Collecting Shadows

by Gary Williams

  Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink. Can anybody hear me?

  Mrs. Atworth felt her skin crawl.

  With shaking hands, she unlocked the gate and stepped into the mausoleum. “H—Hello?” she called. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

  “Hello. Hello. I’m down here. Please get help!”

  “Help?” her mouth went dry.

  “Is that Mrs. Atworth?”

  My God, he knows my name. “Yes, Mr. Flagler.” Nervously, she eased over toward Henry Flagler’s sarcophagus.

  “No, it’s Liam. Liam Poston. I’m Bailey Deeth’s friend.”

  Mrs. Atworth could now tell the voice originated from the unused marble sarcophagus which had been intended for Flagler’s third wife. She hurried over to it. “How did you get in the sarcophagus? Is this some sort of a teenage prank?”

  “No, Mrs. Atworth. I’m in a room below the mausoleum. Please get help to move the sarcophagus. It’s my only way out, and I don’t have much time!”

  70

  Leaving Flagler College, Farlan walked a step behind Bailey keeping the gun cloaked in a handkerchief at his chest. “Nice and easy, lass. We’re almost home.”

  They crossed King Street, arrowing down the perpendicular road known as Granada Street, which ran alongside the Lightner Museum. They passed a series of small businesses located close to the road and reached an alley that cut to the right, away from the museum. Tourists were virtually non-existent.

  Farlan pointed ahead to a vehicle parked in the alleyway, “That’s my car.” He opened the door and pushed Bailey down on the seat. She did not resist. Her will was broken. It was a sensation Farlan savored. He walked around to the driver’s side, opened the back door, and delicately placed the Fabergé egg on the back seat, cushioning it inside his overcoat. Then he placed the aged papers beside it. Farlan climbed in the driver’s seat and grinned at Bailey. She continued to stare down at the floorboard.

  Farlan started the vehicle. For the first time, he began to consider the perks of what millions, if not billions of dollars would buy him.

  ****

  When Rita, Drew, and Pilot left the shop, Rita tried to direct Pilot up King Street, but he stubbornly refused. Instead, the Malamute led them in the opposite direction.

  “Better follow his lead,” Drew urged.

  Pilot set a brisk pace. Rita and Drew walked quickly to keep up. Pilot soon led them across the street. Traffic remained light as they reached the Flagler College grounds. They came to the entrance, where Pilot angled left by the large statue of Henry Flagler and through the iron gates, spilling into the empty courtyard.

  Rita checked her watch. “I’m surprised the courtyard is open. I’m not sure we’re supposed to be here.”

  “Pilot obviously is. Let’s see where he leads us.”

  Pilot drove ahead. When they reached the large fountain with Ponce de León’s upside down sword plunged into the basin, something in the basin caught her attention. Rita stopped and handed the leash to Drew. “Hold this.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She reached into the fountain and pulled a green smartphone from the water. “This is Bailey’s,” she showed it to Drew. “See the dragon sticker? I gave that to her when she worked at the shop. As a joke, she put it on the back of her phone.”

  Drew could barely hold the Malamute in place. “Pilot’s leading us to the building. I say we follow him.”

  They climbed the steps and reached the terrace level and continued up another set of steps. The doors to the college were ajar.

  “I definitely don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” Drew said, following Pilot inside.

  “Then what are you doing?” Rita asked.

  “Breaking the law. Again.”

  It was strange to see the rotunda so empty. Pilot continued to pull Drew, directing him to the left. The dog stopped at a double set of doors. Drew handed the leash back to Rita and tried the doors, but they were locked. “What’s in here?”

  “If I recall, that’s the Grand Parlor.”

  “Pilot seems to think Liam’s in there.”

  Rita stood before the door, hammering on it with her knuckles, “Liam? Bailey? You guys in there?”

  ****

  Farlan dropped the car in drive and began to pull out. A vehicle swerved in front and came to an abrupt stop, blocking his way. He blanched. “What the hell,” he reached for the gun tucked in his waistband. The vehicle was tiny, one of those smart cars, and had a City of St. Augustine insignia on the side.

