The Prophecy paj-5

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘Hardly,’ Payne said with a reassuring smile. ‘Your appearance brought some excitement to an otherwise boring night. Feel free to crash all my parties.’

  ‘No,’ she assured him, ‘this will be my last. I’ve embarrassed myself enough.’

  ‘Curious,’ Jones interjected, ‘but not mad.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So,’ she wondered, ‘where should I start?’

  Payne shrugged. ‘The floor is all yours. Start wherever you’d like.’

  Ashley paused for a moment, trying to remember what she had rehearsed on her journey to the Pitt campus. Without practising it first, she knew she might get flustered and screw up her explanation, which was something she couldn’t afford to do. With men like Payne and Jones, it was a one-shot deal. If she didn’t pique their interest now, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

  ‘I’m a nobody,’ she assured them. ‘I’m a gradeschool teacher from a nice suburb in Philadelphia. I was raised by a single mom, who died of cancer a few years back. I have no siblings, I’ve never been married, and, despite today’s events, I normally try to avoid drama. My idea of a good day is sleeping late, walking my dog in the park, and renting a romantic comedy.’

  ‘Hold up,’ Jones joked. ‘I think I saw your ad on a dating site.’

  Payne rolled his eyes. ‘Just ignore him. He’s been drinking.’

  ‘So,’ Payne wondered, ‘what’s happened?’

  She looked at him, confused. ‘Why would you ask me that?’

  ‘Why? Because something compelled you to abandon your life, hop in your car, and drive across the state to talk to two strangers.’

  ‘Don’t forget the snow,’ Jones added.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Payne asked.

  ‘She drove through a blizzard to meet us. To me, that screams of desperation.’

  ‘Good point. Something compelled you to wake up early on your day off and drive through a major snowstorm. Therefore, it must be something big. Or, at the very least, pressing.’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘the word I would use is puzzling.’

  ‘Puzzling?’

  She nodded. ‘Puzzling.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘On Monday, I came home from school and grabbed my mail like I always do. Inside my

  ‘What do you mean by strange?’ Jones wondered.

  ‘Asian, I think. I simply couldn’t read it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’ve been a teacher for ten years now, so I’ve had plenty of students. Sometimes one of them goes on a trip and sends me a postcard. You know: “I’m seeing the sights and having fun.” Nothing more complex than that. But this thing? It was completely different.’

  ‘How so?’ Payne wondered.

  ‘First of all, it was written in calligraphy on real fancy paper. You know, the kind that feels old and expensive but isn’t brittle.’

  ‘Parchment?’ Jones guessed.

  ‘Yeah, parchment. Like an old Bible or something. Definitely not normal paper.’

  ‘That’s because parchment is made out of animal skin, not trees.’

  ‘Really?’

  Jones nodded. ‘Depending on its age and

  ‘Excuse me?’ she said.

  Payne shook his head. That wasn’t the type of thing she needed to hear. ‘Don’t worry, he’s kidding. Sometime he likes to joke around in serious situations. Just ignore him and continue.’

  Jones stared at him and mouthed the words: I wasn’t joking.

  Thankfully, Ashley was looking at Payne when that occurred.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, trying to recall her place in the story, ‘where was I?’

  ‘You were telling us about the letter.’

  She nodded slowly, as if remembering. ‘That’s right, the letter. Not only was the paper different, but so was the language.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The letter wasn’t written in English. It was written in French.’

  ‘French?’ Jones asked, getting more intrigued. ‘The postmark was Asian, but the letter was French. I have to admit, that’s a weird combination.’

  ‘Trust me,’ she assured them, ‘it gets even weirder.’

  9

  Ashley reached into her coat and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It had been folded in half, then folded again, and tucked into one of her pockets. ‘I didn’t want to damage the original, so I made a photocopy at my school. I hope that’s all right.’

  ‘A copy is fine,’ Jones assured her. ‘May I see it?’

  ‘Of course, you can. That’s partly why I’m here. To show you the letter.’

  ‘Really? It must be one hell of a letter.’

  She smiled as she unfolded it. ‘Let’s just say it’s puzzling.’

  ‘There’s that word again. That’s the second time you’ve used it.’

  ‘I know, but it’s the only word that fits.’

  Payne re-entered the conversation. ‘Speaking of puzzling, why us?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Obviously the letter confused you, but why come to us?’

  ‘What newspaper?’

  ‘The Philadelphia Inquirer.’

  Payne furrowed his brow. ‘I’m afraid you just lost me.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Jones seconded.

  ‘Sorry,’ she apologized, ‘I better explain. I rarely read the newspaper — it’s just too depressing to me — but yesterday at lunch I was glancing through the Philadelphia Inquirer. In the weekend section, they had an article about your recent adventures in Greece. It also mentioned your annual fundraiser. As soon as I read that, I figured this had to be fate. I honestly didn’t know where to turn, but the story gave me your names — two of the biggest experts in the field of archaeology — and where you were going to be today. I figured I couldn’t pass that up.’

