Bystander in Time

by Richard Stockford

  Behind the large main room, there were two smaller cubicles, both perhaps eight by ten feet in size. Their walls, each with a single window in the back, were sheathed with closely-fitted pine boards, and the floors were covered in scuffed and faded linoleum.

  After ten minutes, the linoleum had been torn from the floor in ragged strips and Dex was squatting dejectedly on his haunches. “Nothing,” he said

  Zachary paced the small room in frustration. “I was sure,” he said slumping against a wall. “I was…” Suddenly he stopped and a broad smile broke out on his face. “Gotcha.” He placed his hands on the wall to one side of the doorway and pushed experimentally. With a creak from concealed hinges, the short section of wall along with a three foot square area of floor beneath it cammed upward two inches and swung out into the main room. From the black hole beneath, Dex caught the same faint whiff of corruption he had smelled from Quill’s grave.

  Stricken by a momentary atavistic fear of the darkness below, Dex hesitated for an instant at the edge of the pit. He had run to the house for a flashlight and now he snapped it on and, buoyed by its glow and a mental picture of D.J. in his hospital bed, stepped gingerly onto the steep wooden steps leading down. After descending a little more than six feet, he found himself at one end of an oblong underground room. Half the width of the carriage house above, its closely fitted granite walls stretched away towards the back of the building. No simple cave, the dry atmosphere, lack of moisture underfoot and cathedral-like hush of still air testified to the quality of the chamber’s construction.

  Ignoring the questions whispered down from above, Dex walked deeper into the room past a heavy wooden table laden with stacks of metal bars and leather pouches, his attention focused on the far end. Centered against the back wall was a massive boulder, its top surface chiseled flat and covered with a thick tapestry still flashing with vibrant color in the flashlight’s beam. A pair of heavy metal candle holders stood in melted wax on the tapestry with a large open book, thick and massive, lying between them. A ragged lightning bolt of charred parchment and cloth ran down over the front edge of the altar splitting the symmetry of the once beautiful tapestry, and pointing at a body that lay on the floor before it.

  Dex crept closer, eyes riveted on the body. Lying on its back, it was dressed in the corduroy trousers, linen shirt and light boots that constituted nineteenth century informal wear, and as he got closer, he realized that the body was mummified, the tight parchment of its skin shrunken over skull and hands, perfectly preserved by the dry air. The ring on the blackened middle finger of its outstretched left hand appeared to glow softly in the dim light.

  Mesmerized, Dex knelt to reach for the ring. The green stone seemed to pulse with light as he slipped it over the corpse’s desiccated finger and as it came free a sudden searing wave of heat flashed across his chest. Muscles stiffening in spasm, he jerked upright and then stumbled to his knees against the altar. The flashlight dropped from nerveless fingers and rolled on the floor painting the room in a crazy kaleidoscope of light and dark -- and then it was gone; the light, the altar, the hushed air and the cavern itself, blinked away to be replaced by the windswept deck of a sailing ship.

  Dex staggered on the heaving deck, ears popping at the pressure changes of a gale force wind and eyes, half-blinded by driving rain, straining to see into the shadows that surrounded him. Above the roar of the storm, he heard a mocking voice. “And now we fight, Lubber.”

  And with those words, decades of ignorance fell away, instantly replaced by crystal-clear awareness. The wind and seas calmed and shadows drew back and Dex looked into the faces he had neither seen nor remembered for all of his adult life. He was crouched in a circle of the White Shark’s crew with the calm visage of Captain Jacob Campbell alongside the towering figure of Bint Miller and a host of other men he knew well. As he found his footing, Dex saw Weldon Quill, strong and vital, standing across from him within the circle. A gleaming cutlass hung from his right hand and his teeth flashed in a belligerent sneer as he nodded at the quivering cutlass that suddenly appeared, point buried in the deck, at Dex’s feet. Dex had seen this scene played out before, the court of last resort for crew members locked in an immutable quarrel. He understood his choices instantly; he could walk away, go back to Annie, sacrificing D.J. and his self-respect, or pick up the cutlass and face his own certain death at the hands of an experienced fighter. Surrounded by friends he knew would not - could not - interfere, Dex grabbed the sword and squared to face his enemy.

  Quill pressed his attack instantly, leaping across the circle with his razor sharp blade flashing in a rapid series of slashing cuts. Dex fell back barely able to defend himself from Quill’s blade as long-forgotten muscle memory somehow blocked the slashes he could not avoid. After Dex survived his initial rush, Quill slowed, seemingly content to circle slowly, grinning as his blade flicked out in crisp, random strokes. Even as searing red line streaked down his left arm, and the heavy cutlass pulled at his already weary right arm, Dex understood that Quill was toying with him, savoring his certain victory.

  The darkness that seemed to billow up from the hole at his feet terrified Zachary. He had sat on its edge whispering questions hoarsely to Dex as the flashlight beam drew away from the hole. The only sounds he heard back were the faint shuffling footsteps and then the light went out and they were gone, replaced by a thundering silence.

  “Dex,” shouted Annie kneeling at Taylor’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Answer me.” Her words fell into dead air, not even echoes replied. Wildly, she tried to push past Zachary, but he held her back. “Stay here,” he said. “Let me look.” Mouth dry, he pushed off and descended the steps. He froze at the bottom staring into impenetrable darkness until, with a hissed “here”, Annie’s hand came down from above holding a brightly lit cell phone and he could see into the room.

