Then you drive off with them in the van.”
“When do we get our money, Mr Gibson?” Luis asked.
“Soon, but we will need to be patient,” I said. “I would think in… six to eight weeks’ time each of you will walk away with £50k.”
Mikey leaned forward and smiled, “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
“Mr Gibson?”
“Yes, Luis.”
“I’m not sure I want to go down into a crypt – it sounds creepy.”
“It’s no longer used as a crypt. It’s now just a storeroom.”
“Ah, that’s okay then.”
This is so not going to work, I thought.
Scene 2: All Tied Up
I sat in the security room awash with monitors and surveillance equipment. My arms were tied behind the chair on which I sat – and I hummed to myself, occasionally breaking into sudden bursts of song.
It was one of those songs you hear when the radio wakes you up in the morning and it stays with you all day. Oddly it seemed to me the less cool the song, the more ingrained into the memory it became.
Unfortunately, as I belted out the occasional line from Abba’s Mamma Mia, I thanked the stars that I hadn’t woken that morning to the Birdie Song.
Sadly, once that title was in my head, the song followed.
At least with my hands tied I wouldn’t be charging into the hand-snapping animations and nauseating elbow-flapping gesticulations that accompanied it.
As I waited for morning and the expectation of a rescue, I thought on how I had got to this point.
I had always been the most honest and trustworthy person one could ever meet.
However, the diagnosis of a brain tumour quickly convinced me that it was ‘every man for himself’. I’d take what I could and enjoy the time I had left; after all, there was still so much I wanted to do and experience. This last was odd as it was only with the news of the tumour that I realised this.
To try – in some way – to temper my fear of the tumour, I gave it a name: Tommy; Tommy the Tumour.
Despite my job as a security guard, my interests were both eclectic and diverse. My all-time favourite artist was a neoclassical and modern Pre-Raphaelite by the name of John William Waterhouse.
I fully understood the absurdity in hoping that one day I might own an original piece of his work, but ‘Tommy’ gave me the impetus to make it possible.
Good ol’ Tommy.
The Cathedral of St Thomas in Boston’s south enjoyed the presence of several Waterhouse works and it would be these that my rather brainless co-conspirators would be stealing for me.
I whistled and looked again at the blank security monitors wishing I could see how things were progressing.
I grew tired from my own inactivity and so with the Birdie Song still in my head, I closed my eyes.
Scene 3: The Crypt
I awoke to sirens; the wailing of a police car was ringing with the nagging persistence of a dog wanting his ball thrown.
I came to fully – good. Sounded as if the theft had been discovered – presumably by Frank – though odd that he hadn’t come to find me.
I looked around with a hopeful expectation that someone might – very soon – release me.
At least that bloody song had stopped singing in my head, but I had lost the feeling in my hands – I had told them several times not to make it too tight.
Then the door opened and Frank, my relief guard, was rushing to my side. “What the hell happened?” he said as he untied me.
“Thanks, Frank,” I said. “It’s been quite terrible. I was threatened and then they tied me up,” I said with some feigned distress. I smiled inwardly. “It’s been a terrible few hours. I didn’t know if they’d come back.”
“No, I mean in the crypt – looks like you were the lucky one,” Frank said.
I looked up blankly but noticed Frank’s hands trembling.
“There’s been an ‘incident’,” he said slowly.
“What?” was all I could say, and then – with my best innocent look, “Did they take much?”
“Oh, I don’t know if anything’s been taken; the police won’t let me down there. When I arrived and saw the crypt door open… there was blood…”
“Wait a minute – how long have you been here?”
“I’m not sure; maybe a couple of hours…”
“So, I’ve been sitting here tied up while you’ve been… jerking around?”
“Oh no. I’ve been waiting at the door for the police to arrive, and they’re too preoccupied with the bodies to think about whether or not anything has been taken.”
I looked up suddenly. “What bodies?”
Frank pulled up a chair and faced me. He seemed to be having trouble finding his words. “… Down in the crypt… I didn’t go down but I saw blood on the steps; the hand rails… everywhere. I called the police and waited. They ushered me away rather quickly but I heard one of them say that they will need to find all the body parts before they know just how many bodies there actually are… were.”
Now at this point, it’s got to be acknowledged that I was suddenly feeling quite giddy.
“Let’s go and speak to the police,” I said.
“I don’t think they’ll let you too close; they were waiting for some forensics t
eam to turn up when I left.”
“Nevertheless…” I said and, rubbing my wrists, marched out of the door.
Scene 4: Police
I approached the entrance to the crypt to find endless ‘police incident’ tape prohibiting my progress. Then a slightly-built young lady hove into view. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Could you tell me who’s in charge here?”
“Indeed,” she said. “Detective Avery.”
“And where will I find him?” I said.
She smiled. “You have; and you are… Mr Gibson,” she said reading my badge.
“He’s the nightwatchman,” Frank said helpfully. “He was tied up in the security room.”
I nodded.
“Tied up, eh?” she said with interest, before looking behind her. “Hey, Frankie; when you’ve a moment come and check this guy out!” she yelled with surprising gusto and returned her gaze to me.
“Would you tell the officer, everything that occurred to you from last night when you arrived to… now? If you just sit over there an officer will be with you shortly. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “Be happy to help if I can.”
Then Avery looked closely at me. “I see cameras around; did you see anyone on your monitors?”
“Er… no. They were switched off.”
“Who switched them off?”
“The… the… ones that tied me up.”
“Pity, but you saw them? Could you describe them?”
“It’s all a bit hazy, but I think there were three of them.”
“Were you knocked out?”
“Err, no, just tied up.”
“I see.” She looked down for a moment. “Well, I think we’ve got three down below. If there’s a fourth, we have yet to find him – or her.”
I desperately wanted to ask, has anything been taken? but managed to hold back.
“Something else, Mr Gibson?”
“Err, no,” I said and wandered over to a seat away from the activity. It was with some relief that I sat down and briefly closed my eyes. ‘Tommy’ was pounding in my head.