Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

by Marjorie Thelen

  She sprang up and brushed off, shivering in spite of the warm evening. The sun was setting. Dark shadows gathered. She rubbed her arms to quell the gooseflesh. She heard sounds that weren’t there during the day when she was working – odd rustles, shuffling noises in the foliage. The sudden screech of a bird made her jump. She searched in her vest for a flashlight.

  Of course, she didn’t believe in ghosts, but if there ever were a time and place, this was it. Millennia of ancient souls, angry that their sacred site was disturbed, seemed to hover in the air. She was doing a good job of scaring herself. She was a scientist, after all. She had to pull herself together.

  She switched on the flashlight and searched further down the path, looking for anything that didn’t fit the landscape. Something the police might have overlooked. At the bottom of the path, perhaps too far from the sight to be significant, the beam of the flashlight picked up something shiny. Probably just a silver candy wrapper from a careless tourist, but Elena stooped to look.

  It wasn’t a wrapper. It was a medal, a religious medal, the kind Roman Catholics wore. She drew a tissue from her vest pocket and picked it up. The figure was worn, but she recognized St. Jude, patron saint of lost souls. Her grandmother used to wear one. This one had no chain, the hole worn through from many years of wear. Probably nothing. It might be from a tourist and had nothing to do with the murder. Elena carefully wrapped it in the tissue and put it in a vest pocket, intending to examine it better when she got back to her room.

  A lone bird whistled in the gloom of the evening. She debated whether to camp out in the ruins. She had a few snacks with her and a water bottle. The night was warm. She could find a comfortable niche somewhere.

  The snap of a twig changed her mind.

  She switched off the light, shrank back into the brush and crouched, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark of the night. Minutes passed. Leaves rustled, this time closer. Maybe it was a small night creature foraging for food. She shrank against the rough bark of a tree.

  Then she saw it. The outline of a figure, gray, luminous. It was so short, she thought it must be a small animal. But the outline was human, a man, muscular with some sort of a headdress.

  No, she thought, I’m not seeing a ghost and a Mayan warrior ghost at that. It walked, more like floated up the path. But if it were a ghost, why had the leaves rustled and twigs snapped? She watched the mirage, some trick of her imagination. She blinked fast, trying to clear her vision. He was still there, short, almost a dwarf. But people back then, a thousand years ago were short. He carried something in his hand.

  An axe.

  She blinked her eyes, rubbed them, tried to refocus. The figure strode up the path with a stomping gait, heading toward the site of the murder. He paused, looked around then continued upward, disappearing into the building at the top of the pyramid. No, she wouldn’t be spending the night here. She took off running down the path, back to civilization, safety, and sanity.

  Maybe.

  * * * * *

  A truck had arrived that day with a shipment of medical supplies badly needed in the clinic. Two exam tables came along with a sterilizer, cabinets and supplies – bandages, medicines, tongue depressors, hypodermic needles and more. Dominic had set up the exam tables, one in each of two rooms at the back of the clinic.

  Little Gordo rested on one of the tables after a thorough exam by Corazón. Dominic had bathed him in the narrow bathroom in the clinic. The boy was so weak he hadn’t protest the scrubbing. Corazón had found a clean T-shirt from their supply of donated clothing and a pair of shorts a little big but serviceable. She had checked his head for lice, exclaiming over what a miracle it was this child had none, and had given him a pill to calm his digestive system.

  “These children need to be in a home,” she said. “Why they do not stay at the Catholic relief house, I do not understand.”

  Dominic understood. These boys were wild things, unable to live life penned up in an institution, preferring the life of a vagabond to life confined with rules and regulations. Because circumstances forced them into petty thievery, they feared incarceration if they were caught.

  He finished for the day and checked on Gordo in the exam room to see if he were awake. The boy was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, scrutinizing the room.

  “Feeling better?” asked Dominic, not turning on the bare light bulb in the exam room, but depending on the light from the waiting area to see.

