by Otto Schafer
“Thanks, Mrs. Lilith,” Garrett said.
They crossed the kitchen and made their way around the corner to the basement entry. As they descended the old, creaky stairs, they heard grunting and scuffling from somewhere far off in the distant bowels of the basement. Once at the bottom, they could see faint light emanating from a hallway opening.
“Here we go,” Garrett said, navigating the narrow corridor toward the lit room.
Pete nodded.
Garrett entered the small room to find Eugene attempting to manhandle a large piece of broken drywall out of the scrap pile. His eyes darted across the room, quickly finding the entry to the crawl space.
“Garrett! Am I glad to see you! This drywall business is darn hard work,” Eugene said as he wiped the sleeve of his flannel shirt across his brow.
Garrett thought the flannel looked funny on the man. It looked new and unworn. Eugene the accountant was better suited to a heavy, starched button-down collared shirt and tie.
“Let me get that,” Garrett said, quickly moving forward and taking the piece of drywall from the clearly exhausted man.
“Well, boy, oh boy, it’s probably a good thing you brought your pal Peter with you,” Eugene said, slowly bringing his breath under control.
“Actually, if it’s just the same, I can handle this pile of drywall. Pete here was hoping you might show him your Native American artifact collection.”
Eugene’s eyes lit up like a child’s. “Yes, well, I have quite a collection, Peter, and you betcha, I’d love to show you. I keep the whole collection boxed up in a spare bedroom on the third floor,” he said, but then his eyes narrowed and he rubbed a hand on his bald head. “Hmm, maybe we can make arrangements for this Sunday after Sunday school?”
Both the boys wore a look of unexpected disappointment.
“Oh, dear, I am sorry, boys. I just hate to leave you to all this work, Garrett. That doesn’t hardly seem right. Tell you what, if we all work together, maybe we’ll have time after we finish up.”
This wasn’t going how Garrett had hoped. He needed a solution and fast. He looked at Pete searchingly, but his gaze found nothing to answer it. Garrett kept staring at Pete. Come on, Garrett, think! Then a thought registered. “Eugene, Pete isn’t dressed for work and if he ruins his good school clothes, well, he’ll be in for it, won’t you, Pete?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, uh… yeah, sure will,” Pete said.
Eugene pursed his lips in thought but before he could come up with a solution, Garrett went on, “I don’t think this will take me that long anyway. I’ll carry all the pieces to the bottom of the stairs, then once I have them all stacked up, I can start carrying them up. Maybe by that time if you really want to help, we can just make a chain on the stairs with me at the bottom, Pete on the stairs, and you at the top?”
“Well, I am not sure how that keeps Pete from ruining his school clothes, but…” Then his face brightened as he snapped his fingers. “Okay, well of course, I have another old flannel shirt you can wear, Peter! That ought to keep you clean.”
The two boys nodded with excitement.
Eugene looked to Garrett, then to the pile of drywall and wood backer strips, then back to Garrett. “Now, you be careful – some of those boards have nails sticking out of them. There are a few different pairs of work gloves on the bench, so make sure you find a pair and wear them to protect your hands.”
Finally, Eugene turned to leave, then paused, turning back to Garrett again. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, you hired me to do this. It won’t be a problem,” he said. Come on, don’t change your mind now, just give me five minutes – just five minutes.
“Well, alright then, Garrett. Just remember this – the greater the difficulty, the more the glory in surmounting it!” He turned back to Pete. “Do either of you know who said that?”
Garrett shrugged and looked to Pete.
Pete shrugged back.
“Epicurus!” Eugene said, in a proud matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t agree with the man on much, but on this, we can agree. Now, follow me, Peter, if you wish to behold the most amazing Native American artifact collection you have ever, well… beheld!” The two were off and on their way up the stairs.
Garrett quickly grabbed a pair of gloves, picked up a piece of drywall, and carried it to the foot of the stairs, ensuring they were all the way up and gone before making his move. He could hear them as they climbed up to the main floor.