  “It’s a meter maid,” Bailey said. “You don’t have to kill her.”

  “We’ll see,” Farlan said, pulling his shirt over his pistol to hide it. He stepped from the vehicle.

  Bailey watched as he greeted the meter maid warmly.

  She considered fleeing from the vehicle, but the woman would react and Farlan would be forced to kill her. She needed a plan, and she needed it soon.

  Think, Bailey.

  She watched as the woman handed Farlan an illegal parking citation. He took it with a grin that even made the meter maid smile. Charming bastard.

  The meter maid climbed back in her petite vehicle and zipped away. Farlan returned to the car with a victorious grin.

  ****

  Mrs. Atworth scampered from the church, ran outside, nearly falling down the steps, and frantically searched for any able bodies who might help. She went door to door on Valencia Street until she collected two men, a teenage boy, and a hardy woman who, although confused, agreed to assist. One of the men brought a six-foot metal ladder.

  When the five of them returned to the church, the mausoleum was quiet.

  “You heard a boy underneath this sarcophagus?” the woman asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Atworth cuffed her hand to the side of her mouth, “Liam, are you okay?”

  “Yes, please get me out. I’m on a chandelier, and it’s giving way!”

  “Chandelier?” one of the men screwed his face up.

  “C’mon,” the other man said, laying the ladder down on the marble floor.

  The five of them, including Mrs. Atworth, moved to the side of the sarcophagus and pulled.

  It didn’t budge.

  “Is this thing attached to the floor?” the woman asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Atworth replied, “but it hasn’t been moved since the mausoleum was built in 1906.”

  “You’re sure there’s not a body inside?” the teenage boy asked.

  “I’m sure. Now everybody pull the front corner. Maybe we can pivot it away from the wall.”

  “Wait, I’ve got an idea,” the teenage boy said. He climbed over and braced his back against the marble wall, drawing his legs up and placing his feet at the top edge of the sarcophagus. One of the men joined in, lining up next to the teenager and assuming the same position. “While we push the front corner, the rest of you pull.”

  On the count of five, they all worked together. This time, with the teenager and the man pushing the corner with their legs and the other three pulling, the end of the marble sarcophagus slid across the marble floor with an ear-piercing screech. It moved a few inches and stopped.

  Mrs. Atworth saw the thin opening next to the circular wall where the edge of the sarcophagus had rested on the floor for all those years. “Again,” she urged. The group pushed and pulled simultaneously. Again, the sarcophagus scraped across the floor, and the pie-shaped opening grew in size.

  The light from the mausoleum shined down on the face of the teenage boy sitting precariously on a complex-looking wooden chandelier. The boy’s expression was one of immense relief.

  Less than a minute later, working the sarcophagus farther across the marble floor, the opening was wide enough to drop the metal ladder down. The two men and the woman held on to the top end, and Liam climbed out and stood in the center of the mausoleum bathed in sweat.

  “Thank you,” he said to Mrs. Atworth. “Thanks to all of you,” he acknowledged the others gratefull
y. “Please call Detective Sanders with the St. Augustine Police. Tell him the Scottish man has Bailey, and he’s armed. They should be coming out of Flagler College.”

  “Detective Sanders?” Mrs. Atworth asked.

  “Yes, Detective Sanders.” Without waiting for further questions, Liam dashed from the mausoleum and out the south doors of Memorial Presbyterian Church.

  ****

  Clutching the parking ticket, Farlan approached the driver’s side door. Bailey had her eyes shut, and her head slumped to the side. Farlan opened the door and climbed in. As he did, Bailey whipped her door open and leapt from the vehicle.

  “No,” Farlan shouted.

  Bailey shot up the alley, crossed over Granada Street, and raced along the walkway directly in front of the Lightner Museum.

  “Call the police,” she screamed to the only people in sight, two elderly women walking the grounds in the distance. She had no idea if they heard her.