  “Sí mucho mejor,” said the boy. “Hay de comer?”

  Dominic smiled. It was a good sign the boy wanted something to eat. “You may have some chamomile tea and crackers until your stomach feels better.”

  He boiled water for tea on the single burner plate in the tiny kitchen of the clinic. A small refrigerator for perishable drugs, a sink and a cabinet rounded out what there was of the kitchen. Dominic found a box of crackers, stirred a generous helping of sugar into the cup of tea, and took the small repast to the boy.

  Gordo looked at the crackers, his dark eyes wide.

  “Gracias,” he said and gobbled the crackers two at a time, chewing with his mouth open.

  “Here’s the tea. Sip it with the crackers. I’ll be back.”

  He wanted to talk to Corazón. The boy couldn’t stay alone in the clinic overnight. They discussed taking him to the Catholic relief house for the evening and decided this was best solution. Dominic would drive the boy to the house to see if the nuns had room for him.

  Gordo finished the tea and every last cracker crumb. Dominic explained where he was taking him.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “You can stay there until you are better. You can’t spend the night under the bridge.”

  Gordo didn’t seem convinced, but he had no other choice.

  At the relief house, the nun, Sister Rita, looked the boy over, asked about lice and fleas. Her tone of voice was without humor. She wore no habit other than a scarf on her head. Deep lines etched a thin face.

  She sighed and said, “We are full, but I can fix him a pallet for the night.”

  Dominic would have wished her demeanor less stern in dealing with a frightened child, but perhaps her task was too overwhelming to understand. He thanked her, and she blessed him.

  “I will check on you in the morning, Gordo. You better be here when I return.” He ruffled the boy’s hair.

  Gordo looked up with solemn black eyes and said nothing. The nun took the boy’s hand and led him away. Gordo shuffled beside her without looking back.

  Watching him go, Dominic felt like he had abandoned the little guy. Confound it, he couldn’t help there were so many homeless children in the world, now could he? He couldn’t very well take every orphan he encountered home with him.

  He got in the Jeep and shoved it into gear. He’d take one last pass at the bridge to see if Flaco had by some miracle returned for the night. By this time it was dark. A waxing moon hung in a sky painted with a thousand stars. As he approached the bridge he saw a bobbing spot of light in the distance. Someone walking, no, more like running with a light of some kind, judging by the way the beam jumped around.

  He slowed down to see if there was trouble. The figure of a woman appeared in the high beams. At this time of night? Alone? Dominic peered harder into the gloom. His eyes did not deceive him. It was Elena, running like the devil himself were in pursuit.

  She put her hand over her eyes to shield against the glare of the headlights, and he switched them off. He pulled alongside, and she kept running.

  “Elena,” he shouted.

  She stopped past the Jeep.

  “Who is it?” she said between gasps.

  “Dominic. It’s me, Dominic. Why are you out for a run at this time of night?”

  Her slim outline drew closer to the driver’s side.

  “Give me a minute.” She bent over, trying to catch her breath.

  “You okay? Want a ride?”

  “I ran from the Park,” she said and leaned against the side of
the vehicle. “I guess I’m a little out of shape.”

  Not that he could see, thought Dominic.

  He fumbled behind his seat for a bottle of water. “Here, you look like you could use this.”

  “Thanks,” she said and took a few sips. She fanned her face with her hat. “Boy, that was some run.”

  “I’d say, by the look of you. I’ll pull off so you can get in. I came to check under the bridge for Flaco. He wasn’t here this morning, so I wanted to check tonight.”

  She moved away. He pulled to the side of the road, found his flashlight and got out. “Jump in. This will only take a minute.”

  He returned before long and climbed in beside her. “Not a soul. This morning there was a sick boy, and I took him back to the clinic to get some help.”

  “I looked for Flaco today, too, out among the ruins, but I found not a trace. I hope nothing has happened to him.”

  “Me, either. He could be lying in a ditch somewhere hurt, and we’d never find him. No one would care if he’s gone.”