“You know, Peter, I found a fair amount of this collection myself walking corn fields in southern Illinois as a child, but the rest I bartered for. When we get up there, I’ll show you which is which. I have this one piece…” As they reached the upper landing, Eugene’s voice faded, stifled by the century-old wood floor.
Garrett waited a moment longer until he couldn’t hear them at all. They must be up the second set of stairs by now, he thought. He raced back to the room, pulled the small flashlight from his pocket, and set it on the ledge of the opening. Without missing a beat, he leapt up and grabbed the opening to the crawl space, pulling himself up and inside, onto his stomach. As he shimmied around to face back towards the opening, he knocked the flashlight off the ledge, sending it clattering across the concrete floor. Crap! There was no time to retrieve it now, if it even still worked. He eyeballed the gap between the dirt underneath him and the back side of the old wall with trepidation. The place was dark and super creepy. The thought of reaching down between the wall and the dirt was freaking him out. Just being in the crawl space made him feel like something was going to grab him and pull him into the shadows.
One thing was sure. Pete had some serious balls, blindly fishing down into the gap. Well, he had no choice now. He sucked in a deep breath, then plunged his arm into the pitch-black hole. Even wearing thin gloves, he hated it and had to fight with every ounce of his soul not to immediately yank his arm back out. He was certain something was either going to grab it or bite it. Driven by fear, he wildly swept his arm back and forth, dragging his thinly gloved fingertips along the bottom of the gap. He felt something once – a tin can, maybe – but no journal.
He shuffled further and further along, pushing through cobwebs thick enough to blot out the sun – not that there was any sun in this ungodly dungeon of a crawl space. Realizing the cobwebs must have been years in the making, he turned back in the other direction, knowing Pete couldn’t have ventured this far. Shimmy, stretch, reach, and shimmy again. The gap deepened. Shimmy, stretch, reach, and shimmy some more. He could barely get his fingertips to skim the bottom.
Forcing his shoulder down into the void, he stretched to full extension. A scream welled up inside him, but he held it in. Finally, his fingers hastily brushed across something that felt, yes, like paper. He passed his fingertips over it again and confirmed it… it was the journal! It had to be! He strained desperately now, his pulse quickening. Oh dear God!
He strained, the side of his face pressed to the dirt as he shoved his shoulder in, trying to force it to go. He managed to get his index and middle finger over the binding of the book.
Gently he pulled, hoping not to drop it even deeper in.
He carefully lifted the book up over the edge of the crevasse. Once it was safely out, he let the book fall to the dirt floor, but he would feel no relief until he, too, was out of the crawl space.
Scrambling over to the opening, he climbed back through and dropped onto the basement floor. He had made sure to wear a baggy shirt for the sole purpose of concealing the book. So, like Pete had done with the first half, he stuffed the book down the back of his pants, allowing his shirt to overhang his jeans. Once his hands were free, he quickly brushed himself off as best he could.
Per their plan, Garrett was counting on Pete to try and stall Eugene for as long as possible by asking a ton of questions about the Native American artifacts. Still, he needed to hurry – his time in the crawl space felt as though it had taken forever. He quickly went to work, draggin
g drywall and wood scraps as fast as he could to the base of the stairs. As he worked, he thought about their plan and wished they had determined a time frame, then synchronized watches like in the spy movies. At least then they would know what target they were shooting for. He noted for future reference that the next time they planned a covert operation that required infiltrations, distractions, and a heist, they should synchronize watches.
Garrett made six trips before he heard voices returning from above. He raced back to the room, scrambling for a seventh. He wished he had more of the pile moved. Suddenly, he became very paranoid at the sound of Eugene’s voice as they descended the stairs. He took a deep breath and tried to control his nerves. Play it cool, Garrett. Just play it cool, he thought.
“Right, well, that one is called hematite – it’s an iron ore. The interesting thing about that one is its shape. Did you take notice of the shape, Peter? You see, the Native Americans would have used that as a weight for a fishing net.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Eugene immediately began to survey Garrett’s work. Pete was now wearing what Eugene would refer to as an “old flannel shirt” and though it might indeed be old, Garrett doubted it had ever been worn.