  She quickly outdistanced herself from Farlan, cutting right toward the building’s central corridor and arriving in the courtyard. With a destination in mind, she ran right on the perimeter walkway through the loggia.

  ****

  Officer Douglas Brandt was putting in his time on bicycle duty policing the foot-traffic on St. George Street when he received a call from headquarters. Someone had witnessed a man chasing a teenage girl through the open park in front of the Lightner Museum. From the far end of St. George Street, pedaling hard, he reached the museum in less than a minute. Two elderly women were standing by the statue of Pedro Menéndez de Avilés when he arrived.

  “He chased her that way,” one of the ladies said. They both pointed to the open corridor at the center.

  Officer Brandt parked the bicycle against the building, and broke into a trot, racing quickly through the corridor. When he reached the large open courtyard packed with plants, the pond, and the stone footbridge, he found no one.

  ****

  Bailey chanced a look from behind her cover. She spotted the police officer, and her relief was instant. He walked alertly around to the other side of the courtyard, keeping to the loggia.

  From the shadows, a figure came up behind the officer and lifted a gun to the man’s head. There was a pop, and the officer crumpled to the ground.

  Bailey screamed.

  ****

  Liam fought against the fatigue slowing him down. He was about to pass through the gates of Flagler College when he heard the shrill scream. It came from the direction of the Lightner Museum across the street. Liam tore across King Street, running as hard as he could.

  Liam reached the corridor on a dead run and never slowed. Only when it emptied into the courtyard did he stop. There was no one in sight. Cautiously, he eased to his left, following the loggia as he scanned the courtyard for any sign of Bailey. He turned the corner of the walkway and saw the police officer lying face-down on the concrete, blood seeping from his head.

  ****

  “Liam, watch out!” he saw Bailey rise from behind the large stone grave marker of O.C. Lightner on the other side of the pond.

  Liam ducked, not knowing from which direction the attack would come. A bullet streaked by his ear. Farlan was coming toward them, walking through the loggia, targeting him as he moved.

  Terrified, Liam cut across the courtyard at full speed, racing over the stone footbridge, angling toward the marker Bailey had crouched behind. A series of bullets whizzed by him. He dove behind the marker just as a bullet skipped off the top of the large tombstone.

  Crumbling to the ground, the pain was otherworldly. Liam saw the tattered red circle where the bullet had ripped through his blue jeans. “I’ve been shot,” he panted. Liam grabbed his thigh, and blood shot through his fingers.

  ****

  Rita was still knocking on the Grand Parlor doors when Pilot lurched in the opposite direction. The leash pulled free from her hands. “Pilot, stop!”

  The dog ignored the command and raced through the rotunda and back outside, into the courtyard.

  “I’ll go after him,” Drew said, running past Rita. Once outside, he saw Pilot exit the courtyard and run into the street. Drew feared the dog would be hit by a passing motorist. With the sparse traffic, he made it unscathed. Drew raced across the road after the Malamute.

  ****

  Farlan laughed as he fired round after round into the grave marker, advancing across the courtyard over the footbridge. Bailey shook so badly that Liam could barely hold onto her and keep her behind the cover. Liam knew it was only a matter of time. As if in a dream, Bailey leaned over and, with trembling lips, kissed him as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a terrified whisper.

  Suddenly, like the worst nightmare imaginable, Farlan turned the corner of the marker and stared down on them, pistol aimed inches from Liam’s face.

  “No,” Bailey pleaded.

  Farlan took one step back. “Aye, you’re right, lass. I don’t care for the splatter of blood on my clothes.” He aimed the pistol between Liam’s eyes and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Farlan began to cackle. “Son of a bitch, it’s out of bullets.” He released the empty clip, and it fell to the ground. He reached into his pocket and fished out another. Farlan smiled at Liam. “Apologies,” he hissed with a crazed gleam in his eye, “there will only be a slight delay.”

  Farlan popped the new clip in and raised the weapon.