  He started the engine and backed around, heading toward town.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

  “I was at the ruins, trying to see what I could discover.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Yes, something real interesting.”

  She didn’t continue at first, and he sensed reluctance on her part. He waited, wondering whether it had to do with the boy.

  Then she said, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Dominic laughed. “Maybe. There certainly are enough haunted places around. I’ve never seen one myself. Why? Have you? You were running like you had.”

  “I think I did. Out by the site where the man was murdered. I was looking for clues, trying to see if there may have been anything overlooked. I heard a noise and out of nowhere a weird sort of gray thing materialized in the form of a Mayan warrior like you see on the stellae. He was real small and he had an axe in hand, like he was going to use it.”

  They approached the outskirts of Copan Ruinas where the first block with sidewalks appeared. Dominic pulled over.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I’m a scientist, and I don’t believe in this sort of thing. But I can’t refute what I saw with my own two eyes.” She poked at her eyes for emphasis. “It unnerved me so badly I took off running and didn’t stop till I met up with you.”

  Dominic considered the distance she had run. That was scared, to run all the way back from the ruins in the dark.

  “Add to that,” said Elena, “the medical assistant at the morgue said the murder weapon was an axe, but a dull one, not a steel one with a sharp blade, but a duller blade like one of stone.”

  Dominic switched off the motor and studied her in the light from the street lamps. She wasn’t joking. Her eyes shifted left and right, like she was searching for the sense of what she had just seen.

  She looked at him. “You think I’m crazy.”

  “No, you don’t look crazy. I’m just trying to take in what you said. You’re saying that a ghost might have committed murder. A ninth century warrior might have come from the past to murder a twenty first century drug lord or whatever.”

  She nodded and laughed for the first time. “Put like that it does sound crazy.” She pulled back her hair and repositioned it in a knot on top her head, securing it with a clip she dug from one of her many vest pockets. “Lord, it’s warm. I need a drink of something strong.”

  “Let’s stop by the Tunkul Bar. You can get a bite to eat, too. Seeing a ghost is thirsty business, and you must be hungry after a hard day at the ruins.”

  She looked at him as if to judge whether he was kidding or not and burst out laughing. “Yeah, I’ve worked up a thirst, and I haven’t had anything substantial to eat all day. But I may scare everyone away with how I look.”

  He laughed with her. “You look just fine. The place is casual and dark.”

  The Tunkul Bar was crowded with ex-pats and tourists, what was left of them. They found a table for two in the back and ordered a couple of bottles of Port Royal beer. Dominic added an appetizer of meat-stuffed tortillas called pupusas.

  “Now about that ghost,” Dominic said. “Describe the scene again.”

  Elena not only recounted the unbelievable experience but also told him about finding the medal of St. Jude and about encountering the disheveled director who ordered her to leave.

  “He told you to leave?” asked Dominic.

  “Yes, but I’m not going to. Too much doesn’t add up, so I’m doing a little sleuthing of my own.” She looked at him. “Want to help?”

  “Sure,” he said with no hesitation. Things were getting more and more bizarre, and he didn’t feel the police had Elena’s best interest at heart. Even though he had enough to do with the clinic, he was concerned about her. And, he had to admit, his motives weren’t entirely altruistic.

  The waiter arrived with a plate of pupusas, and Elena selected one. The plate was patterned with Mayan hieroglyphs, and she studied them.

  “Can you read that?” he asked.

  “Sure. The writing has to do with eating in good health and with good friends.”

  She gave him a dazzling smile, and Dominic knew he was spending much too much time on how good she looked.

  They were discussing the difficulties of pursuing a suspect ghost when they couldn’t find a mere child when he saw Felicia walk into the bar. She circled the small room, like she was searching for someone, spied him and, unfortunately, came over.

  “Hi, Nicky. I was looking for a friend I’m meeting here. You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” She slid into the chair next to Dominic, ignoring Elena, like he wasn’t sharing a table with someone.

