Death in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 1)

by Gary Williams

  Curt added, “It’s remarkably obvious, when you think about it, although I still can’t believe I’m going to say it aloud.”

  A notion struck Scott. “You can’t be serious? Are you referring to….The Fountain of Youth legend?”

  The room was momentarily silent. “Yes, as crazy as it sounds, we have to consider the possibility, no matter how remote,” Curt said. “If our Subject X was Pinot LeFlore from the late 1500s, the timing is not long after Juan Ponce de León discovered Florida in search of the fabled Fountain of Youth in 1513 and then again came looking for it in 1521. At the time, stories of such a spring existed in many cultures around the world, and most were ultimately tied to the ‘waters of life’ in the Garden of Eden. It was said to restore youth to anyone who drinks from it.”

  “I read where the story of Ponce de León looking for the Fountain of Youth is now thought to be apocryphal,” Scott countered. “The fountain is never mentioned in his expedition journals. In fact, his name was not associated with the legend until after his death when three separate authors referred to him in various histories on the discovery of Florida between 1535 and 1575. Most scholars are now skeptical Ponce de León was actually looking for the fabled stream when he came to Florida.”

  Marvin leaned back and cocked an eyebrow when Curt finished. “As much as modern man wants to discount the existence of a Fountain of Youth, it’s been my professional experience that legends generally have some basis in fact; some shred of truth which allows them to live and flourish. Does such a place exist? Who knows? But the mounting evidence about Subject X points to something outside the laws of modern science.”

  Curt looked to Marvin. “Tell him the rest.”

  Marvin leaned into the table. “Have you ever heard of the Blue Council?”

  Scott shook his head.

  “It’s considered something of a local myth. The Blue Council is a secret society that consists of 39 members: one member for every book of the Old Testament in the Bible. It’s said their charge is to guard the Fountain of Youth. The only mention I’ve seen of their existence in print was in the book, Weird Florida, a collection of strange facts about the state published a few years ago. In it, the author interviewed a man who said he was a member of this secret society and claimed to know the true location of the fountain. The unidentified informant said that knowledge about the springs had been passed down from a family of British-Spanish descent who lived in this area long before Florida was turned over to the U.S. in 1821. As proof, the source showed census records of deceased members who had lived past the age of 110. None of the people on the list died from old age. They all died accidentally, including Juan Gomez who drowned when he was over 119 years old.”

  “Where are you guys going with all this?” Scott asked.

  “It makes one wonder why there would be a myth about a secret society if the Fountain didn’t exist in the first place,” Marvin said.

  Curt picked up the thread of the conversation. “Father En said Guillaume and Pinot LeFlore traveled south from the Jacksonville area and then became separated in 1565. Guillaume eventually made his way to Bolivia, while Pinot, it appears, was caught by the Spanish and sealed in the room at the Castillo. We know from the tombstone that Guillaume only lived until the year 1622, but Pinot apparently languished in that horrid dark room for centuries.

  “Now consider the timing. The Spanish didn’t finish building the Castillo in St. Augustine until 1695. In order for Pinot to have been sealed inside, he would have been at least 150 years old at the time he was incarcerated there, and almost 500 years old when we released him last month. It appears Pinot LeFlore did indeed discover the mythical Fountain of Youth.”

  Scott looked down at the table and pointed to the fish. “Okay, I’m going to play along with this game. What if this is the difference? Something about this fish is the catalyst which extends life for centuries.”

  Marvin replied, “That would explain why Pinot had it on him, and hid it in the gunpowder magazine while he was in there. Then he left a message on the ceiling, in French, indicating its location. Maybe he hoped Guillaume would find it one day.”

  “This is a hell of a lot of speculation based on a legend and a secret society, guys,” Scott said. “It sounds like something out of a Dan Brown novel.”

  “Yeah, but the strange part is, it all fits,” Curt said.

  “So how can we find out about the fish?” Scott asked, directing the question to Marvin.

