Death in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 1)

by Gary Williams

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what? Did you place him in a full tub of water?” Marvin asked excitedly.

  “Yes.”

  “Christ!”

  “And it’s still there,” Scott added.

  “What’s still there? The fish?” Marvin groaned.

  “The fish,” Curt responded.

  There was a pause in the conversation as Marvin’s mouth dropped open, and he simply stared at the two men.

  “Marvin, how attached are you to your bathroom door?” Scott asked, ending the awkward silence.

  “Why?” Marvin asked, trying to understand the question.

  “Because it’s not very attached to your house anymore,” Curt said, kicking the ground and looking away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Monday, August 15, 4:00 p.m. – St. Augustine, Florida

  After considerable debate, the three men decided to reenter Marvin’s house. Scott slowly opened the front door with Curt and Marvin close behind. They resembled Moe, Larry, and Curly, stacked fearfully one behind the other. The first bit of good news was the silence that prevailed, but the lack of any sound also made them edgy.

  “Smell that?” Marvin griped.

  Scott did. The house had the aroma of stagnant pond water.

  Once inside, they saw a layer of white, chalky dust which had settled on the furniture and floor. The air was stale and thick.

  “My God,” Marvin said softly.

  They crossed the living room and crept into the hallway. The bathroom was beyond the kitchen entryway, and the bathroom door lay on its side, resting lengthwise, propped against the inside doorjamb, partially blocking the hall.

  The three stared at the fallen door and then looked at each other.

  The men moved cautiously toward the bathroom. As they approached, the damage to the door became more visible. The long edge with the doorknob assembly had been sheared two-thirds the length of the door. The doorjamb was shredded, and splintered wood jutted out. On the other side, the mangled hinges dangled precariously in opposite directions. Where the door had slammed into the hallway wall, there was a nearly perfect hole where the doorknob had penetrated the drywall. The carpet around the doorway was littered with pieces of wood, plaster, and a thick coating of the same white dust.

  The house remained eerily silent. Upon reaching the bathroom, Scott leaned against the outside and slowly brought his head through the opening to peer in. He was prepared to retreat at any sign of movement. Curt and Marvin remained behind. Scott scanned the interior. The entire bathroom was thickly coated with white dust. The fish was nowhere in sight.

  “It’s not here,” he whispered.

  “What do you mean it’s not here?” Marvin asked excitedly.

  The windows behind the tub had been blown out, allowing in a healthy dose of sun and air. The focused beams of light illuminated the dust particles floating in the air. The medicine cabinet mirror to the left of the sink had shattered, and fine fragments of glass lay just beneath the dust as pieces caught the glint of sunlight. Countertop items were strewn about, with some in the sink and some on the floor. The toilet paper roll, which Scott remembered being new, was gone, and the cardboard holder was singed. The green ceramic plate, which had held the fish, was partly embedded in the drywall just above the towel rack opposite the sink. It appeared completely intact. The water had drained from the tub.

  Then Scott saw it.

  The skeleton of the fish was lying motionless between the toilet and the tub, a lifeless formation of interconnected bones. It was coated with a small amount of the dust.

  “I see it,” Scott said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “What’s it doing?” Curt asked, drawing beside Scott. “Is it still in the tub?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s not in the tub?” Marvin asked in a loud whisper.

  “Calm down,” Scott said.

  “Dammit,” Marvin said, pushing by both Scott and Curt. “You two owe me a new bathroom. I told you to believe me, but no. You had to see for yourself.” Marvin caught sight of the inside and inhaled audibly. “Whoa! Do you see what this thing did?” he said in awe.

  Curt cautiously stepped over the door and retrieved the fish. His shoes crunched the debris on the floor. Scott wrenched the plate from the wall, and Curt placed the small skeleton on it. Marvin continued to stare at the remains of his bathroom as the men passed him on their way to the kitchen, where they returned the fish to the oven. Curt turned the dial to bake. The temperature was still set at 200 degrees.

  Curt bent down, flipped the light switch on, and looked at the creature through the window. Marvin returned from the bathroom shaking his head in disgust. The professor walked to the refrigerator and grabbed a diet soda from the second shelf. Scott knelt beside Curt and looked at the dial setting. He reached up and rotated the temperature to 300 degrees.

  Marvin took several manly gulps. He recapped the bottle and placed it back in the refrigerator then strolled toward the oven and stopped, standing over Scott and Curt looking through the glass at the small skeleton.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he leaned between the two and cranked the dial to 500 degrees.

  ****

  “What have you guys found?” Marvin said as he plopped down on the dust-covered couch and raised his feet to rest on the coffee table. “That fish is nothing I can even begin to describe.”

  “Curt,” Scott said taking a chair to the side. “Did you see the fish when it hit the water?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because it did a hell of a lot more than even Marvin told us. The moment it came in contact with the water…and this is really going to sound crazy…flesh and scales formed over the skeleton.”

  Curt rubbed his chin with a cringe. He turned to Marvin. “Did you come up with anything that could possibly explain what we’re dealing with?”

