by A J Rivers
"A camera," I say.
"What?" Dean asks.
"It looks like a camera. Not binoculars."
"I always thought it was binoculars."
"You're supposed to be pretending to take pictures," I point out. "That's the whole clicking thing. You don't click binoculars."
"Alfredo Balli Trevino," Xavier suddenly says.
"What?" Dean and I ask, turning toward him.
Xavier looks away from the pig, a familiar look on his face. It's a somewhat distant expression, as if he didn't fully realize he was saying the words or didn't expect anyone to respond to them.
"You said Hannibal Lecter. He was fictional. A figment of the imagination. But he was based on a man named Alfredo Balli Trevino. The author, who created Hannibal Lecter, met him in a prison when he was researching another serial killer. He thought Trevina was a prison doctor because he had treated the serial killer’s gunshot wound. It wasn't until later that he found out Trevino was a murderer. It was said that his skills as a surgeon let him fit his victims into very small boxes," Xavier says.
He meets my eyes for a brief second, then continues down the path.
“Happy Halloween,” Dean says as he walks past Sam, who does not look amused by the story.
We make our way further and go around a curve deeper into the woods. It feeds out into what looks like a room without a ceiling. The walls on either side are splattered with fake blood and cracked with hatchet marks. Dripping letters write out the old nursery rhyme about Lizzie Borden.
"Ah, good old Elizabeth," Sam says. He glances at me with a playful look. "We're friends, so I can call her that."
"Not good friends," Xavier says.
"Because she's dead?" he asks with a note of sarcasm.
"Because her name wasn't Elizabeth. They called her Lizzie because her name was Lizzie. Lizzie Andrew, named after her father."
"Oh," Sam says.
Xavier takes a step closer to the wall and examines the bloody words. "Poem’s all wrong, too. First, Abby was not her mother. She was her step-mother. And whoever was wielding the hatchet—not an ax, a hatchet—didn't hit her forty times. Only nineteen. To the front of the head and the rest to the back after she fell. Andrew actually received fewer than that. Probably eleven blows. They crushed his head, split his face in half, and left his eyeball sitting on his cheek."
He turns around sharply to look at the other wall. His head tilts to the side, and he gets a confused expression on his face.
"What is it?" I ask.
"The second verse," he says. "I would think it would be on the other way." He shrugs. "But I suppose that wouldn't make it any better. Still would be inaccurate. ‘Andrew Borden now is dead. Lizzie hit him on the head. Now in Heaven, he will swing. And on the gallows, she will swing’."
He's still humming as he walks away down the path. Sam's head snaps over to me.
"How does he know that? Why does he know that?" he asks.
"We might have found Xavier's hobby," I say.
The trail takes up almost another half-an-hour of turns and morbid scenery. At nearly every stop, Xavier has a complaint about the accuracy of the depiction. I know it's starting to get to Sam, but I'm just relieved to not be the only one to have immediately noted the strange details and implausible choices.
Ahead of us, the woods stop, and the trail seems to lead out onto an old paved road. We're starting to follow it when Dean glances back over his shoulder.
“What's that?” he asks.
I see what he's pointing out, and I smile.
“Let's find out.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I didn't know anything like this was back here,” I say. “I thought this was just old fairgrounds.”
The weathered sign on the side of the road directs us to Ashbury Hill Amusement Park. The cracked paved road moves away from the pumpkin patch and deeper into the woods. Rather than the hill going up, it goes down, leading us along a slight slope that opens out to the crumbling entrance.
“It's been here forever,” Xavier says. “My family came to this park all the time when I was a little boy. We only lived a couple of hours from here. When I moved back to Harlan, I couldn’t wait to come back.”
“Because you love amusement parks,” I say softly.
He nods, moving ahead of us as if he's walking through time. He approaches the gate comfortably, the familiarity obvious in every movement. It's as if he's holding his ticket and expecting someone to appear and take it from his hand so he can go inside.
“When did it close?” Sam asks.
Xavier shakes his head. “I don't know.”
There's a chain across the entrance, but it's been cut, and Xavier walks straight through it. We follow him, letting him guide us out onto what was once a smooth road leading into the park. Buildings on either side have broken windows and grass growing up through the sidewalks in front. Looming at the end of the road is a Ferris wheel with all of the gondolas removed.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Xavier looks at me. “Of course. Being here gives me peace.”
I nod gently. “Okay.”
"Hey!" A shout makes us whip around to see an angry-faced security officer stalking toward us down the road. "What do you think you're doing in here?"
“I'm sorry,” I call over. “We were just walking and saw the sign. We were curious.”
“Agent Griffin?” he asks, the light of recognition hitting his face.
“Officer Murray,” I say when he gets close. He’s with the Harlan Police Department and has been helping us in the cornfields. Friendly guy. Always has some sort of joke to share. “I didn't realize it was you.”
“I didn't realize it was you, either. Who else do you have with you?”
“Sam and Dean and Xavier,” I tell him.
“What are y’all doing out here?”
