Collecting Shadows

by Gary Williams

Guided by the light of the flashlight, Liam walked back to the rows of chairs, grabbed one, and carried it to the fireplace. He stepped up on the chair so that he was now eye-level with the onyx clock. Liam placed his notes on the mantle and aimed the flashlight at the open clock face.

  “Big hand,” he said aloud. Liam gently placed his finger alongside the end of the longer hand and pushed it clockwise until it reached 12. He shined the light down at the page. RII. He pushed the little hand to the two and stopped. Checking the page again, he drew in a long breath and exhaled. LVII. Left to seven meant going counterclockwise. He was hesitant. Moving the hand counterclockwise might very well damage the clock.

  “Please let me be right.” Warily, Liam rotated the hand back past the 12 to the 7. It turned without resistance, and Liam breathed a sigh of relief.

  He again consulted the sheet of paper and sent the hand clockwise back across the 12 to the 4.

  A rumbling stirred below. Alarmed, he jumped down from the chair, nearly losing his balance when he hit the floor. The rumbling stopped, and an eerie silence prevailed. Liam pulled the chair back and shined the flashlight to the rear of the fireplace at the circular, copper relief of cherubs at play. While the back wall was intact, the floor of the fireplace was now a void. A new musty smell arose.

  His heart raced. This was it. He had discovered the secret way to the treasure. It was somewhere within Flagler College.

  He started to text Bailey but decided to wait.

  Using the flashlight, he moved closer, shining the light down. The square opening reached to a depth of about a dozen feet into a larger cylindrical area. A steel ladder affixed to the inner wall would get him down. Maybe in a hurry, if it had rusted free from the wall after all this time. The thought made his stomach turn.

  Liam took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Here we go,” he said nervously, turning and easing his legs over the edge. Finding purchase on the ladder, he slowly backed down it, careful to maintain his grip on the flashlight. Upon reaching the base, he saw a gray door to the left. It was curved to match the walls and was adorned with a simple brass doorknob. He rapped on the door, curious as to its composition. From the tinny response, he knew it was some form of metal.

  He surveyed the rest of the room. Like the door, the walls were gray and barren. Halfway up the walls, a series of lightbulbs ringed the room. He searched for a switch, but found none.

  Why build a cylindrical room if its only purpose was as a foyer before exiting through the door?

  Moving back, Liam turned the knob, but the door refused to open in or out.

  With a swish, a horizontal sheet of metal slid out from the wall just above the ring of lights, covering the room, forming a seven-foot high ceiling. At the same time, the lights burst to life, followed by a grating sound. The enclosure began to vibrate. At once, Liam realized the cylindrical room was falling, but at a slow, grinding speed.

  Liam willed himself to remain calm. Whatever was happening was part of the design to reach the treasure. Or was it a trap?

  A tingle of fear ran up his back and he swallowed hard.

  After what seemed an eternity, everything stopped. The room went silent and Liam could hear his own breathing. The ring of lights remained on, but now what? Did he dare twist the knob again?

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. No bars. Great. Now there was no way for Bailey to contact him.

  With no other option, he gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it. With a click, the door opened inward, and continued without his assistance. He shined the light ahead. A tunnel built of wood and supported by wooden crossbeams stretched out before him. The corridor was wide and the same height as the cylindrical elevator which had delivered him here.

  With nervous excitement, Liam stepped into the tunnel. He was struck by an overpowering stench. The wooden walls and ceiling were in an advanced stage of decay, and had partially given way. The air was sticky. Shining light at his feet, Liam saw a layer of black, slimy muck.

  It was creepy, like the setting for a horror movie. Liam shivered, then steadied his resolve and walked forward, careful of his footing. It took him nearly a full minute to reach a wall with a steel door. Carefully, he turned the handle. The door popped inward with a click and a bank of mini-chandeliers ignited inside, streaming along the ceiling of a long tunnel with no apparent end.

