Robbed of Soul: Legends of Treasure Book 1

by Lois D. Brown

  Rod pounded his hands onto the steering wheel. “But you should tell people about stuff like this. It’s dangerous. I could have done—”

  “What, Rod?” Maria’s voice rose higher, even though she told herself to keep calm. “What could you have done? Call the police? Because guess what? I am the police. So don’t start treating me like I can’t handle a stupid note on my windshield. I admit I’ve had a hard week. A few hard weeks, actually. To be perfectly honest, the last two years of my life have sucked. But I am fine. I’m totally fine. And I’m always going to be just fine doing things the way I do them. I’m fine. Fine. Fine. I don’t need anybody!”

  The quiet was as loud as it was in her cell in Tehran. It was the kind of quiet she hated.

  Rod clenched his hands into fists and then released them. He did it a few more times until his breath steadied. “Okay, there are a couple of things going on here. First, you believe Tara wrote the threatening note to you. But I don’t understand why you think that.”

  Exasperated, Maria corrected him. “I don’t believe Tara wrote both the notes or not. My point was that the exact phrase ‘get out of this town’ was in both letters. That’s all.”

  “But that’s such a common phrase, and I can’t imagine …” Rod shook his head and flipped the keychain that dangled out of the ignition. “Second of all, I thought the two of us were becoming … close … and people who are … close … tell each other about threatening notes they receive. Am I not correct?”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.” Maria wasn’t used to “checking in” with someone. That was the part about living on her own she’d always loved.

  “Someone tried to run you off the road and then you get a nasty letter telling you to leave town. Those are both big deals.”

  “In my world they’re not.” Maria would never apologize for not spilling her guts every time she scraped her knee. If Rod was looking for that in a woman, then he should move on.

  “Fine, the death threats are a non-issue … to you.” Rod swallowed. “But to accuse Tara of doing them is ludicrous. The woman couldn’t hurt a flea. Or even threaten one. I know you two didn’t get off on the best foot, but that’s probably my fault. She really has some great qualities. You should get to know her better.”

  The logical side of Maria’s brain insisted that Rod wasn’t defending Tara because he was in love with her. Maria’s emotional side, however, argued the exact opposite. He’s still got a thing for her. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t care. He’s playing you, girl. Get out while you can.

  Maria’s “fun” Saturday outing was turning out to be not so much fun after all. “Rod, I’m not sure of anything at this point. With your permission, I will take both Tara’s letter to you as well as the threat I got to a few handwriting experts and see what they say. What do you think?”

  Rod grabbed the love letter from Tara and ripped off the top two inches where the words “My Dearest Rodney” were written. He handed the rest of it back to Maria. “You have my permission.”

  *

  The rest of the drive to Three Lakes was nothing short of miserable. Rod stared straight ahead and Maria looked out the passenger window, as if the scenery was so mesmerizing she couldn’t take her eyes off of it.

  Rod had a key to the chain link fence that surrounded the main access to the lakes, which were not much larger than oversized ponds. He used the key to let them through the fence and then parked the Montero next to one of the red rock cliffs. Up close, the water looked less murky than it did from the road, but it was still no crystal clear mountain lake either. Clumps of algae floated on top, and only someone who was color blind would ever consider describing the water as blue.

  A hefty metal cable, attached to the side of an adjoining cliff that had a ledge sticking out from it as if it were a diving board, stretched at a downward angle over one of the lakes. It descended until it ran through a group of trees where it leveled off and ended.

  “It’s a zip line,” said Rod, who had noticed Maria looking at the contraption. “A very fun one, as a matter of fact.” The frustration from their earlier conversation seeped through his words. “My uncle said he’d meet us—”

  Just then a small group of people exited from the door to the motor home Maria had seen parked at Three Lakes ever since she’d moved to town. In the group were Rod’s uncle Rex, Ryker, Jim, and … Tara.

  “What’s she doing here?” grumbled Rod.

  “Great,” muttered Maria. It was looking like the day wasn’t going to get any better very soon.