“We were just exploring at the pumpkin patch and found the haunted trail that brought us out here. Kind of got away from us a little bit. What are you doing out here?”
“When I'm off duty at the department, I do security for the pumpkin patch and corn maze. My boys loved the pumpkin patch growing up, so I kinda like revisitin’ it every year. Keep it safe for the kids. Stop wayward miscreants from wandering off and going into closed areas,” he says with a laugh.
I hang my head for a second. “Sorry. As I said, we were just up at the pumpkin patch and found the Haunted Trail, so we decided to walk down it.”
“That's a hayride,” he says. “They do it at night with lights and fog machines. Scare-actors.”
“I think we got our fill of it during the day,” I tell him. “But this place is pretty amazing. I never even realized it was here. All I've ever heard is that this was the fairgrounds.”
“It's been closed a long time,” the officer says. “Technically, it's still functional. Power and water would be on if they were hooked up. The rides are a bit beaten up now, but they were runnin’ when they closed up shop. It just didn't get enough attention all the way out here. Now the town doesn't like to advertise having an abandoned amusement park. Not fittin’ the image, and not worth the money to fix it up.”
“Maybe lure miscreants?" Dean asks.
Officer Murray laughs. "Exactly. So, everybody pretty much acts like it doesn't exist. Every so often, there’s talk of bringin’ it back, but nothin’ ever comes of it. A Halloween haunt a couple of years, but that's it. It just kinda sits here. It's hard to believe how alive it used to be. Now it's just a little creepy, isn't it?”
“I think it's beautiful,” Xavier says, still gazing around as if he can see the park as it was when he was a child.
“Well, that fits with the season, I guess. I'm sorry, I wish I could let you folks wander around a bit, but you're not allowed in here. You're not even supposed to be on that trail. Let's get you back to the pumpkin patch," he says.
“I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble,” I say.
“No trouble,” he shrugs. �
��It’s good to see you doing something other than sit in that conference room buried neck-deep in evidence.”
“That's what I've been telling her,” Sam says, wrapping his arm around my waist and cuddling me close. “A little break every now and then is good for her.”
“We’ll see,” I say.
We make our way along an access road Officer Murray shows us. It brings us out right in front of the checkout stand for the pumpkin patch. Our pumpkins are piled up on one of the wooden counters lined up in front of the gate.
“I was wondering where you got off to,” the hayride driver calls over. “I have your pumpkins right here.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Since I doubt the hotel will let me start filling up their hallway with pumpkins, we bring our haul to Xavier's house. I can absolutely see why Dean described it the way he did. It's pristinely decorated, but everywhere I look, there seems to be a knob or lever attached to one of Xavier's creations. I want to touch all of them.
But I stop myself. I have to remember I'm a guest in this ridiculousness, and it's been sitting dormant for a decade now, so the mechanics might not be as reliable as they once were. That brings my mind back to the theme park. Xavier talked about it as if he’d gone when he was an adult, but it looked as if no one had been there in far too many years before that.
We spend the rest of the afternoon carving some of the pumpkins and roasting their seeds. On the way to his house, I’d stopped at the grocery store to pick up a container of pumpkin pie spice, and I sprinkle the cut off lids of the jack-o'-lanterns.
“Why are you doing that?” Xavier asks.
“So, when you light a candle in it, it will smell like pumpkin pie,” I say.
He reaches into the bag he brought home from the store and pulls out battery-operated tea lights. I can't help but laugh. I tip back into Sam's arms and let him hold me, surrounding me in flannel and warmth. I could just stay like this. I would never have to think about anything else and be happy.
The levity doesn't last for long. I knew it couldn't. Not with the world ticking by around me.
The next day, heaviness settles into my heart, dragging it down deep into me as I listen to my father tell me everything he can about The Order of Prometheus. He shouldn't be doing this. These are secrets he's supposed to keep, traditions and rituals kept sacred for so many years.
But this is an emergency. He knows that as well as I do. So he lifts the veil. It's not everything. He can't get into all of the details or explain everything to me because his chapter is different from the one in Harlan. But the more he tells me, the heavier I feel.
I'm discovering something about my father I never knew, but I don't want to know it. It feels uncomfortable and raw, like something I shouldn't see. A part of him that was supposed to be kept back, but now he is laying bare, and in doing so, exposing so many others.
I appreciate his willingness. I can only hope it helps.
After meeting with my father, I stop by the doughnut shop and then follow my familiar path to Millie's hospital room. She smiles when she sees the box.
"At least this time you're bringing me some real food," she says.
“I figure if I'm taking advantage of the fact that they are holding you hostage and you can't get away from me, I might as well compensate with a treat. And after having experienced a diet of hospital cuisine for a couple of days, I now commiserate with you completely and feel you deserve these more than ever,” I smile.
“Did you bring jelly-filled?” she asks.
“Of course! What kind of a person do you think I am?”
She lifts one eyebrow at me. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Fair enough. And on that note,” I say, reaching into the box and pulling out one of the powdered sugar-covered lemon-filled donuts, “I'll just dive right in.”
