Spirals

by Scott Bergin

  Convinced that he was doing the right thing, Alex pulled himself up off the floor. Alex placed one foot into the slick blood, then the other. He carefully knelt down in the blood. The floor was so slippery, that he almost fell on more than one occasion. With his toes and knees firmly planted in her blood, Alex leaned over Gabrielle's body. He wiped the remaining blood from her lips. Alex looked at Gabrielle, and realized what he had lost. For the second time in a lifetime, he had lost the only loved he had ever known.

  "I love you." Alex whispered. "And I will continue to love you forever. Death will not hinder my love for you. Not your death, and not mine."

  Alex leaned in closer, and softly kissed Gabrielle on her cold lips. He knew that this would probably be the last time he would ever get the chance to tell her what he wanted to say. Even if the police could prevent Thomas from getting rid of her body, Alex didn't know if he would be alive long enough to attend her funeral. Besides, the family would have all kinds of questions for a stranger who leans into a casket and kisses a dead woman. Those questions were something Alex was certain that he could live without.

  "I will always love you as much as I do now." Alex promised, pulling himself away from her.

  Alex knew that he could not leave her, not yet. He needed something to remember this moment by forever. Alex looked at her neck, and saw that her crucifix was gone. He looked around for it. It was exactly what he needed. The crucifix was the one thing that Gabrielle never took off. Alex was certain that Gabrielle would want him to have it, if only he could find it. Alex continued to look around the pool of blood. The crucifix was not in the vast red pool. Then, Alex spotted it, at the base of the sliding glass door. He reached for it, and picked it up. The chain was slashed, but the cross was still hung from it. Alex looked up at the sliding glass door, and could not believe what he saw. When he was on the other side of the glass, it only looked like a smear. From this side, it was clearly legible. Alex stared at the single word, dumbfounded. Then, he read it aloud.

  "Chambord."

  He didn't have to look up what it meant. Alex recalled Gabrielle showing it to him the day before. They had come across it in their research. Apparently, they had not found out enough about it. Alex knew vaguely where it was, somewhere southwest of Paris. The first question he had, was who wrote the note. Had Thomas written it, or had Gabrielle? Alex leaned back over Gabrielle's body, and looked at her fingers. The fingers of her left hand were soaked in blood, except for the tips. The tips of her fingers were almost completely dry. Alex knew immediately that Gabrielle had written the message on the glass. The only explanation for her fingertips being so void of blood, was that she wiped them on something. The only object that lay within arm's reach of Gabrielle was the sliding glass door. There was only one reason she would have gone through so much trouble to leave that final message. That was where Thomas was heading. The most logical reason he would be heading there, was that he thought Chambord was where Leonardo Da Vinci had hidden whatever he had. All the convincing Alex needed was scrolled on the glass in Gabrielle's own dying handwriting, in her own blood. Alex carefully got up off the slippery floor. For fear of tracking blood, Alex removed his shoes before taking any steps. He wanted to preserve the murder scene as well as he could. Alex regretted messing it up as badly as he had, but he was glad that he had left no evidence of his presence. Before Alex stepped back through the sliding glass door, he took one shoe and smeared the blood back over his tracks. With his shoes in one hand, and Gabrielle's crucifix in the other, Alex left the townhouse and headed for across the French countryside toward Chambord.

  Chapter 56

  April 20

  9:10 p.m.

  Nice, France

  Robert Mason arrived at Thomas' townhouse shortly after dark, just as he had planned. He instructed his driver to drop him off, and come back in an hour. Robert pulled out a large knife, and approached the front of the house. As Robert slowly turned the doorknob, he knew what he would find inside. Somewhere in that townhouse was the man who was responsible for what happened in Cameroon. A man who killed thousands of innocent people, and in doing so destroyed his livelihood. Robert was about to make that man pay dearly for his ignorance. The door opened with its usual squeak. Robert softly cursed himself for giving away his presence. Now that he had lost the element of surprise, he decided to race through the house. The townhouse was pitch black, and Robert had trouble seeing passed the blade of his knife. Without even bothering to close the front door, Robert ran into the dark bedroom. When Robert realized that there was a bed in the room, he pounced on it. He stabbed the bed no less than ten times before he noticed that it was empty.

  After regaining his composure, Robert raced across the hallway and into another room. He immediately tripped on a coffee table, and realized that it was the living room. Robert lost the knife, in an effort to catch his balance. He felt around on the floor for it. It took him nearly a minute to find the knife, which lay hidden just under the front lip of the couch. Once he reacquired his weapon, Robert searched every corner of the room with his blade. Because it was so difficult to see, he found himself scarring walls and slicing the furniture cushions open. Robert didn't care what kind of damage he created, so long as he eventually found where Thomas was hiding. After every possible hiding place had been searched, Robert continued making his way through the house. He ran into the kitchen, which was the only room that possessed any lighting. A small amount of light filtered in through the small window. Robert could see that it was a neighbor's light that provided him with the ability to see that the room was void of any person. He could also see that the rack of knives was completely full. If Thomas was in the house, he was more than likely unarmed. Satisfied, Robert darted back into the darkened hallway.