  The blow came from his side. Farlan never saw Pilot coming. The large dog toppled the man to the ground, and his gun slid away, dropping into the pond. Pilot latched onto Farlan’s left arm and shook it violently. Farlan yelled obscenities, trying desperately to break free as the dog’s teeth ripped into his skin. The Scotsman’s eyes darkened with rage. “You piece of shit,” he screamed, clutching the ground and finding a large rock.

  The dog growled viciously.

  Farlan slowly raised the rock and took aim.

  Liam was still on the ground with Bailey clinging to him. He could only watch helplessly.

  With a yell, Farlan brought the rock down toward Pilot’s head. Pilot took a glancing blow to his skull. The dog winced, yet refused to let go. In horror, Liam watched Farlan raise the rock again.

  A loud blast shook the courtyard. The rock flew from Farlan’s hand, and the man yelped in pain. Pilot, spooked and bleeding from his head, staggered away with a whimper.

  Across the courtyard, Drew held the pistol, still aimed at Farlan. The fallen policeman’s body had been turned over, and Liam realized Drew had taken the officer’s gun.

  Pilot stumbled over to Liam and Bailey. Liam grabbed the dog, hugging him as hard as he could.

  Farlan clutched his arm where he had been shot. In a rage, he stood and shuffled to the edge of the pond.

  “Don’t do it,” Drew yelled.

  ****

  He had found the treasure. It was his, and these simple bastards were trying to stop him.

  Ignoring the man’s threat, Farlan stepped into the water. The water was clear, and he spotted the pistol. Farlan reached below the surface with his good hand, grabbed the weapon, and raised it. He aimed toward the man who had shot him.

  It was one thing to shoot a man in the arm. Indeed, few men had the balls to take the kill shot, and do so with precision. Farlan gambled that this man was incapable.

  He felt the bullet rip into his chest a millisecond before he heard the blast.

  He had bet wrong.

  ****

  Liam tried to stand, but the pain in his leg caused him to topple over. With the Scottish man down, his concern was for Pilot. The dog had collapsed. His breathing was shallow. Bailey held the dog in her arms.

  Drew reached them. “We’ve got to get you two to the hospital.”

  “Pilot’s hurt.”

  “We’ll get him to the vet.”

  Liam could only nod.

  Just then, two uniformed police officers and a plainclothes officer whom Liam recognized rushed into the cou
rtyard with their weapons drawn. Aunt Rita trailed behind them.

  Detective Sanders rushed Drew, “Drop the gun!”

  Drew complied.

  One of the officers handcuffed Drew.

  The second officer broke away and raced over to the downed policeman.

  “Drew didn’t do anything wrong,” Aunt Rita pleaded.

  “He shot that man to save us,” Liam added.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Sanders said, pointing to a surveillance camera in the near corner of the courtyard. “Is this Ainsley?” he asked, pointing to the body face down beside the pond.

  “His name is Stewart Farlan,” Liam said.

  Sanders knelt and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive. Barely.” He moved to Liam to examine his wound. “It’s not life-threatening. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

  The second officer returned with a grief-filled expression. “Officer Brandt is dead.”

  “Call for ambulances,” Sanders instructed him.

  Aunt Rita dropped down by Bailey and Pilot. She could tell the dog was in distress. “How bad is he?”

  “Not good,” Bailey’s tired eyes rimmed with tears.

  Aunt Rita stood. “I’m going to get the car.”

  71

  Two days later, after a visit from Aunt Rita and Drew in the hospital, Liam got up on crutches. The gunshot to his thigh had been a clean entry and exit through tissue. It had missed the bone completely, and there were no bullet fragments. While it was sore, he was determined to go visit another patient.

  When he arrived at her hospital door, he noticed the odd name on the file outside.

  “Eunice? I thought your name was Preston?” Liam said, clomping into the room on crutches.

  “Hi, Liam. Preston is my middle name. You ever call me Eunice again, and I’ll shoot you myself,” Preston smiled with a harrumph that shook her blonde-tipped dark hair. “Bailey told me you were down the hall. Small world, huh?”

  “Us gunshot victims gotta stick together.”