  Marvin was staring at Scott, mouth open in fly-catching mode. He was obviously struggling to digest Scott’s claim.

  “Marvin!” Curt said.

  Marvin absently reached for the folder on the coffee table. “Look at this.”

  Curt opened the folder. There was a single photocopied page inside.

  “Where’d you get this?” Curt asked.

  Marvin was still staring at Scott with eyes wide.

  “Yo, Earth to Marvin!” Curt said.

  Marvin snapped to attention. “I got this from the book on Indian Legends. Look familiar?”

  Curt eyed the page for a moment. Then he turned the picture to Scott. “Is this what you saw?”

  Scott stared at the image and shivered visibly. It was exactly as he had seen the fish when it materialized into a living creature, complete with those ominous teeth and strange eyes. “Yes.” He swallowed hard.

  Marvin spoke. “The Fish, and it was referred to in the text with a capital ‘F,’ as if it was the name of a person or deity, was not specifically linked to the Fountain of Youth legend, but was mentioned by the Mocaw Indians in Florida as a one-of-a-kind, magical creature. Interestingly, it appears the Indians didn’t know about the Fish until just before the Spanish and French occupation of Florida in the 1500s.”

  “Did the book say what this magical creature did?”

  “There were two vague lines. The text mentioned the Fish was given to the elder to assist man and creatures. Also, that it could calm the waters.”

  “What does that mean?” Scott asked.

  Marvin only shrugged in response.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Tuesday, August 16, 8:18 a.m. – St. Augustine, Florida

  Curt brought the carafe of coffee to the kitchen table and poured Scott another cup. Scott had elected not to make the drive back to Jacksonville the previous night, opting instead to sleep in Curt’s spare bedroom; although sleep was a relative term. After wh
at they witnessed the day before, neither man had rested much.

  Scott was to give a lecture at the business conference in Jacksonville at 3 p.m. Until then, Curt suggested they use the time to come up with a strategy on what to do with the Fish at Marvin’s house. They would have to concoct a way to reveal its discovery to Dr. Travis Peklis of the National Parks Service in such a manner that he would not have them thrown in jail for tampering with a national monument. It was important that the Fish underwent extensive research as soon as possible, not only to determine its origin and abilities, but also to contain any further danger it might pose. Whether it was extraterrestrial was still to be determined; the fact it was supernatural could not be ignored.

  A knock at Curt’s front door interrupted their conversation. Curt answered and was surprised to see the alluring figure of Sherri Falco standing before him. She was dressed casually in blue jeans and a white tank top holding the hand of her daughter, Tina, who was leaning into her side. Sherri had her hair in a ponytail. She brushed a long red strand out of her eyes and offered an anxious smile. “I know this is unexpected, but may we come in?”

  “Certainly,” Curt said, unable to suppress his surprise. He widened the door, and the two stepped inside.

  “I like your frog,” Tina smiled, pointing back to the squat stone statue on the porch next to his door.

  “Thanks,” Curt smiled. “It’s all I got in the divorce.” He noticed the little girl’s wrist. “And I like your bracelet.”

  “Thank you,” she said cordially, looking down and fidgeting with the stainless steel bracelet. “Ms. Coy gave it to me.”

  “Ms. Coy is her babysitter, who happens to be sick today,” Sherri said.

  Scott waved to them from the kitchen table at the far end of the living room as they entered.

  “Sherri, you remember my friend Scott from the airport?” Curt said.

  Sherri waved and offered a pleasant but somewhat preoccupied smile. She then turned back to Curt. “I’m sorry to interrupt you like this. I know your only role is to be my historical resource, but I didn’t know who else to go to. I don’t have any friends in the area.”

  Curt saw the discouragement and distraction in her eyes. “Have a seat,” he said, ushering them to the couch. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? How about you, Tina?”

  “No thanks,” Sherri responded with a brittle smile.

  “What can I help you with?” Curt asked as he took a seat beside Sherri.

  “I apologize in advance for coming to you with this, as it’s a personal matter, but I can’t reach my uncle in Ponte Vedra. We had dinner Sunday night, and I tried all last night to call him at his house, and again this morning. I’m worried.”

  “Have you tried his cell phone?” Curt asked.

  “He’s not answering that either.”

  “Um, not sure what I can do, Sherri. Have you contacted the police?”

  “Yes, but they don’t act on missing persons until after 24 hours unless foul play is suspected.” Sherri paused. The next words were a struggle. “Would you mind going with us to my uncle’s house to check on him? When we get there, I need someone to wait in the car with Tina. You know, just in case something…”

  Curt understood. In the event something tragic had happened to her uncle, Sherri did not want her daughter to witness it.

  “I can do better than that,” Curt said as he stared into her dazzling green eyes. “Scott and I will both come.” He turned toward the kitchen table. “Scott?”

  “Sure.”

  ****

  Curt drove them in his Mustang. Scott and Tina sat in the back seat. Sherri gave Tina her iPod, and the little girl happily listened to music.