  “It shouldn’t be that difficult.” Marvin picked up the skeleton again, appraising it from head to tail. His eyes sparkled beneath gray eyebrows. “What’s remarkable is how the teeth are attached, let alone that the skeleton has remained intact. Generally, teeth decay rapidly after death. That alone makes this quite intriguing. Of course, it may also send you to jail.”

  “Okay, Dad,” Curt said whimsically. “We know we broke the rules.”

  “Aren’t you on the City’s payroll as a historical resource?” Marvin frowned at Curt. “And you call yourself an archaeologist.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Monday, August 15, 2:13 p.m. – St. Augustine, Florida

  Marvin Sellon shuffled into a back bedroom with the fish in one hand and a bottle of drinking water in the other. He used the bedroom as an office/research room where he also kept his PC. He preferred to do his analysis of the creature in private, so he left Scott and Curt waiting in his living room.

  Scott placed a call to Kay. She and Cody had arrived safely in California, and she raved about the resort where her sister worked. Kay asked Scott if he was keeping tabs on the two hurricanes. He reluctantly admitted he had not since the early morning news. She told him that one was still expected to pass by the Florida Keys, but the other remained a threat to the east coast of Florida.

  Kay also inquired about Curt’s injured leg. Scott deflected the question as best he could without lying.

  Scott briefly spoke to Cody then said his goodbyes to his wife and son. The moment he hung up, Curt’s cell phone rang.

  ****

  “Hello?” Curt answered, after glancing at the vaguely familiar, elongated string of numbers across the phone display.

  “Señor Lohan?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Julio. I am calling from Bolivia.” Curt heard the boy sniff, and his voice broke. “One moment, please.”

  “Hola.” Now it was a female voice.

  “Hola,” Curt returned. “Is Julio okay?”

  “Si señor. He is sad about Father En. The Padre asked me to call you.”

  “What’s wrong with Father En?” Curt asked, turning to look at Scott.

  “He was attacked…beaten, señor. I am his nurse. He will not live.”

  “What happened? Who attacked him?”

  “Uno momento, señor.” Curt heard the nurse speaking in Spanish in the background. “Usted quiere hablar con él otra vez?”

  And then a response: “Si.”

  “Señor Lohan,” it was Julio again. He was struggling to maintain his composure. “Father En was attacked by two men. Americans. They want to know why you come to visit him. He told them nothing, so then they threaten to kill me.” The boy began sobbing. “He want me to call and warn you, señor. Be careful, and please say a prayer for the Father.”

  “Julio, what did they want to know about us? What did the Father tell them?”

  “I don’t know, señor. I could not hear. I have to go now. Please say a prayer.”

  “Goodbye, Julio.” Curt hung up and looked at Scott with eyes wide.

  A yelp erupted from the back of the house. “Oh, Jesus Christ!” Marvin shouted, scurrying up the hall toward them. He was dangling the fish skeleton by the tail, holding it in his hands with a tee shirt. He turned and scampered into the kitchen with a ghastly expression.

  Curt looked at Scott, and they ran after him. />
  “Marvin, what’s wrong?” Scott asked.

  Marvin pushed him aside and barreled for the cabinet where he removed an oversized green plate. He was nearly hyperventilating as he placed the fish on the plate, pulled down the oven door and threw the plate and fish inside. He closed it, turned the oven on, and set the dial to 200 degrees.

  Then he staggered out of the kitchen and into the living room where he sank onto the couch. A look of utter terror was carved into his face, and beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead.

  “What in the hell happened?” Curt asked as he and Scott reached the living room.

  “What in God’s name is that thing?!” Marvin screamed, completely flabbergasted. “Can someone please get me a drink?”

  Curt ran to the kitchen and returned with a cup of water. Marvin’s face had turned pale as he looked up at Curt then at the cup of water. “I meant a drink!”