“Well, you’ve been busy,” Eugene said, still assessing the pile.
“Yeah, the stuff is a little heavier than I thought, and I had to be extra careful with all the nails but, yeah, it’s a good start,” he said, looking over to Pete and nodding, careful not to let Eugene see him. “I only have a few trips left before we can make a chain up the stairs?”
“Alrighty, that sounds like a fine plan,” Eugene said.
For the next thirty minutes, the three worked side by side, making the chain on the stairs and passing the material up the steps piece by piece. The conversation stayed on Native American artifacts as Eugene spoke passionately about the history of his collection and how he came upon each piece. Garrett and Pete enjoyed the light conversation, and the work passed quickly.
“Whew, all in a day’s work,” Eugene said, as the boys tossed the last of the scraps into the pile outside the old Victorian.
Eugene settled up with Garrett and even gave him a bonus to share with Pete. The extra money didn’t do anything for Garrett’s guilt at deceiving Eugene, but he was glad the ordeal was over with. Thanking Eugene, the boys started off down the driveway. But then, just as they reached the bottom of the driveway, they heard Eugene yelling for Garrett to come back.
“Crap, you think he knows? What do I do?” Garrett asked.
“Give me the book, and I’ll stay here,” Pete said, motioning frantically for Garrett to hand it over.
“Garrett! Can you come here, please,” Eugene’s voice called again.
“No way, he might be able to see us. Just wait for me,” he said, turning to run back up the driveway.
When he reached the top of the drive, Eugene was waiting for him. The thin, balding man didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he just stood there seemingly lost in thought or struggling to begin. “Garrett, I need to ask you something,” he said slowly.
I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead. The words repeated over and over in his mind like some kind of twisted mantra. “Oh… okay, Eugene,” he said, trying hard to play it cool.
Eugene sighed. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Oh man, oh Jesus, shit… He knows? He knows… Dammit!
Silence hung there like a foul fart that refused to clear and no one would claim. The awkward standoff between them left Garrett with a decision. Come clean or take a chance on a lie that could make everything even worse.
Garrett tried to play the middle. “I’m n-not sure what you mean, Eugene,” he said, unable to control the quavering in his voice.
Eugene stared down intently as if trying to read his mind.
Garrett could only stand there uneasily, trying to maintain eye contact as he waited for Eugene to accuse him of theft. Already racked with guilt, he knew when the time came, he would confess to stealing the journal because he simply did not have it in his heart to lie to the man outright.
Garrett braced himself.
“Listen, I know something is going on with you. Now, you don’t have to tell me what it is, but I want you to know you can. I am here for you, whatever it is,” he said, extending a hand and placing it on the boy’s shoulder.
“What?” Garrett said, his fear turning to confusion.
“Listen, I’m a pretty good judge of people, and I can tell something is wrong. Now, I know you have your big test tomorrow, and you’re probably worried about performing well, but I sense something else is bothering you. I am offering you a chance to unburden yourself of whatever it is. Sometimes just getting it all off your chest is the best thing you can do.”
“I… I’m okay, Eugene,” he said, still in shock at the sudden turn of events. He felt dizzy, realizing he had been holding his breath. Letting out a long exhalation, he pulled in deep.
“You can trust me, Garrett. You know that, right? Whatever is happening, you can trust me.”
“Really, Eugene, I’m fine.”
Garrett felt he really could trust him, with almost anything… almost. Not this, not the journal, not the weirdness with his family, Coach, and Mr. B.
He studied the man’s concern for a moment. It was so genuine. Then the thought struck him – perhaps he could confide in him. It would be nice to tell someone, especially someone he trusted. Now that he thought about it, Eugene was probably the only adult he could trust with something like this. He might even help them get to Lincoln’s temple and decipher the rest of the clues. After all, he was into old stuff like this.