  The view was amazing. Unlike the slimy entry tunnel, this one was pristine, containing teak walls fashioned with mahogany baseboards. The ceiling, with its mini-chandeliers every few feet, contained vibrant designs of cherubs and lions. Interconnected junction boxes were affixed to the wall every 20 feet or so feeding electricity to the lights. There was a clean scent in the air. Given the first tunnel, this truly was nicer, and bore the unmistakable signs of a Henry Flagler creation.

  The one anomaly was at Liam’s feet. The floor was unusual, nothing more than unfinished cement, with two iron tracks separated by rail ties, wide enough for a coal car maybe.

  Liam passed through the doorway, slinging muck onto the cement surface. He walked on the right side of the track, still admiring the decorative passageway, which resembled the hallway of a grand mansion.

  His mind rattled with a blend of elation and fear. Elation for having found this place, and fear because he knew the Scottish man had beat them to the painting in the museum. Yet there was no sign that anyone had been down here in decades, or maybe even a century. Still, Liam knew time was of the essence. If the Scottish man had figured out the clue he might be on his way down here.

  Liam felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He regretted not bringing some sort of weapon.

  He moved cautiously down the hallway for some time. At a point, the woodwork and fancy lighting ended, and he was met with a long void of darkness. The smell was different here, like that of a construction site. Beyond this point, the tunnel was dark and unfinished. For the first time, Liam saw the silvery-gray base wall. He tapped it with his knuckles; most likely steel. No wonder the tunnel had survived all these years without collapsing or allowing moisture inside.

  A thought occurred to him. In his mind, he oriented himself. Liam considered how he had entered the fireplace at the north wall of the Grand Parlor and then the position of the door in the cylindrical room. Given this, he knew the tunnel aimed southeast and had not altered its course.

  Of course: southeast from the college across King Street was the Lightner Museum, formerly the Hotel Alcazar. The age-old rumor in St. Augustine of a connecting tunnel between the two hotels wasn’t a myth after all.

  “So where is the treasure?” Liam asked himself.

  With only one way to go, Liam clicked his flashlight back on and pushed ahead. The beam found more of the steel tunnel. The junction boxes continued, as did the tracks.

  The farther he went, the more the air changed, turning stale. Even with the flashlight reaching ahead, there was no evidence the tunnel would end. The only sounds he heard were his own footsteps. Even though the tunnel passed underneath King Street, it was too deep for noise to reach here.

  Then an opening appeared on the right wall. An archway without a door led into a room.

  Liam’s exuberance skyrocketed. This has to be the room with the treasured artwork. He took a deep breath and shined the beam of light inside.

  His excitement was short-lived. The spacious area was empty. He stepped inside, and his mind went numb. A dreadful thought struck him: what if this was the room, and it had been cleaned out sometime in the past? It was too awful to consider. He shook the notion away and guided the light to every wall and every corner, then up to the ceiling. He walked the floor to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Disappointed, he returned to the tunnel.

  He had a feeling he wasn’t alone. A cold shiver crossed his chest. For a moment, Liam considered running back up the tunnel. But there was a chance he would run into the Scottish man. Besides, even if he made it back to the Grand Parlor, it was locked. He’d be trapped inside the room. His only
option was to continue through the unfinished shaft until he found the exit at the Lightner Museum.

  Moving slower and feeling deflated, Liam noticed exposed wires running along either wall. The hallway had been wired for electricity but no mini-chandeliers had been put in place here. He swept the light from side to side, examining the stark steel walls and cement floor, always staying to the side of the tracks.

  Perspiration formed on his brow as he went. Surely, he had traveled several hundred yards by now. The exit at the Lightner Museum must be near.

  He came upon a flatbed railcar sitting on the tracks. It was well used, with scrapes and dings riddling the metal platform. Of course. This was how the builders had transported materials up and down the corridor.

  Continuing on for some time, he eventually came to another steel door. He had reached the end of the tunnel. Not what he had expected. There was no doorknob, just a handle and, curiously, a large combination dial labeled with letters instead of numbers. To the left of the door, in the corner, was a pile of decayed wood. The last junction box along the wall stopped just before reaching the door.