  Scott went to Marvin’s side and knelt down. “Why did you yell? Why’s the fish in the oven? What’s wrong?”

  The professor was still laboring to breathe. He closed his eyes.

  Curt took a position to his other side. “Marvin, calm down. You’re going to have a stroke.”

  “That thing can’t be real. This is some kind of a joke, right?” Marvin’s speech remained rapid and excited. “Physiologically, it doesn’t make sense. Its skeletal structure, fin placement, and abnormal tailfin suggest it’s not an efficient swimmer. Such a creature should not have survived without evolving and adapting. Yet it obviously did survive, as if it were a raw mold. The bones are in remarkable condition, as if the creature died yesterday. Heck, it’s not dead now!”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Scott held up a hand. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

  Marvin drew in a deep breath then slowly released a long exhale. There was a lengthy pause before he continued. He was visibly shaking. “I was examining it for aberrations across the surface; anything that might provide clues as to the creature’s origin. I poured several drops of water on the spine near the tail. I swear, as crazy as I know this sounds, the water had no sooner touched the bone than it moved. Then for an instant, it made this ear-piercing sound. You guys heard it, right?!” Marvin looked wild-eyed from Scott to Curt.

  There was silence. Scott was dumbfounded. Curt’s eyebrows lifted. Then both men shook their head, no.

  “Christ, then the smell,” Marvin said. “There was a distinct odor when it…it materialized. It was a fragrance of aged fluid; musty almost.” Marvin paused. “I grabbed that shirt and dried it off. Then, as if I’d thrown the off switch, the thing stopped moving.”

  Again there was silence.

  “Marvin, what do you mean it moved?” Scott asked.

  “It moved! It wiggled its tail!”

  “Wiggled its tail?” Curt asked.

  “I swear to you, I’m telling the truth. I may be getting on in years, but I know what I saw. I don’t know what the hell you guys found, but I know what just happened.”

  Curt rose, nodding to Scott. “I’ve got to see this.”

  “No. No, no, no. Don’t do it. When it moved, I felt a presence like I’d never felt before. We’re into stuff here we can’t even begin to understand.”

  Curt looked at Marvin. He paused momentarily, thinking. He needed a way to get Marvin under control and calm the man down. “Marvin, can you get access to that Native American Indian book at Flagler College? The one donated to them last year?”

  “I...I probably can, but only onsite. They wouldn’t allow it off the premises. Why?” He paused, then, “Oh, I know what you’re doing, Curt. You’re just trying to get me out of here. You need to do what I say. Don’t experiment with that fish until we know more about it and can understand what it is.”

  “That’s exactly why we need you to go to the college. If the fish is tied to the Fountain of Youth, it may be referenced in an Indian Legend, and that library has the premiere book. I don’t have the connections you do to gain access to it.”

  Marvin’s lips were flat and firm. He eyed Curt suspiciously. “You promise to leave that fish in the oven where it will stay dry? You can’t get it wet, Curt. You have to promise me.”

  “Absolutely,” Curt nodded. “If it’s as dangerous as you said, I want no part of it.”

  Marvin went to the kitchen and returned with his car keys. “I’m warning you. Don’t do it. For once, you need to listen to me.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Monday, August 15, 2:44 p.m. – St. Augustine, Florida

  They heard Marvin start his car and back out of the driveway.

  “What do you think?” Curt said as he stood beside Scott. Both men looked through the glass of the oven door at the fish sitting quiescently on the plate.

  “I think things are getting weird.”

  “I assume you overheard my phone call before Marvin yelled.”

  “Yeah, Father En was assaulted. By whom?”

  “Julio said it was Americans.”

  “Julio would know. He reads People Magazine. Did I hear you say that these guys asked about us?”

  Curt nodded. “The whole thing is disturbing, to say the least. The nurse said Father En is not going to live.”

  Scott sighed. “That’s terrible. And on top of that, we’re now left to wonder about Marvin’s sanity.”