“Alright, Garrett, but listen carefully to me now. Proverbs 12:22 says, ‘Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord: but they that deal truly are his delight.’ Let me in, trust me, and I can help you. I’m sure I can… whatever it is,” Eugene said, his brow creased with concern.
Garrett swallowed hard, taking a long moment to decide. He would tell Eugene the truth. Finding the courage to speak, he started to open his mouth.
Eugene shrugged in resignation. “Alright then, Garrett. I’m here if you change your mind. Now, I guess you better run along home and get some rest for your big test tomorrow.” He checked carefully over his shoulder and bent forward to bring his eyes even with Garrett’s. His voice was low and guarded. “Most of all, you’ll want to be sure your mind is in prime focus for the journey ahead.” He tapped his finger against his head.
Garrett’s heart leapt into his throat as he recoiled. Eugene’s strange words dashed all hope of unloading the guilt he felt and the burden he carried. Just like that, gone – slipped away like a slimy fish from the hands. The words prime focus echoed in his mind.
Eugene held Garrett’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Garrett could do nothing but stare back, heart banging against his chest. The moment stretched between them, lasting long enough to forever change Garrett’s perception of the man he thought childlike, trusting, and innocent. He was one of them now – a stranger, a clone, a big fat question in a sea of questions. Or maybe he was just crazy after all, seeing something that wasn’t there.
Eugene straightened, turned, and began walking back to the old Victorian. He reached the back door and placed his hand on the doorknob, but before turning it he paused and looked back over his shoulder, his face stony and serious. “You’re not good at lying, young man,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Not even when you wear a baggy shirt…”
Garrett gasped.
“Good luck tomorrow,” he said, the warm smile having returned to his face. He turned the knob and went inside.
Garrett bolted back down the driveway and found Pete pacing back and forth, still waiting on his return.
“Jesus, bro, what happened? What did he want?”
“He knows, Pete! He knows we took it. Dammit… he freaking knows,” he said, pushing Pete away from the old Victorian.
“Easy, man, calm down.”<
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They began hurriedly walking.
“How could he? What did he say!” Pete asked.
“He mentioned my baggy shirt, Pete! The only reason I wore it today was to make sure it covered the journal.”
“What do you mean, he mentioned it? That doesn’t mean anything,” Pete said.
“You weren’t there, man. I’m telling you he knows… he knows.”
“What?” Pete asked.
They were far enough away from Eugene’s that Garrett felt confident they wouldn’t be seen. He pulled the journal from behind his back and pushed it into Pete’s hands. “Listen to me, take it home and transfer all of it tonight. We have to know what it says. Something is wrong, Pete. We’re running out of time.”
“You want me to destroy it? Take it apart at the binding and destroy it?” Pete asked in disbelief.
“Take it apart at the binding and transfer it!” Garrett said desperately.
“But why? Why hurry… because of Eugene noticing your shirt?”
“Not just that, man. I have a feeling we are running out of time.”
“Is this about Jack? You heard about today and now you’re freaking out? Is that it?” he asked, as they turned into the church parking lot to cut through to the alley.
“What are you talking about? What about today?”
“Jack cornered me again. I guess we should have known he would open it despite the damage it probably caused. He read the choice words I wrote into it. Man, was he pissed. I swear he was going to pound my face in until I did exactly like you said.”
Garrett felt his heart begin to pound even harder as if it were the target of a blacksmith’s hammer. Thump! Thump! Thump! “What did you say?”
“I blamed the whole thing on you… just like you said.” A proud smile formed on Pete’s face. “I said the whole thing was your idea. I even told him if he had a problem with it, you said he was to see you about it.”
Garrett didn’t say anything.
“Man, I thought his head was going to explode, but it worked – he let me go. He said he would be seeing you, though, then he went on to describe what he was going to do to you,” Pete said, grinning mischievously. “Of course, I then proceeded to tell him how everyone was sick of his shit and how you were going to put him in his place once and for all. Then he almost decided to beat my face in anyway… but, yeah, next thing I know, he lets me go.”