“Let me guess; you're here to ask me about Sterling again. I still don't know where he is or what he's doing.”
“That's actually not what I want to ask you about,” I tell her honestly. “Nobody's been able to figure out where he is, so I'm letting you off the hook on that one.”
“Good,” she says. “I can't help you with what my brother is doing.”
“How about your other brother?” I ask.
“Ron?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. I take a bite of my doughnut to give me a few seconds to come up with the right sequence of words. It doesn't come, so I just go with what tumbles out of my mouth first. “Before everything happened, Dean and I followed you away from the bank and saw you meeting up with Ron out by the cornfield.”
She closes her eyes briefly, shaking her head as if she can't believe what she just heard. “That was you?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I knew I heard somebody,” Millie says.
“What were you doing out there?” I ask.
“I was just talking to Ron,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “But why? Why were you meeting out there?”
“He's my brother, Emma. We don't live terribly close together, so sometimes we meet up in between just to catch up.”
“That didn't look as if you were just catching up. He looked angry,” I say.
“They're my brothers. The bonds of brotherhood are tight,” she says.
I nod and finish my doughnut. After a few more minutes of visiting, I leave. Dean, Xavier, and Sam meet up with me outside.
"Anything?" Dean asks.
"She said she just met with Ron out there because they don't live close to each other, so sometimes that's where they get together. When I questioned her about it, she said the bonds of brotherhood are tight."
"Why do you have that look as if what she said is significant?" Dean asks.
"Because she's their sister, not their brother. It's not brotherhood for her. And isn't that almost exactly what my father said about The Order? When I was in the hospital, and he was telling me he and the two generations before him were all members?"
"She was trying to tell you something," Xavier says.
"But we already know Sterling is in The Order and that Ron heads up FireStarter. What else could she be trying to say?" Sam asks.
"I don't know." I look at each of them. "What are you doing now?"
"Noah expects me at the precinct soon," Sam says. "I'm going over a few things with him to see if I can give him new insights."
"Xavier and I are open," Dean says.
"Good. I need you to research the temple. We still have no idea what's going on with it, and now that they've reduced the surveillance, it's getting urgent. We need to know the history of that building. The Order chose it for a reason. My father said the chapters like to choose buildings for their meeting that have historical significance and speak to the heart of the given chapter. Whatever that means. We need to find the heart of that building."
"I thought we were looking for the heart of the chapter," Dean says.
I look at Xavier.
"Let the snack choose you," he says.
"Absolutely."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It takes two hours to get to Rachel Duprey's office and another hour of cooling my heels in the waiting room, but finally, she strides out toward me. Her walk is exactly as you’d imagine from her contact page photo. Formal and precise. Trained and heavily controlled.
She flashes me a smile that fits right in with her posture and movement, extending her hand to shake mine when she is still several steps away. That's a manipulation tactic, whether she knows it or not, though I'm pretty confident she does. It shows focus, direct concentration on me rather than on anything else around her.
I play into it, walking toward her and meeting her with our hands clasped.
“Rachel Duprey,” she introduces herself. “I hear you've been waiting to speak with me.”
“Yes,” I say. “Actually, we've already spoken. Agent Emma Griffin.”
The smile disappears from Rachel's face. Her shoulders square off a
gainst me, and her jaw tightens as she lifts her chin in a show of strength and resilience. She's preparing herself for the same types of onslaughts she dealt with for years and managed to deflect from her father and her family.
“I believe I told you I had nothing more to say to you,” she says.
“No, actually, you didn't say that,” I counter.
“Then allow me to say it now. I am not discussing this with you. It's over, and I want it to remain that way. I hope you understand that. Good day, Agent Griffin.”
She turns on her heel and starts back to her office. She's not getting away that easily. I follow after her.
“But I don't understand,” I say.
At that, she stops. Her back stays to me for a moment. We're locked in a stalemate. Finally, she lets out a breath.
“Come with me,” she says.
I follow her into her office, and she shuts the door behind me.
“I made myself extremely clear when you called me,” she says. “Coming to my place of business is completely out of line.”
“Is it?” I ask. “I thought your whole thing was helping people. I need help.”
“You need help dragging my father through the mud? Dredging up something none of us wants to think about anymore? That nobody needs to have to deal with? It's over. Why do you have to bring it up again?” she asks.
“Because it's not over. There are still a lot of questions. And as I said, I'm investigating another case that might have to do with your father’s past. I need to know everything I can,” I tell her.
“This is ridiculous,” she scoffs. “There's nothing for me to tell you because there is nothing for you to know. My father did nothing wrong. Never. It was just a gold-digging woman who saw the potential for a big payday, and it didn't work out for her. He had nothing to do with her.”
“Then why did everybody say he did?” I ask.
“Not everybody,” she says. “A few tasteless media outlets. People hungry for a salacious story. Political opponents wanting to get him out of the way. People who mattered never believed it. I never believed he had anything to do with her walking away.”