  He stared at the steel door, his excitement building again. This, not the empty room he’d found, must lead to the treasure.

  He reached forward and tried the handle, hoping against hope the door would open without the combination.

  It didn’t.

  Great. Now what?

  Liam thought for a minute. If he could pinpoint where he was underneath the Lightner Museum, maybe he could find a secondary exit. He remembered the wooden cross around his neck. He pulled it off and read the compass at the crux. Slowly, he rotated it until it aligned north.

  This couldn’t be right. He looked back at the dark corridor behind him. Not once had the tunnel veered.

  Liam again studied the compass in confusion.

  A creak from behind spooked him. He shot the flashlight back down the corridor but revealed nothing.

  This time, he was sure he wasn’t alone.

  When the beam happened to fall on the last junction box, it sparked an idea. He knelt before the box and pulled out one of the long wires, careful not to touch anything with the copper end.

  Maybe, just maybe, he could gain an advantage.

  68

  Liam tried combination after combination. Given that the dial contained letters, he was certain that it would be based on a word. His father once had a large dial safe, and Liam knew that the combination would contain four numbers, or in this case letters, so he tried words of the appropriate length. After dozens of attempts, he had run out of ideas. To make matters worse, a combination lock such as this one wasn’t like a bicycle lock. It didn’t follow a simple pattern of rotating the dial to each position in turn. Instead, Liam was fairly sure that, after locating the first letter on the dial, three counterclockwise rotations were required. After the second letter, two clockwise rotations of the dial were necessary, and so on. It was a time-consuming process that required patience and precision.

  Liam tried to recall things that he’d read about Flagler: his family, structures he’d built, even business relationships that might fit a four-letter combination. Nothing worked. He closed his eyes, envisioning the man. In a way, he tried to become Henry Morrison Flagler. He was sure it would be a word tied to Flagler’s time in St. Augustine.

  Or maybe it would precede his time here?

  History: maybe that was it. Flagler had gone to great lengths to pay homage to those explorers who came before him. On the rotunda ceiling, he had specifically shown many of the early European explorers. None that he could recall had a last name that was four-letters long or less, unless he excluded everything including the ‘de’ in Ferdinand de Soto and Ponce de León. He’d already tried León so he gave Soto a shot.

  No good.

  Liam opened his eyes and kicked the ground in frustration. He wondered if he should give up and return to the Grand Parlor and hopefully find some way out. Maybe they should get Detective Sanders involved since the Scottish man was obviously still in the Northeast Florida area.

  Liam thought of Mr. Mast. His teacher wouldn’t have given up so quickly.

  He’d give it five more minutes. Liam closed his eyes and reflected back on the first time he and Bailey had walked through the Flagler Model Land Company neighborhood. He pictured them strolling by the college and turning onto Seville Street. He could hear Bailey’s sweet voice filling the air with historical facts about the former Hotel Ponce de León. When they reached the next intersection, Liam had gazed back at the Flagler College sign prominently displayed on a free-standing brick wall on the corner of the lawn. Splayed walls at either end contained the profile image of a lion.

  Lion. Images, carvings, and reliefs of lions were all over Flagler College. There were large marble lions on either side of the Bridge of Lions. Many in town seemed to revere and therefore display statues of lions on their property, their front steps and porches. It was on Juan Ponce de León’s coat of arms. León, in fact, meant lion.

  Without hesitation, Liam tried the combination of lion. With each letter, he could feel the dial turning easier. He knew from his father’s safe that with each letter achieved correctly, he was actually turning fewer of the mechanism’s wheels, thus meeting with less resistance. When he reached the n, he heard that ever-so-satisfying click.

  He had done it. He felt like shouting in victory, but he held back. Instead, he stood looking at the door. Remember what to do first. He reached into his pocket.

  A shuffling sound from behind caused him to whirl around.