  After thanking them several times for their help and making a feeble attempt at small talk, Sherri became subdued, quietly watching the beachside homes whizzing past as they moved swiftly north along A1A. It was an overcast morning, and the wind gusted in strong bursts off the ocean. Curt could tell she was deeply troubled.

  “So what’s your uncle do? Ponte Vedra Beach is a nice area,” Curt asked.

  “Uncle Sydney is a retired architect. Lately, he’s been doing some consulting work with the City of St. Augustine.”

  “Sydney? Sydney Couperin?”

  She nodded.

  “Small world. I’ve met the man. He does advisory work on the reconstruction and reconditioning of historical structures in town, which sometimes intersects with my archaeological work. Your maiden name is Couperin?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a true French name.”

  “My grandparents were born in Versailles. They came to the United States before my parents were born.”

  “Do you speak the language?”

  “I picked some of it up from my grandparents. As a child, I wasn’t bad. It’s been a while since I tried.”

  Sherri turned stoic again as she gazed out her side window.

  “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you seem maudlin, as if you expect something bad has happened to him. Is he in failing health?”

  She turned to Curt. She drew in a deep breath and released a long, pondering exhale, as if considering her words carefully. Sherri glanced at Tina to make sure she was not listening. “He left a message on my hotel phone while Tina and I were out to dinner last night. It was…strange.” She paused. “I don’t mean for you to be involved, Curt.”

  “Hey, you said yourself you don’t have any friends here. Now you do. What did Sydney say?”

  “It was a warning. He said that he was very concerned for my safety. He also said if he disappeared, I’d know where to look for answers.”

  “Okay,” Curt said with raised eyebrows. “I have to admit, that is ominous. And you haven’t talked to him since?”

  Sherri shook her head, no.

  “Do you know what he meant when he said you’d know where to look for answers?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Sherri, I can understand why you’re worried. Let’s get to Sydney’s, find the man, and get to the bottom of his message. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds.” Curt sought to change the subject to get her mind off things. “You’re from New Jersey? Funny, but you don’t strike me as a northerner.”

  “That’s because I’m not,” she said, brushing a bang away. “I was born and raised in Florida.”

  “I knew it,” Curt smiled. “I can always tell a Florida girl.”

  “Are you a local?”

  “As local as they come. Scott and I both grew up in Jacksonville. Attended the same high school, which is where we met.”

  “How’d you get into archaeology?”

  “It was a lifelong dream. As teenagers, on the weekends, Scott and I would drive to the Fort Caroline National Monument area on the St. Johns River. At the time, new residential areas were being prepared, and earth was turned over before the start of construction. The crews didn’t work on the weekends, so we’d walk the grounds and find Timucuan Indian arrowheads and pottery shards which had been brought to the surface. It always gave me a unique satisfaction to hold an object from the past; something that had been in the hands of people long since gone. Most people don’t understand the appeal.”

  “Curt chose to make his love a profession,” Scott chimed in. “I chose to make a living.”

  Curt chuckled. “Yeah, it’s not the most lucrative profession, I have to admit.”

  “That bad?” Sherri asked.

  “Until two years ago, I had spent the prior eight years in the employment of a cultural resource management company called Ysluk, Inc. The company took on salvage contracts for urban development expansions. Excavations, my true passion, were few and far between at Ysluk. I also had some ethical disputes with top management, who were more concerned with turning a dime than with true archaeology. I eventually resigned and struck out o
n my own, contracting with governmental organizations such as military bases and national parks to assist with the maintenance of public cultural resources. Competition was extremely fierce. I was barely getting by until this most recent assignment with St. Augustine.”

  “I understand,” Sherri nodded. “I lost a major client just last week. I thought I was going to be released. You can imagine my surprise and relief when I got this assignment.”

  “Well, despite our rocky start, I’m glad you’re here, too,” Curt said.

  She offered a wan smile, then turned back to stare out the window.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tuesday, August 16, 10:02 a.m. – Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida

  Curt cut the Mustang right onto Shackle Avenue and came to a halt at the stop sign at the intersection of Turner Street, one block from the ocean. Sydney’s house sat across the way on the opposite corner.

  “That’s his car,” Sherri said, pointing to the Acura in the driveway. “That’s the one he drove to the restaurant the other night.”

  “Does he have another car?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Curt cut across the intersection, and parked along the grass next to a chain-link fence. The gate was wide open.

  The beach was visible at the end of the street. Across the distant ocean surface, a cloudbank blanketed the horizon ominously. Over the vast expanse, short whitecaps trembled beyond the churning breakers.

  Curt turned to Scott in the backseat. “Do you mind waiting with Tina?”

  “Not at all. Just leave the car running and the air conditioner on.”

  Curt and Sherri climbed out of the car, and she led him through the gate toward the back of the house. The sea breeze swelled and met them head on, thrusting the smell of salt air into their nostrils. Even so, the August heat was ever-present.

  Curt surveyed the back yard. The lawn was in an irreversible state. The warm air, combined with the salt spray from the ocean, had left the grounds a virtual desert.