  Glancing down at the wound on his arm, Dex realized that he still held the ring in his clenched left fist and he suddenly understood that he had yet another option. He could beat Quill by simply slipping the ring onto his finger and giving himself up to its seductive power. And with the thought came the sudden overwhelming urge to comply; to possess the power that would allow him to crush his adversary. Blinding lust and desire lent strength to his legs and he sprang back fumbling the cutlass as he groped for the ring.

  The beam from the cell phone shook erratically as Zachary followed it into the cavern. When the two bodies on the floor materialized in its light, he spared only a quick glance at the mummified remains, bending instead over Dex and lifting the golden ring from his lifeless hand.

  “DEX! NOOO!” As the scream thundered in his head, time seemed to slow and Dex looked up to see Tobias Masters pressing into the circle. He was aware of a frozen mask of fear blossoming on Quill’s face and of Tobias struggling against the bonds of the circle. The sounds of the ship and its crew faded until the silence was absolute.

  “No, Dex”

  “Yes”

  “You must not.”

  “I will.”

  “It is worse than death.”

  “I have no choice.”

  Dex saw infinite sadness in the eyes of his friend and vast despair in the eyes of his enemy as he made his decision.

  In the next heartbeat, the fury of the storm returned and darkness again shrouded the deck. Dex felt both cutlass and ring wrested from his grasp and he dimly perceived the towering figure of the ship’s first mate, Alan Davis, leaping towards the snarling Quill.

  “I wonder if he ever realized he’d found his treasure,” said Annie looking sadly down at Zachary Taylor’s body. She and Maud had grabbed electric lanterns from the house and descended into the cavern after Zachary’s light went out, to find Dex, battered but alert, cradling the old man’s body.

  Dex had awakened clear headed and instantly aware that Quill was gone and the danger past. The only evidence of his battle with Quill was the faint line of an already fading scar on his left forearm. He felt the relief of a
great weight lifted from his shoulders, replaced with the sorrow of another’s sacrifice, but mostly he just sat and reveled in the rich memories of old friends and a time long past.

  “Oh, I think he knows,” answered Dex glancing at the table and its bags of coins and stacks of gold bars. “I think maybe he knew all along.”

  “We’ll have to call the police,” said Maud, “and find somewhere safe for all this gold.”

  Dex nodded as he reached for the cell phone vibrating in his pocket. “Yeah, but first I’m going to go get my son.”

  Epilog

  D.J. Stockford awoke from his coma with no ill effects and lived with Dex and Annie at Quill House for the next four years. After, through college and beyond he remained active in the management of the Zachary Taylor Historical Endowment, a scholarship and benevolent fund deriving from the Quill family assets.

  With the discovery of the Quill family fortune, the Quill House itself underwent a complete restoration as befitted its inclusion in the register of Historic Buildings. Dexter and Annie Stockford remained as caretakers and hosted public tours and lectures on the historic grounds for many years.

  Thomas Quill was properly interred with his family and Maud Kneeland later reported that the only spirit remaining at Quill House was that of a wise and cheerful black man named Tobias.

  Simon and Melody Masters passed on in their time and were laid to rest near the grave of their ancestor Tobias. A small granite stone stands between them with the curious inscription:

  1768 – 2018

  LEGACY COMPLETE

  Stanley the cat lived out his years quietly, often in dignified repose upon the mantel staring intently up at something only he could see.

  Dex became a respected teacher of American Colonial History at Mount Desert Academy and went on the write several highly acclaimed textbooks on the life and times of Colonial New England.

  And once again despising any anomaly, time healed itself, gently erasing all memories of this latest battle in the never-ending war between good and evil.

  From Tobias’ Journal

  As I approach the end of my days I am increasingly aware that the flow of time is made up of countless overlapping lifetimes like wavelets on the tide, each unique and all too brief, and I can imagine some ancient force, comforted and content with its consistency but willing allow the very infrequent and always temporary disruption of it; corrections made in the name of goodness.

  Those mortals fortunate enough to observe such disruptions speak loudly of miracles performed by the hand of God, but those permitted to participate, in however small a way, are afforded a glimpse through the window of creation and are silent in their overwhelming awe.

  I have been graced to attend one of time’s small corrections, to play the part of a conduit between past and future, a bystander in time, content now to subside on a far and gentle shore.

  Tobias Masters

  THE END

  About the Author

  Richard Stockford is a retired Police Chief living in Bangor, Maine with Cindy, Cleo and Peter, one of whom has been his constant companion for 50 years.

  He is a woodworker and a maker of custom knives who is inspired to write by his grandchildren. If you enjoyed this book, please consider submitting a review and your comments at http://www.amazon.com/Bystander in Time-Richard-Stockford-ebook

  Other Works by this author

  Past Due - Book one of the Thomas Clipper crime series

  Past perfect - Book two of the Thomas Clipper crime series

  Cady’s Treasure - the story of a young girl’s coming of age and a mysterious pirate treasure

  The Knife you Make - A tutorial for the beginning knife maker

  A kid’s Guide to Creative Writing

  A slim Volume of Poetry

  A Slim Volume of Poetry II