  The first diver went down, and he got back there sixty feet and he started screaming his head off over the intercom “Get me out! Get me out! There are eerie figures all around me. I’m being choked. I can’t breathe. Get me out!”

  –Range Magazine. “Montezuma’s Revenge” by Richard Menzies, Fall Issue 1998.

  Chapter 25

  THE GROUP GATHERED AROUND a picnic table set up under the shade of a tall family of quaking aspen trees. Fifty feet further north was the trailhead. As it turned out, Tara had bumped into Ryker at the local café, when he was getting his morning coffee. They’d got to talking, and Tara had convinced him that as the director of tourism she should accompany such a prestigious academic dignitary to Three Lakes.

  Uncle Rex, dressed in his denim overalls and cowboy boots, hadn’t seemed to mind the extra company. In fact, he loved the attention. As he retold the story of finding the Aztec petroglyph and of the subsequent “cursed” dives into the lake, his arms became animated, waving back and forth like he was hoping to take flight.

  “Rod was there, weren’t you, son?” Uncle Rex asked.

  “I was.”

  “You know what I mean, then. There is something in that water watching over the caves. And that something wanted us out of the lake. Course, when we’re not diving for the gold the ghosts leave us alone just fine. But anyone who’s here for the gold, well, they’d better beware.”

  Tara rolled her eyes. She was turned so Rod’s uncle couldn’t see her, but Maria could. “It’s just a self-fulfilling prophecy if you ask me, Rex. The dives went badly because you all thought they would.”

  Uncle Rex looked at her. “And who might you be again?”

  It was an awkward question, but the flirty director of tourism didn’t seem to mind. “Tara? Tara Crane. Rod and I are … good friends. Aren’t we Rod?”

  Without much enthusiasm, Rod agreed.

  Undeterred from his opinion, Uncle Rex’s chin wobbled as he described to Tara the bruising he’d seen around one of the diver’s necks. “I saw it with my own eyes. Another one of the divers had been beaten with a spear.”

  Tara didn’t appear convinced, but at least she had the good manners to back off her mocking of the elderly gentleman. She was a guest on his land.

  “Are you guys ready to go up and take a look at the water trap petroglyph? It doesn’t take too long to get there, but I’d like to get back before the heat really sets in. I’m getting too old for this kind of stuff anymore,” Rod’s uncle said.

  Everyone heartily welcomed the invite, and Uncle Rex walked them to the trail base. “We’ll follow this path about a quarter of a mile up and then make a sharp turn heading east. We’ll see the glyph way up there on that ledge.” He pointed to a looming canyon wall decorated on top with juniper and spruce trees.

  As the group set out, everyone paired up without actually trying to. Rex and Ryker in front, followed by Rod and Tara second; Jim and Maria drew up the end of the party. As usual, Jim had hardly said two words. But his eyes spoke for him. His irises were large, his gaze intense, and his mouth clenched. Something, or someone, was bothering him.

  Watching Tara repeatedly stumble on the path, which then caused her to bump into Rod’s steady shoulder, drove Maria insane. What she really wanted to do, instead of hiking to another petroglyph, was to take a ride on the zip line she’d seen earlier. The fight with Rod had created a lot of pent up adrenaline. The zip line would be a great way to use it u
p.

  “Rex,” she asked from the back of the group, “does your zip line still work? It looks like the best way to get there is along the bottom half of this same trail.”

  “Oh yes, it works,” he called back. “People use it all the time. You just need to hold on tight to the grip and be careful at the bottom to jump off if you think you’re coming in too fast. If you do fall, you should be fine. You’ll just get wet in the lake. I haven’t had anyone die yet.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “I’d like to try it out. I could meet you on top of the ridge in a few minutes. I’m sort of an adrenaline junkie, and it looks like a good rush.”

  “Don’t mind at all,” Rod’s uncle answered.

  As the group headed east, Maria turned and hiked westward, to the diving board ledge where the zip line began. It probably wasn’t more than thirty-five feet in the air, though from the top the height seemed greater.