  ‘We’re hardly experts in archaeology,’ Payne assured her. ‘We got lucky and stumbled onto something big. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Jones argued. ‘We flew halfway round the world and found one of the largest treasures in the history of mankind. How in the hell is that stumbling? It’s not like we tripped over a pot o’ gold in my back yard. I that would be stumbling. What we did required a certain level of expertise, and if I may be so bold, a dash of panache.’

  Payne rolled his eyes at Jones’s comment. Not because it was inaccurate — their discovery of an ancient Greek treasure had rocked the archaeological world and had filled their bank accounts with unbelievable wealth — but because Payne didn’t like to boast about his accomplishments. It didn’t matter that they had risked their lives to find an artefact that had been dubbed ‘the lost throne’ by the media, or that they had appeared on magazine covers round the globe. His grandfather had taught him about humility at a very early age, and it had left a lasting impression. About the only time he ever bragged was when he was talking trash with Jones, and that was done out of self-defence.

  ‘Although we possess expertise in some areas,’ Payne said, ‘I think it would be misleading to claim that we’re experts in archaeology. And even if we were, how does that relate to your letter? We’re certainly not experts in French.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Ashley assured them. ‘The letter wasn’t written in French.’

  ‘Hold up,’ Jones blurted. ‘You just told us it was written in French.’

  thought it was written in French. I even took it to a French teacher in my school, hoping he could translate it for me, but the best he could do was help me with a few words. Even then, it was still a struggle.’

  ‘Why? Is he a shitty teacher?’

  ‘No, the letter was written in Middle French, not modern French.’

  Payne grimaced. ‘What’s the difference?’

  Jones answered for her. ‘Middle French is an early form of the language, one that hasn’t been used in over four hundred years. As you know, all languages evolve. During the past millennium, French has undergone some radical changes. Although it’s still co
nsidered a Romance language — like Latin, Spanish, and Italian — its basic syntax has been drastically altered over the years. Word order and sentence structure are much more important than they were in the past. In addition, thousands of foreign words have entered the French lexicon, replacing older terms that were used during the Middle Ages but are now extinct.’

  ‘No wonder your friend couldn’t understand it.’

  Jones stared at Payne. ‘By the way, what were you saying about my expertise in French?’

  speak French?’

  ‘Not really, but—’

  ‘Then you’re not an expert in French.’

  Jones was tempted to defend himself, then decided against it. Instead, he turned towards Ashley and changed the subject. ‘So, the entire letter was written in Middle French?’

  ‘Not all of it,’ she said as she handed the copy to Jones. ‘That’s the weird part. As far as my friend could tell, it’s a mixture of several languages. And none of them are modern.’

  Intrigued, Jones glanced at the document and tried to read it, but quickly realized it was beyond his comprehension. ‘Damn, this thing is confusing.’ He ran his finger over the handwritten text, searching for clues of any kind. ‘I recognize a few prefixes here and there, but other than that, this letter is, well, puzzling.’

  ‘See,’ she said, laughing, ‘I told you so.’

  ‘And you’re sure you don’t know who sent it to you?’

  ‘I’m positive.’

  Jones paused in thought. ‘Would it bother you if we showed it to some linguists?’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, I was hoping…’

  ‘You were hoping, what?’

  Payne grimaced. ‘Our friends?’

  She nodded. ‘Right now your party is filled with experts from all over the world. I thought maybe you could ask some of them to help us translate the letter.’

  ‘Hold up,’ Payne said. ‘How long have you been thinking that?’

  She smiled. ‘Honestly? Ever since I read the article.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why didn’t you approach us inside the Cathedral?’

  ‘I told you, I got flustered. I wasn’t expecting everyone to be so formal. I mean, you guys are in tuxedos, and I’m wearing jeans. For some reason, I didn’t think that would go over so well.’

  ‘Like I told you before, it’s not a problem.’

  ‘Trust me,’ Jones assured her, ‘I’d rather be wearing jeans. I feel like a maître d’ in this getup.’

  She reached out and touched his sleeve. ‘Well, you look great.’

  ‘I know I do, but I feel like I should be describing the soupe du jour.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Payne said, trying to get back on task, ‘if we decided to help, what would be our

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I gave that some thought on my drive over here and came up with a good idea. During the school year, I sometimes coordinate my lesson plans with teachers from other subjects. It’s called cross-curricular teaching. I figured we could do something like that. Maybe call it an academic experiment, or a cultural riddle. You could say it’s designed to promote unity among the people of the world. I’m sure your experts would eat that up.’

  Payne smiled at the concept. It was a brilliant idea, one they could pull off with very little deception. All they needed to do was make some copies, then they could sit back and relax while some of the best academics in the world went to work. ‘What do you think, DJ?’

  ‘What do I think? I’m kind of pissed I didn’t think of it myself.’

  ‘So, you’re willing to help?’

  ‘Of course I’m willing to help. However, I’d like to make a small suggestion. I think it would be best if we compartmentalized the data. Instead of passing out the full document, I think we should attack this in much smaller chunks. Maybe break it down, line by line.’

  Ashley nodded in agreement. ‘So, what should we do first?’

