by Alex Marcoux
“I was hoping I’d see you before you left,” he said. “I have the schedule for the Scottish Rite degrees.”
“Great,” Jessie lied. The last thing she wanted to do was review the schedule, but she did. The initiations were spread out over the tri-state area. There were two reunions, one in the fall and one in the spring. “Thank you, Worshipful Master.”
“Are you okay?” Stonewall eyed Brennan suspiciously. “You look pale. During the enactment you looked upset.”
“Upset? No,” Jessie smirked. “I didn’t have time for dinner, and got this low blood sugar thing going. I got a little lightheaded.”
* * *
Back at the apartment, the silence haunted her. She was lonely. It had been close to one week since she had spoken with Taylor, and she missed her terribly. Jessie was looking forward to picking up Maxwell from the airport the following afternoon. Earlier that week she had made arrangements with Alison to have Maxwell flown out to a friend, Brennan Keller.
As Jessie climbed into her bed that night, her mind replayed the Master Mason initiation. She knew she would be in trouble if the Scottish Rite degrees had similar initiations. No wonder mauls, squares, and compasses came to her in her dreams. At first there was only darkness, then images came slowly, then more quickly, until they changed into geometric signs. Signs that Jessie would not have understood…
* * *
She walked the dark temple courtyard. It was lit only by the moonlight from the moon god, Thoth. Jessie was apprehensive; her pace quickened. She thought she heard footsteps near the columns, and stopped. “Mark?” she called out. Is that you?”
She saw the curved metallic blade gleaming in the moonlight, and Mark Rutledge stepped from the shadows. A sinister smile came to his lips as he advanced.
He raised the sword above his head. “You have broken your oath. For that, you shall pay with your life.” He swung the sword severing her in two.
* * *
“No!” Jessie screamed, waking from her nightmare. Her hand felt her abdomen for blood. “My God…It was too real.” Jessie recalled the nightmare she had had right before Taylor left on her tour. They were so similar. Jessie’s heart pounded wildly. She sat up, wide eyed, analyzing why she had dreamed of Taylor’s former personal manager, Mark Rutledge.
Chapter Thirteen
The following evening after work, Jessie drove to LaGuardia Airport and picked up Maxwell. The cat was still groggy from the air travel drugs and slept in the pet carrier all the way back to the Hartsdale apartment. He started meowing when Jessie pulled the carrier from the car. Speaking in Brennan’s pitch, she consoled Maxwell as she passed one of her neighbors outside her apartment.
Once in the apartment, Jessie opened the small cage. The feline sauntered from the carrier, and as he stretched his front paws, his hindquarters rose. The cat glanced at Jessie, uninterested, then turned to explore the apartment.
Her disguise had fooled her cat. “Maxwell? It’s me.” The cat eyed Jessie with curiosity and drew closer. She hadn’t pulled the window treatments yet, so she looked around, assuring that she was out of sight, then sat on the floor near the feline. She removed the goatee, and the cat purred and rubbed his chin up against her body.
Jessie had been looking forward to her reunion with Maxwell, but bringing the cat to New York backfired. Rather than bringing her comfort, she realized just how lonesome she had become. It had been almost two months since Steve had been murdered, and a little more since Taylor had set out on tour. Jessie had ceased contact with most people, and the few she continued communications with were mostly by email. Once a month, she would touch base with her editor. Although the publisher was waiting for her next book, they were supportive when she told them that she was taking time off and wouldn’t have anything until the end of the year. She missed her life though she knew isolating herself was just one of her sacrifices to infiltrate Freemasonry, but she was starting to wonder if it was worth it.
Jessie had long shed her masquerade and was ready to hop in bed. Feeling alone, she picked up her cell phone, and punched in the numbers. She hadn’t spoken with Rachel in about a month.
“Hello,” Rachel whispered.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“Who is this?” Rachel’s voice was groggy.
Jessie had been disguising her voice for so long, she had forgotten to speak naturally. “I’m sorry. It’s Jessie,” she said in her normal voice.
“Are you okay? What time is it?”
Jessie felt awkward calling and didn’t realize how late it was. “Sorry about the time. I was wondering if we could get together this weekend for dinner…I’d like to catch up. I’m going up to Jewett Friday night. Perhaps we can meet at the cabin. I’ll cook dinner.”
* * *
It was three o’clock that Saturday when the Saab’s tires rolled to a standstill beside the cabin’s porch. As Rachel approached the front entry she remembered her time there with Steve, and for a moment a wave of loss troubled her. She paused for a moment in the July heat, composed herself, and then knocked on the screen door.
“Who’s there?” a masculine voice asked from inside the house. “It’s Rachel.”
Jessie opened the door. “Come on in,” she said as she surveyed the outside. Dressed in shorts and a tank top, her outfit lacked Brennan’s bodysuit and facial hair.
“Are you finally coming to your senses and returning to womanhood?”
“I have thought about it, but no. I needed a day away from facial hair and breast harnesses. And my body armor needed a good cleaning.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“What would you like to drink? There’s wine, beer, or lemonade.”
“Chardonnay would be great.”