  Scott and Curt glanced at each other then down at their shoes to avoid further eye contact. Scott figured Marvin had to have imagined it. Maybe he had dozed off. There had to be a logical explanation. A skeleton simply could not move on its own. “Curt, could it have been a chemical reaction?”

  “Absolutely, which is why we’re going to conduct our own test.”

  “We promised Marvin.”

  “No, I promised Marvin. You didn’t make any such promise.”

  Scott looked at Curt and nodded reluctantly.

  Scott moved to the oven door, turned the interior light on, and bent down to take a look again. The small fish skeleton lay lifeless on the huge green plate. He studied it through the glass, searching for any trace of movement; anything to substantiate Marvin’s claim. As expected, not a twitch. His concern for Marvin’s sanity increased.

  “How exactly do you want to do this?” Scott asked. He stood upright, grabbing two oven mitts.

  “Deep fried with cocktail sauce,” Curt responded.

  “I’m serious.”

  “All the way.”

  Scott paused. “All the way?”

  “Look, Marvin said he sprinkled water and got a wiggle. Let’s not be tentative. Let’s soak this thing and leave no doubt.”

  Scott was hesitant. “Why not take it slow…a few drops? You know; a kind of pre-test?”

  Curt shook his head from side to side. “I want to do this and get it over with.”

  Deep down, so did Scott. He did not attempt to dissuade Curt any further.

  Curt took the oven mitts from Scott, leaned forward, and dropped the door fully open. The warmth struck him in the face. He momentarily leaned away from the heat. Curt pulled the middle rack out and reached for the plate, grasping each end firmly. He lifted, turned, and laid the plate with the fish on the counter beside the sink.

  For Scott, it was beyond the realm of reason to think this fish would do anything more than lie there when they applied water.

  The two men stood perfectly still staring at the plate. Scott was waiting on Curt to do something. Curt was obviously waiting for Scott. The absurdity of the situation struck both men simultaneously. They turned to look at each other and started laughing.

  Scott put his right hand to his forehead and then ran his fingers across his closed eyes as if to focus. He gained his composure, and spoke. “So what do we do? What’s your plan?” he asked as he opened the counter drawer and found a basting syringe among the kitchen utensils. He held the syringe up
to Curt for concurrence.

  “Not with that,” Curt said.

  “Then how?”

  “Fill the bathtub and drop the fish in the water.”

  Scott shrugged. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Hell no, but that’s never stopped me before.” Still wearing the oven mitts, Curt firmly grasped the plate and turned toward the hallway that led to the bathroom. As he spun, the small skeleton glided off the platter as if it was practically weightless and gracefully floated to the floor like a piece of notebook paper, fluttering one way and then the other in a zigzag pattern. The skeleton came to rest on the vinyl at their feet.

  “I forgot how light this thing is,” Curt said as he knelt down and, using the mitts, placed it back on the plate. Scott put a restraining hand over the top, careful not to make contact with the warm plate, and the two awkwardly made their way to the bathroom.

  Once inside, Scott cleared away the countertop and sat on the closed toilet seat lid. Curt placed the plate on the side of the sink. He bent down and turned the bathtub knob to cold. The water blasted forth, hitting the drain and splashing back up into Curt’s eyes. He shook his head as he wiped the water away.

  “No water pressure problems in this neighborhood,” Scott said.

  Curt gave him a deadpan look and reached down to stop the drain. Slowly, the water began filling the tub.

  “I assume we’re going to unceremoniously drop him in when it’s full?” Scott asked loudly.

  “You’re asking me like I’m some sort of expert,” Curt replied. “Yeah, basically I thought we’d just toss it in. How stupid are we going to feel if this thing quietly sinks to the bottom?”

  “Much better than I’ll feel if it starts swimming around,” Scott responded.

  “Good point.”

  As the water gushed from the faucet, the two men waited patiently. To the side, the remains of the fish sat quietly on the counter.