  The zip line grip consisted of black handlebars that looked like they’d been hijacked from an old bicycle. Nothing about the zip line looked professionally engineered, which made the thought of trying it even better. More of a risk. More adrenaline.

  She grabbed the handlebar tightly with both hands and pushed off the ledge. The desert air turned cool as it hurried past her cheeks and forehead. The quiet sound of the canyon was interrupted for a moment with a car’s roaring engine on the highway, which was only several hundred yards from where Maria flew through the air.

  The excitement of the initial take off had waned. Now, the contentment of flying settled in, and Maria looked around at the rustic rock formations created over billions of years. They were spectacular.

  Something pinched her fingers. At first she ignored it. Her grip was strong and it only had to hold her another twenty seconds or so. However, a sharp pain in both of her index fingers forced her to look up.

  There, balanced on one of the handlebars was a stout, chubby, naked Aztec soldier with a golden armband around one bicep. This was not Maria’s Aztec ghost. The sneer on his face made that clear. Horrified, Maria realized the pain she was sensing was coming from the ghost prying her hands off of the handle.

  “No,” she screamed. “Stop it.”

  The ghost laughed. It was a rancid squeal, not a belly chuckle like Maria envisioned most men his size made. But more importantly, why was he trying to get her hands off of the handle? Maria looked down and saw the deepest part of the swampy lake below her.

  She tried to squeeze the finger indentations on the old bike handle even harder, but no matter what she tried, her fingers were losing their grip. First her index fingers were off the bar, next both middle fingers. Her ring fingers and pinkies didn’t have the strength to hold her body, and she dropped down, gravity taking her quickly and effectively into the middle of the greenish lake.

  “Ahhh!” Water splashed around her. Thankfully, the entry into the lake had been painless. She’d made sure to keep her legs down and straight, avoiding the regrettable belly flop.

  Her body sank deep into the water. A blast of cold enveloped her. The further she fell, the chillier it became. The muscles in her lungs were the first to seize. Next it was her abdomen. The cold pressed in and her mind immediately thought of the sun-warmed sand on the shore. It would feel wonderful once she returned to the surface and got out of this frigid water.

  Her legs kicked forcefully as she used her arms to push herself upward. Before her face could break the surface, however, where she could renew her oxygen supply, a strong grip pulled her back down into the deep. Maria opened her eyes and looked down.

  The Aztec ghost she’d encountered on the zip line had his hand cinched around her ankle. The figure didn’t swim, but he stood in the water, as if land or lake made no difference. He appeared even larger. Water-logged. A creature from some low-budget Sci-Fi Channel original.

  Maria fought back, pushing and kicking with her free leg, but nothing fazed her captor. She couldn’t “talk back” to this ghost, because words were useless underwater. Besides that, this ghost had substance. She felt him just as she had felt Acalan. This “thing” that held fast to her leg wasn’t going anywhere. He had one plan in mind, and that was to drown her.

  He was succeeding. Maria’s lungs were on fire. She had kept her airways closed, not wanting to take in water. But now her mind begged her to open them. Begged her for oxygen.

  Maria’s racing thoughts slowed. Her need for survival subdued. Her arms felt heavy. She had legs made out of lead. All it would take was for her to open her mouth, to let the water rush inside, and the discomfort would go away. Everything would disappear. Her memories of Tehran. The ghosts that haunted her. And the beating of her heart.

  Another diver went down and had the same experience. The divers left and returned in two weeks. They experienced the same choking sensation in the tunnel and had to be pulled up. The diving crew did not dive in the lake anymore.

  —Southern Utah News, June 27, 1990.

  Chapter 26

  SOMETHING OR SOMEONE GROPED her shoulders. Direction had no meaning. There was no up or down. Only the sense of dizziness. The earth spun around her.

  Hands in her armpits. Pulling. Hoisting.

  Light.

  Sound.

  And air.

  *

  The rush of the emergency room confused her. A mental haziness from the loss of oxygen lingered, making the beeping of machines and hustle of footsteps a jumbled mass of turbulence. Maria held to the arm at her side, pulling strength from it. Rod led her gently through the next set of sliding doors and helped her onto the examination table.