  Payne glanced at his watch. ‘My event will last another two hours. The first thing we need to do is make some copies. If I remember correctly, we can do that in the Cathedral basement. Let’s go down there and figure out how to break up the document.’

  ‘Actually,’ Jones suggested, ‘why don’t Ashley and I take care of that? You should probably go back to your party. I’m sure your guests are missing you by now. The last thing we want is for everyone to leave early.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ Payne said as he helped Ashley with her coat. ‘Is that okay with you?’

  ‘Of course it’s okay. I’m just thrilled you’re willing to help. It means a lot to me.’

  The three of them walked towards the rear of the chapel. Jones led the way, followed by Ashley, then Payne. ‘As soon as we’re done,’ Jones said, ‘I’ll

  Payne nodded. ‘I’m sure they’d be willing.’

  ‘Here,’ Jones said, opening the door for Ashley, ‘let me get that for you.’

  ‘Thank you. In fact, thanks for everything. I appreciate it.’

  As she stepped into the cold night, rock salt crunched under the heels of her leather boots. She lingered on the stone steps for just a second, slowly tilting her head back to admire the falling snow as it danced in the swirling wind.

  It was a simple act, completely innocuous, but one that led to her death.

  10

  One moment she was standing there, enjoying the winter scenery. An instant later, her head erupted in a burst of pink mist.

  The gunman’s shot had been perfectly placed, just under her chin at a slight upward angle. The bullet tore through her throat, the roof of her mouth, and finally her brain, before it blew out the top of her skull and imbedded itself in the chapel door.

  Death was instantaneous and completely unexpected.

  Her heart stopped, her knees buckled, and she toppled into Jones, who managed to catch her before she hit the ground. His dress shirt, which had been crisp and white, was now stained with blood and chunks of her hair. Splatter covered his face. Despite his years of experience, a few seconds passed before his shock faded and his adrenaline surged. Once it did, Jones transformed into a MANIAC, ready to hunt down whoever was responsible for her death.

  ‘Are you hit?’ Payne screamed in the interior of the narthex.

  Jones shook his head and scrambled to his feet. Just to be sure, he probed his chest and stomach with both of his hands. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s not my blood.’

  Payne nodded in understanding. Although he had been inside the chapel when the first bullet struck, he had witnessed its impact and the carnage it caused. Unfortunately, that’s the only thing he saw. Everything else had been blocked by the door and the people in front of him.

  ‘What did you see?’ he demanded.

  Jones closed his eyes and replayed the scene in

  ‘One shooter?’

  He paused. ‘I can’t be sure.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Payne said as he slipped his hand under Jones’s jacket and stole his gun. It happened so quickly Jones barely had time to open his eyes before Payne was past him.

  ‘Not cool!’ Jones shouted. ‘Not cool at all!’

  Payne ignored him. ‘Call 911. Make sure they know I’m pursuing the suspect.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Go outside and save the janitor.’

  ‘I don’t even like the janitor.’

  ‘Save him anyway. He might have seen something.’

  Jones nodded as he pulled out his phone. ‘I’ll call you with an update.’

  The main entrance to the chapel consisted of two sets of double doors. A minute earlier, they had used the pair on the right with little success. This time he would try the left. Not only was it corpse-free, but it was slightly closer to a long row of hedges that separated the stone patio outside the chapel and the beginning of the Cathedral lawn. The evergreens were waist high and

  After taking a deep breath, Payne burst through the doors and leapt down the steps in
one mighty bound. He skidded briefly on the slick concrete but managed to keep his balance as he scurried across the patio and dived behind the bushes. With gun in hand, he scanned the immediate area, searching for threats of any kind. The only person he spotted was the janitor. He was holding his shovel in a death grip, cowering against the side of the chapel.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Payne whispered across the courtyard.

  ‘Do I look okay? I think I pissed my pants.’

  ‘Did you see the shooter?’

  The janitor’s voice trembled. ‘Some whitey in a trench coat.’

  ‘Young? Old? Short? Tall?’

  ‘I don’t know! My eyes ain’t great.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘Standing on the lawn. That’s the only reason I saw him. He was standing out there like a snowman.’

  ‘Was he alone?’

  ‘What’s with all the fucking questions?’

  ‘I don’t know! I was too busy trying to hide.’

  ‘Don’t worry. My buddy will be right out. He’ll take you to safety.’

  The janitor mumbled something else, but Payne was no longer listening. His focus had shifted to the man with the gun. Once he found him, everything else would take care of itself.

  After flipping onto his stomach, Payne pulled himself underneath the hedge by grabbing one of its lower branches. Pine needles scratched his face and their scent filled his nose, but his sole concern was surveying the lawn from the safest place possible. If he had climbed to his knees and peered over the hedge, he would have been exposed to a headshot, just like Ashley had been. But down below was a different story. Although his sightline was restricted, his exposure was minimal — unless someone crept up behind him. If that happened, he was a dead man.

  With his free hand, Payne brushed away some of the snow that blocked his view. With each additional stroke, his sightline increased until he could see halfway across the lawn. Trees, benches, and lamp posts dotted the landscape, but as far as he could see, there were no people.