The women moved outside to a patio area off the living room. A picnic table was already set. Although trees and shrubs camouflaged the area, infrequently a car was heard from the road and Jessie would be watchful.
“I have to admit—I’ve had a tough week and wondered if all this is worth it.”
“What have you been up to?” Rachel sliced a piece of cheese to top her cracker.
“I have an apartment in Hartsdale and Brennan has a job at The Empire. I’m a reporter.”
“How’d you manage that? From everything I’ve heard they’re difficult to get into.”
“It was the easiest job I’ve ever gotten, and all because the managing editor is a Mason!”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. Believe it or not, there is a secret handshake that identifies a person as a Mason.”
A thump from inside the cabin got the women’s attention. Seconds later, Maxwell pawed at the screen door and Jessie opened it. The cat sauntered over to Rachel.
“When did you get a cat?” Rachel scratched under his chin, instantly winning his affection.
“This is Maxwell. I developed a massive case of homesickness, so I arranged to have him flown out from California.” Jessie sipped her wine.
“I’m sure you are homesick. Are you in touch with your family through this?”
“Steve was the only biological family I had. Our parents passed away when I was a teenager.”
“I’m sorry, I remember Steve mentioned that. How about friends? Have you left a boyfriend behind in California?”
It hit Jessie that Rachel didn’t know she was gay. “I’m sorry, Rachel, I thought you knew this. I’m gay.
“Oh…No, I didn’t know.”
“I do have a girlfriend, but she’s on tour. I haven’t seen her since May. She doesn’t have a clue what I’m doing.”
“On tour? What does she do?”
“She’s a singer.”
“Can I ask who it is?”
Jessie reminded herself that she was talking to a reporter. “Off the record?”
“Of course.”
“Taylor Andrews.”
“Really? And she doesn’t know what you’re doing?”
> “No. She’s overseas, and will be traveling through January. I told her that I’m staying in New York to wrap up Steve’s estate. I’ve mentioned that I’m suspicious about his death, but that’s pretty much it. It’s getting more difficult not sharing any of this.”
“Why don’t you tell her?”
Jessie appeared thoughtful. “If this backfires, I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“You’ll have to say something eventually, after all, what about your hair?”
Jessie sighed. “I’m hoping I can wrap this up and start growing it out before I see her again. We had plans for me to meet her in Europe over Thanksgiving. I can’t imagine that I’m going to be able to do it, though.”
“So, you got a case of homesickness. What else happened that was so bad?”
“I participated in a Master Mason initiation. It was probably the most dehumanizing experience I have ever had.”
“What happened?” Rachel was curious.
“The candidate is blindfolded and brought into the Lodge room half-naked.”
“Half-naked?”
“Yes. But that’s not the worst of it. The two sharp ends of a compass are stabbed into the candidate’s chest while he’s blindfolded. Apparently, during the first and second initiations, they stab a compass and square into the candidate’s chest, also.”
“That’s why your brother said I wouldn’t have gotten through the first three initiations.”
“That’s not the worst of it. They do a reenactment of the legend of Hiram Abiff. And during this play, the candidate is struck on his throat with a stick, on the chest with a square, and then in the head with a hammer.”
“Are you serious?”
“My God, Rachel, I felt so helpless. When they hit him in the head, the man fell unconscious. Before I knew what I was doing I left my position to see if he was okay. Thank God he was, but everyone just stared at me.”
“I take it you didn’t blow your cover?”
“I don’t think so. But I did have to make up some excuse about my behavior. I keep wondering what I’m getting into. I’m going into the Scottish Rite in a couple of months. Although none of my research suggests it, I’m afraid that I’m going to be put in a situation where I’ll need to strip. Then, I’m afraid that I’ll have to memorize more handshakes or passwords,” Jessie smiled at her humor. “But you know what I wonder about the most?” She became serious.
Rachel shook her head.
“I thought I knew my brother. It just blows my mind that he was involved in this group.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to question your brother. He didn’t trust them for well over a year before he got killed. I’m sure that’s why he set up his alias. It was as if he knew he might need to drop out of sight. Your brother was a very sharp man. By the way, who’s Hiram Abiff?”
“He was the architect of King Solomon’s Temple. Supposedly, he was a Master Mason who promised to reveal the secrets of Freemasonry to his workers when the temple was completed. Apparently, he was killed before he could pass on whatever secrets he held.”
“King Solomon’s Temple? That’s where the Ark of the Covenant was buried.” Rachel was thoughtful. “I got an anonymous letter three…maybe four months ago suggesting that I do a story on the ark. I never pursued it. But I remember the letter was accompanied by an article stating that there were actually two arks.”
“How could there be two?”
“From what I remember…God gave Moses the first two tablets on Mount Sinai and Moses got angry and supposedly broke them. The broken tablets were placed in a golden ark, while two other tablets were stored in a wooden ark. From what I remember, the golden ark went to battle and eventually disappeared into Egypt, while the wooden ark was hidden under the Temple of Solomon.
“Interesting.” Jessie was reminded of her recent dreams about ancient Egypt. Coincidence? “Freemasonry has been linked to ancient Egypt. Do you still have the article?”