  Maria had refused to let him carry her, even though her leg, where the ghost had gripped her, throbbed. Blood oozed out of a laceration near her ankle, soaking the hem of her pants, socks, and shoes. Rod had tied a towel around it, trying to stop the bleeding. Maria couldn’t remember how the deep cut had gotten there. She remembered nothing else but wanting to breathe so badly it hurt.

  But the proof was on her leg. Bruising, welts, and a deep gash showed something had restrained her in the water. Something had wanted her dead.

  The entire group from Three Lakes had accompanied her into the small-town hospital. Uncle Rex, Ryker, Jim, Tara and Rod crowded the cramped triage room, but none of them left. Each stayed out of concern or curiosity.

  In the case of Tara, it was the latter.

  “So what was it? An alligator maybe? I didn’t think they lived around here. This is certainly not going to do a lot for increasing tourism, I’m afraid. I don’t suppose we could keep the whole affair under wraps. First a murder and now an alligator attack. Someone’s not making my job very easy.” Tara looked accusingly at Maria.

  “It wasn’t an alligator,” said Rod, stern faced. Protectively, he kept his hand next to Maria, ready to steady her if the dizziness got to be too much.

  Maria admitted it. She was in shock. Her hands were clammy and she’d seen her face in a mirror in the hospital admitting area. She was white, which for her tanned complexion was no small feat.

  Surprisingly, on Maria’s other side stood Jim, attentive and visibly troubled. “I’ve never seen one so angry,” he said, looking down at her injured leg. “But they were a violent people, different from the tribes up north.”

  “Who is they?” asked Tara. She stared at him as if it was the first time she’d realized he was present.

  Rod answered. “The Aztec.” Turning to Maria he asked, “Was it just one or a group of them?”

  “Oh, come on,” sputtered Tara. “I thought you’d finally grown out of that nonsense, Rod. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, there are no such things as ghosts.”

  Maria looked at Rod, ignoring Tara altogether. “I just saw one Aztec. He was large. And strong. And evil. Not like the one in the cave.” Maria shuddered, remembering the way the ghost’s hand felt on her leg. She had always assumed her ghosts couldn’t hurt her. Then again, she’d always assumed her ghosts weren’t real, but there was no denyin
g what had happened.

  Maria nearly laughed thinking about what Dr. Roberts, her psychologist, would have to say about this. In his ever-so-not-alarmed voice, he’d say she’d probably reached down in the water, self-inflicted the injuries on her leg, and then held her breath until someone saved her. Why on earth she would do that, however, was a mystery, and one they should delve into on further visits.

  Commotion from outside the triage room interrupted Maria’s thoughts. Sherrie Mercer was in the lobby, insisting she needed to go back and see Maria.

  “We can’t let you back there,” argued the woman who had checked Maria into the hospital. “Haven’t you ever heard of the HIPAA Privacy Act? I thought you reporters were all over that kind of stuff.”

  “But I’m not here as a journalist. I’m here as a friend,” insisted Sherrie.

  “Oh bother,” said Tara. “I guess it’s up to me to do damage control” Then, perhaps realizing her complete lack of empathy, she turned to Maria and said, “Get better soon. We need you to find the mayor’s killer so we can get all of this behind us.”

  With Tara gone, the number of people seemed to decrease by half. It was amazing how much space one single, obnoxious woman could take up.

  A nurse came in, examined Maria, and said she thought an IV was in order. Her pulse and blood pressure were dangerously high, and her symptoms of shock were not dissipating as quickly as they had hoped they would. Next, a doctor arrived, armed with a needle and thread. He numbed her injured leg and began stitching. His hands were steady and sure, and he spoke very little. For all of which, Maria was immensely grateful.

  Exhaustion lulled her into a zombie-like state. She closed her eyes and drifted into the gray that guarded wake from sleep. Relaxing was so much easier when she wasn’t alone in bed with her fears to keep her awake. The general bustle of the hospital kept thoughts from seeping into her overactive brain. And, without meaning to, her mind detached from the pain in her leg and she fell into slumber.