  He turned right and raced through an open doorway. Upon taking his first step, he slipped and fell. The knife flew out of his hand, and slid across the slick floor. Robert tried to stand back up. As soon as he was on his feet again, he fell backward. His head hit something glass, and shattered it. Robert pulled his head out of the sliding glass door, and felt the spider webbed glass. When he touched it, the sheet of glass fell into thousands of tiny pieces on the floor. They provided Robert with enough traction to stand back up. Robert felt the back of his head, where he had hit the glass. His head had a lump on it, but Robert couldn't tell whether or not he was bleeding. Whatever he had slipped on, had been placed there by Thomas. The only thing he couldn't figure out, was if Thomas had placed the oily substance there recently. If Robert could determine that, he would know if Thomas had left the townhouse, or if he was cowering in a dark corner somewhere.

  Robert regained his balance, and took a step forward. He immediately tripped on something in the middle of the floor. Whatever it was, it rolled over when he tripped on it. Robert fell against the far wall. He put his hand out to help raise himself off the slick floor again. His hand sliced on the blade of the knife. Robert cursed himself, and grabbed hold of its handle. He spun around to feel for what he had tripped on. Robert decided that there was no point in trying to stand up in this room. It was too dark, and slippery, and there were too many obstacles. With his free hand outstretched, Robert made his way back across the slick floor. Suddenly, he felt cloth, then a hand. He realized that he had tripped over a body. Robert felt the top of the body. The person was laying face down. Robert realized that Thomas hadn't been the one to set this trap. He was the first one to fall for it. It might not even be a trap. Thomas must have come into the room in the dark, the same way he had. Only, Thomas was either knocked unconscious by the fall, or he snapped his neck. Robert didn't feel like waiting for him to wake back up. The blade of the knife sank deep into the person's back. The person did not flinch. Robert repeatedly stabbed the person in the back. To his surprise, the body did not move, or bleed. He started to wonder if what he was stabbing was actually a body, and not a bag of sand.

  "Damn you!" Robert screamed.

  "You can't be dead!" He hollere
d, stabbing the body again and again.

  "I have a right to kill you a thousand times for what you have done to me!" He shouted.

  Instantly, light brightly beamed in through every window. Robert looked around. It was suddenly too bright to see. His eyes burned from the lights. For the first few seconds, Robert did not understand what was happening. Robert climbed up onto the body, fearing that it was some kind of alien abduction, which was about to take place.

  Four uniformed policemen rushed in the front door, only seconds after the lights went on. All four had their guns drawn, and were ready for action. One covered each of the first two doorways, while the other two ran into each room. Once they turned the inside lights on, they realized that the rooms were empty. They continued the same process when they reached the kitchen. Then they turned the hallway light on. At the end of the hallway, they could see the shattered sliding glass door, and the pool of blood beyond.

  With the hallway light on, Robert's eyes quickly became adjusted to the light. He suddenly realized that he was not on top of Thomas LaRue. The person he had been stabbing was a woman. Robert grabbed the woman's hair, and pulled her head back. He twisted her head to the right, and recognized who it was.

  "Gabrielle!" He shouted. "No!"

  Two of the policemen immediately rounded the corner. They saw Robert sitting on top of a woman, surrounded by a pool of blood. Robert was holding her head up off the ground. Her neck was cut from ear to ear. Because Robert had flipped her over, fresh blood ran from her throat.

  "Drop the knife!" One policeman shouted.

  Robert dropped the knife into the pool of blood on the floor. He also let go of her head. It landed back on the bloody floor with a small slapping sound. Robert put both of his hands up over his head.

  "Okay!" The other policeman yelled.

  The two remaining policemen came in from the hallway. They quickly grabbed Robert and removed him from Gabrielle's corpse. One of the officers lifted Gabrielle's arm, and checked for a pulse. He couldn't find one. He called back down the hallway for a medic. Two more men ran into the room. As the two policemen finished handcuffing Robert, the medics reached Gabrielle. They first took note of the large wound in her throat. One of them also saw the slash marks that tore through her blood soaked shirt. He quickly ripped Gabrielle's shirt open. There were more deep stab wounds in her back than they could count. Many of them crossed over one another, making it difficult to determine how many there were. Her back being covered in blood didn't help either.

  "Let's cover this one up." One of the medics said.

  "Right." The other one agreed, a moment later he pulled out a small sheet and covered most of the body, but not nearly all of the blood.

  "I didn't do this." Robert insisted.

  All at once the six men in the room looked at him. He realized that he didn't look very convincing. When they broke in, he was sitting on the body, covered in blood, with a bloodied weapon in his hand. There was no doubt in any of their minds that he had just killed her.

  "I don't even know her." Robert demanded.

  "Yeah you do." One of the policemen near the door said. "And I'll bet you her name was Gabrielle."

  "How did you know that?" Robert asked.

  "Because we heard you say it." The other policeman by the door replied. "Just before we broke in here."

  "Right after we heard you say something about wanting to kill her a thousand times." The first policeman added.

  "Yes, but I didn't kill her." Robert protested.

  "You'll have plenty of opportunities to explain that." The second policeman said. "Once we get you down to the station."