“I think so. I’ll look for it on Monday.”
“How often do you get anonymous suggestions like that?”
Rachel appeared thoughtful. “Come to think of it—that was the only one I received that I thought had any merit. The timing just wasn’t good for me to pursue it.”
Jessie glanced at her watch. “Let me put the chicken on.” She went inside and returned with a plate. She placed marinated chicken breasts on the grill.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you…Don’t you think it’s strange that before your brother died you had been researching secret societies and conspiracy theories, then he’s murdered, and here you are perhaps wrapped up in one yourself?”
Jessie’s eyes met Rachel’s. “Yes. What a coincidence…The thought has crossed my mind.”
“But Jessie, you know there’s no such thing as a coincidence,” the voice in her head blurted out. “Most people don’t understand coincidence. Coincidence is the act of coinciding, Jessie. It is a state of synchronicity, of harmony. Never brush anything off as a coincidence,” the little voice harped.
Jessie never understood that voice that seemed to come from nowhere. At times she found it to be annoying, but since it had helped save her life the year before, she rarely dismissed what it said. Jessie closed the cover to the grill and turned to Rachel.
“Can I confide in you about something? I’m not sure if it’s relevant, but I’m starting to wonder.”
“What is it?”
Jessie studied Rachel’s eyes as she sat on the bench across from her. “I was not only researching secret societies, but I had outlined a conspiracy novel. In my story, I used a TV news reporter to uncover a conspiracy that the world was actually run by a one-world government and these secret societies were in charge.”
Rachel was skeptical. “You’re not serious.”
“I am serious.” Jessie wondered how much she should share with Rachel. “There’s more.” Jessie sighed. “Some time ago, I wrote a book called Deceptions—”
“Yes. I’ve seen the movie.”
“Well…after I wrote the screenplay and the movie was released, I realized that Deceptions was becoming my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wrote a murder mystery and the next thing I knew—that story became my reality. I was drawn into a murder investigation, and was one of the key suspects.”
“What are you telling me, Jess?”
“Do you know what precognition is?”
“Isn’t it being psychic?”
“Some people would call it psychic phenomena. Precognition is knowing future events through other senses.”
“Are you telling me that you’re psychic?”
“No more psychic than you. I believe that we’re all psychic, but some people use it more than others. I’m not sure why, but somehow, when I was writing Deceptions I tapped into a future event and I wrote a story about it.”
“And you’re thinking that the conspiracy story that you outlined is about your future?”
“It’s a thought.” The sound of a car approaching diverted Jessie’s attention away from Rachel, until the revving engine passed the house and faded. “To be honest, since the incident I’ve hesitated writing.”
Rachel stood and started to pace, but her eyes never left Jessie’s. Then she stopped. “Jessie, I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve never really believed in psychic stuff. Destiny? Fate? Absolutely. But…assuming you did tap into your future, is there anything else you can tell me that may be helpful?”
Jessie wasn’t sure if she should say it. “My protagonist failed.”
“What do you mean failed?”
“My protagonist is a TV reporter, and she’s trying to expose this secret society. In my story, she failed; she actually joins the bad guys.”
At first, Rachel was speechless. “Okay, let’s just assume for a moment that you did psychically tune into something. Is it possible that you tuned into Steve’s life? He was a TV newsperson. He was drawn into investigating the Thirty-Third Counc
il.”
Jessie appeared thoughtful. “And you could interpret his death as a failure,” Jessie mumbled. “It’s possible. But don’t you find any of this reminiscent of your life?”
“You think I’m going to trade allegiances?” Rachel felt as if she had been hit in the head with a two-by-four. “I realize that you don’t know me very well, so I’ll let that one pass. But to put it bluntly, I’ll join their group when hell freezes over.”
Chapter Fourteen
That Monday afternoon, Rachel returned to her office after wrapping up a story on high school violence. She closed her office door, and moved to a file cabinet, where she skimmed file folder labels. Since the fire in her office had destroyed her files the year before, it didn’t take her long to locate the article on the Arks of the Covenant.
Written by Professor West Kerry, the commentary had been published five months earlier. Rachel perused a biography of the author. Kerry taught Hebrew and Judaic studies at New York University, College of the Arts and Sciences. He was a Manhattan resident. From an online directory, Rachel learned that he lived in Chelsea. She punched in the numbers in her phone.
“Hello,” a woman answered.
“Good evening, this is Rachel Addison. I’m looking for Professor Kerry.
“One moment please.”
Seconds later, “Hello. This is West Kerry.”
“Professor Kerry, this is Rachel Addison from Over the Edge. I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”
“No. I just walked in. How can I help you, Ms. Addison?”
“I found your article on the Arks of the Covenant very interesting. I’m doing some research trying to connect Freemasonry and King Solomon’s Temple. I just figured that—with your expertise—you would be an excellent authority on the subject.”
“I’d be happy to help. What would you like to know?”
“I’ve heard about the legend of Hiram Abiff, the architect of Solomon’s Temple. I understand he was a Master Mason. Are there any other connections between the temple and Freemasonry?”