  When had he become Nicky?

  “We were just about to leave,” he said, taking a last sip of beer.

  “Don’t go yet. I just got here,” said Felicia, placing her hand on his arm. She signaled for the waiter. “Please bring another round and a martini straight up for me, no olive.”

  Not stopping to catch her breath, she leaned close to Dominic. “You know, the murder in the ruins is the talk of the town. Everywhere I went today, people were talking about it.”

  She turned a cocktail party smile on Elena. “I don’t believe we met. I’m Nicky’s friend, Felicia.”

  Without stopping for a reply from Elena, Felicia bumbled on. “I heard the girl that found the man was horribly inept and bungled the site before the police could get there. The police are suspicious of her. She’s some young thing, terribly green.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Dominic asked, sending an uneasy glance Elena’s way. He could feel a storm brewing but knew there wasn’t a cloud in the night sky.

  “Inspector Oliveros. I was lunching with some friends, and he stopped by our table to say hello on the way out of the restaurant. One of the men in our party knew him. We ate at Llama del Bosque. I had the most delicious chicken in orange sauce, and a decent white chardonnay, all for pennies what it would cost in the States. This is a great little town, don’t you think, Nicky?”

  “Excuse me, but I think I should be going,” said Elena, rising. “It’s been a long day. Thanks for the drink, Dominic.”

  “I need to be going, too.” He jumped up and threw a bill on the table large enough to cover the check. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “But Nicky,” Felicia called after him, as he hurried to catch up with Elena.

  “Elena, wait.”

  Her field hat bouncing against her back, she banged out the door and headed down the street. He caught up and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop.

  “Wait, don’t run off. You have to consider the source.”

  “Source? What about what the inspector said?”

  “It’s downright horrible. You’re being set up. That’s what I’d say.”

  “Me, too. Now if you will excuse me, I am perfectly capabl
e of walking to doña Carolita’s on my own. Thanks again … Nicky.”

  Dominic shook his head as he watched her go. Felicia was a bumbling idiot, but inspector Oliveros was downright dangerous. Someone had to stop the man before he caused permanent damage.

  He was going to have to don his armor.

  Six

  Elena threw her hat on the bed, stripped off her clothes, and flipped on the electric hot water switch to the shower. Thankfully, doña Carolita was out for the evening. She didn’t feel like having to explain herself, her whereabouts, her appearance.

  She let the hot water stream over her, wanting to wash away all the insanity of what her life in Copan Ruinas had become. How had the situation ignited so quickly? How could Oliveros have the balls to say that to a lunch table crowd? How could he have the nerve to say anything at all about the investigation while it was in progress? And what hole had Felicia crawled out of?

  She scrubbed her hair ferociously with shampoo, lathered soap over her skin, and rinsed for a long time in the soft stream of hot water, feeling her tense muscles gradually relax. She dried with a fresh white towel, fuming over the inspector’s conversation that abominable woman had repeated.

  So Mr. Medical Clinic had a girl friend. She couldn’t say much for his taste.

  The laptop computer sat mutely on her small writing desk. She powered up and checked email, looking for something from Dr. Roulade. Nothing. It was time for a phone call. She tried to bring up Skype.

  “URL unable to be found. Try ….”

  What a time for the site to be down. She’d try in a bit. Maybe it would be back up. She lay on the bed and closed her eyes. The exhaustion that had followed her in the door overcame every other consideration.

  The sound of scratching woke her. She lay still, trying to get her bearings. The lamp by the bed was on. She lay in her robe, her hair dry on the pillow. The scratching started again, more insistent. She didn’t remember seeing any rats here. But that was what it sounded like, a big rat scratching, magnified a hundred times by the stillness of the night. She turned off the lamp and lay in darkness, listening. Maybe the Mayan ghost had come for her. Gathering her courage, she sat up on the bed, her ears straining to identify the sound, but all she could hear was her rising anxiety. She had to get a grip. This was ridiculous.