  One of the policeman, who had handcuffed Robert, tried to help stand him up. He resisted and stood up without any help, shaking his cuffed arms free from the policeman's grip.

  "I am innocent!" Robert shouted. "Do you hear me?"

  "I hear you." The first policeman replied. "And you make me sick."

  "Shut him up." The second policeman ordered.

  The policeman, who had tried to help Robert to his feet, grabbed his gun by the barrel. After putting the safety on, he swung the gun at Robert's head. The butt of the gun struck Robert in the jaw. Robert stood dazed after the first blow. After the second, he felt dizzy. The third, and final blow, rendered him unconscious. The two nearest policemen caught him before he could fall. They took him by his shoulders and walked him out of the townhouse. His unconscious body flopped back and forth, and his feet dragged the entire way. They put him inside the back of a guarded police wagon, and chained him to the floor. The guards climbed into the front of the wagon. With one police car in front and behind, they drove Robert Mason to the local police headquarters.

  Chapter 57

  April 20

  11:15 p.m.

  Paris, France

  The cold washcloth pressed against Dana's forehead. It pulled back off again, then returned colder than before. Dana opened her eyes, and saw Christine by her side.

  "It won't always be like this." Dana assured her.

  "You say that." Christine replied. "But nothing ever changes."

  "I'm not just saying that this time." Dana insisted.

  "Why should this time be any different?" Christine asked.

  "I have been planning on moving to London." She admitted. "In fact, I have been running my own business there. Your father has no idea what has been going on."

  "When do we leave?" Christine asked, dipping the washcloth into the pan beside the bed and returning it to her mother's forehead.

  "Not so fast." Dana replied.

  "What are you waiting for?" She asked. "Do you want him to beat us to death?"

  "No." Dana said. "I don't want him finding us either."

  "Then let's leave now." Christine said. "While he is away on business."

  "We will leave when he is away on business." Dana replied. "Just not this time."

  "Why not now?" Christine asked.

  "Because we don't know where he went, or when he'll be back." She said. "We only know that he didn't leave the country, odds are that he'll be back in less than a day."

  "So, how long do we have to wait?" Christine asked.

  "Not long." Dana assured her. "He will take one of his week long trips to Africa, or some other god forsaken place."

  "And we'll go then?" She asked.

  "And we'll go then." Dana replied.

  Suddenly, the phone rang and their conversation came to an abrupt halt. Christine reached over and picked the phone up from the table beside the bed.

  "Hello." She said pleasantly.

  "Hello Christine." The voice said. "Let me speak to your mother."

  Christine held her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and handed it to Dana. Dana accepted the phone, but didn't allow Christine to remove her hand.

  "Who is it?" Dana asked.

  "It's him." Christine replied, pulling her hand away.

  "Hello." Dana said, raising the receiver to her ear.

  "Hello." Robert replied.

  "Oh it is the wife beater." Dana said. "What's the matter, your mistress isn't available tonight?"

  "Dana!" Robert yelled. "I'm in a lot of trouble, and I don't need your smart ass remarks."

  "I'm not being a smart ass." Dana insisted. "You are a wife beater, and you do have a mistress."

  "Dana." Robert replied. "The police are listening, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn't accuse me of such things."

  "Oh, Robert." She replied. "Your paranoid. Just because you're a criminal, it doesn't mean the police are listening. They really aren't that smart."

  "I guarantee that the police are listening." Robert insisted.

  "And what makes you say that?" Dana asked.

  "Because I'm in jail." He replied.

  "Jail." Dana said laughing.

  "It isn't funny." Robert protested.

  "The great smuggler is finally apprehended." Dana replied. "I can help but find humor in that."

  "I've been arrested
for murder." Robert said. "So save your breath about stories of smuggling. No one is interested."

  "So who do they think you killed?" She asked. "Not, your mistress."

  "She wasn't my mistress." Robert demanded. "But yes, that is who the police think I killed."

  "Gabrielle Chambers was Robert Mason's mistress!" Dana yelled into the phone. "Attention police, do you hear me?"

  "What the hell are you doing?" Robert demanded.

  "Hello, police. He is guilty!" Dana continued.

  "Damn it Dana, this isn't funny!" He shouted. "I'm in a lot of trouble, and you're not helping any."

  "You're right." Dana said coldly. "I'm not helping any. Why should I help someone who viscously beats on his wife and child?"

  "I guess I called the wrong person." Robert admitted.

  "No, you called the right person." Dana replied. "I'm going to see to it that you spend as much time as possible rotting in that jail cell."

  Dana heard a small click from the other end of the line. She waited for the phone to go dead, but it did not. Another click came from the phone, and Dana heard a strange man's voice.

  "Are you still there?" The man said.

  "Yes." Dana replied. "Who is this?"

  "This is the police ma'am." The voice replied.

  "Well, what should I call you?" Dana asked.

  "Officer." The voice replied.

  "Fine, officer, What can I do for you?" She asked.

  "We would like you to come down here and testify for us." The officer said.

  "Where?" Dana asked.

  "Oh, I'm sorry." The officer said. "I assumed that you knew your husband was in Nice."