  “Hello, Liam,” the Scottish accent filled his ears. “I learned your name from this lass. It took some convincing, but she eventually cooperated. We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Stewart Farlan, owner of whatever is behind that steel door.” He had a firm clutch on Bailey with one hand, and a gun pressed into her side with the other. Bailey’s hair was disheveled, and she looked exhausted. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and she had a large bruise blooming on her left cheek.

  Liam was appalled at what had been done to her. “Let her go,” he said with as much defiance as he could muster.

  “No meeting should begin with confrontation, Liam.” Farlan eyed Bailey and scoffed. “Unfortunately, it was necessary with my introduction to Miss Deeth. Aye, she didn’t appreciate my agenda, but no matter. Let’s dispense with trivial chatter, laddie. I know you cracked the code. Now open the door.”

  This was the chance Liam had hoped for. “No.”

  He tried to signal Bailey with his eyes, but she was unresponsive.

  Farlan smiled. “Full of confidence, are you?”

  An unnerving silence prevailed as Farlan fixed his eyes on Liam’s.

  “Move back,” Farlan instructed as he approached the steel door. He reached up for the metal handle with the gun still in his hand.

  To Liam’s chagrin, he kept a firm hold on Bailey.

  His only hope was that when Farlan grabbed the door, Liam could rip her from the man’s grasp.

  He also knew it might mean the death of all three of them.

  Farlan stopped just short of touching the handle. He spoke to Liam with a sardonic smile. “Let’s see,” Farlan rolled his eyes up, feigning deep thought, “we watched you rotate the plastic dial, but you never touched the steel door or the handle. I think I’ll have the lass open the door.” Farlan pulled the pistol from Bailey’s side and pressed it to her head. “Go on, dearie. My treasure awaits. Maybe I’ll blow your sweet little brains out instead.”

  Bailey was lethargic. Her expression never changed, despite the pistol barrel pushed to her temple.

  Absently, Bailey reached forward for the handle.

  “No,” Liam shouted.

  Farlan stopped Bailey’s arm. He eyed Liam with a vile expression. “So it’s okay for me to touch the handle but not her?”

  Liam felt the sweltering burn of defeat. Farlan was on to him. Disheartened, Liam squatted, and carefully pulled the copper wire
from the jam of the steel door where he had electrified it via the junction box. He tucked it back along the wall.

  “I understand how you could touch the plastic dial, but how were you going to open the door without getting barbecued?” Farlan asked.

  Reluctantly, Liam pulled the piece of rubber tubing that he’d found in the small pile of wood to the side of the door.

  “Dafty, aye, but you’re not the huddy I took you for,” Farlan said. His voice hardened. “Now open the door or this lass is going to receive additional punishment.”

  Liam dropped the section of rubber and pulled down on the long handle. The latch released, and the door gave way. A light turned on inside, obviously triggered by the door opening. Liam stepped inside, followed by Farlan, with Bailey firmly in his grasp.

  “Well, well. What do you know?” Farlan said in awe.

  It was as if they had stepped back in time to the late 1800s. The sizeable room with its 12-foot ceiling was furnished in Victorian-era décor and filled with the smells of antiquity—from the aroma of aged wood to the lingering scent of paint to the tang of plush cloth. The ceiling appeared to be marble, with thick steel beams every six feet running the width. A large, multi-level, wagon-wheel chandelier hung from the center. The walls were light, painted in soft pastels, and the carpet bore a meticulous intricate design of cherubs, roses, and grapevines. Heavy curtains hung the length of one wall. A fireplace was centered on the opposite wall not far from a stocked bookcase. A heavy, hardwood dining table was near the side wall, and a vanity cabinet and large bureau were positioned near the center of the room, joined by a freestanding, high-back chair. Just across from it was a tall mirror on a swivel.

  Farlan spoke, “A Cheval mirror. Aye, Mr. Flagler sat right in this chair and took his own picture.” He released Bailey. “The two of you against that wall,” he motioned them away with the gun, turning his gaze to where an oval object rested beside a set of papers on the bureau.

  “Are you okay?” Liam whispered to Bailey, who was now standing beside him.