The Song of Eleusis

by Phil Swann

  The guard got up and approached the car, holding a clipboard. “Can I help you?”

  “Ellie Scotes and Stewart MacDougall, we’re with the production.”

  “Can I see some ID?”

  Ellie handed the man her passport.

  “You too, sir.”

  Stewart handed his passport to the guard and then quickly sat back in his seat.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not seeing your names here,” he said, scanning his clipboard.

  Ellie rolled her eyes. “Look…what’s your name?”

  “Joe.”

  “Look, Joe, we just flew in from London. We’re tired and just want to go to our hotel rooms and sleep. But the bosses said we had to check in here first, so if you don’t want to let us in, that’s fine with us. Just let someone in charge know we showed up so our arses don’t get handed to us when someone asks where we were. Okay?”

  Joe the guard nodded. “Hang on a minute.”

  Ellie watched as Joe walked through the gate and up to a girl wearing khaki shorts, a Dodger’s baseball cap, and carrying a walkie-talkie. The girl glanced at them, nodded, and then walked away. Joe raised his arm and waved Ellie in.

  “Thanks, Joe,” Ellie said out the window, driving through the gate.

  “Just park over there,” Joe said, pointing to a building inside the prison wall.

  The stark contrast between inside the prison wall and outside the prison wall was the first thing Ellie noticed. Plain, rundown concrete buildings, most with cracked or shattered windows behind corroded steel bars, stood in neglected disrepair. All the open areas visible in the dark seemed to be nothing but a slab of crumbling asphalt and dirt, and what grass there was between the buildings was brown and overrun with weeds. Ellie saw a small shed where a piece of metal fence lay atop sheets of rotting plywood. She stopped the car, turned off the engine, and looked at Stewart. She could see the young man was petrified. “Let’s go find Bea.”

  Stewart answered with an unconvincing smile and nod of the head.

  They’d hardly stepped from the car before the girl in khaki shorts and Dodger’s cap walked up. “You two from the studio?”

  “Yes,” Ellie answered quickly.

  The girl smiled and offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Sheila. I’m the first AD.”

  “Hi, Sheila. I’m Ellie and that’s Stewart.”

  “Pleasure. I’m sorry to say you folks just missed Mr. Buchanan. He left no more than five minutes ago. You probably passed him on your way in.”

  “Oh…” Ellie stuttered. “That’s too bad. Mr. Buchanan…the director?”

  The girl looked at Ellie confused. “Directing? Earl Buchanan is the Executive Producer.”

  Ellie let out a laugh. “Heavens, I’m so jetlagged. Of course he is. It’s you calling Earl Mr. Buchanan that threw me. Imagining Earl directing is quite the vision, isn’t it?”

  Stewart feigned a chuckle, and eventually Sheila joined in. “Yes, it is. Andrew is still here though, and he does know how to direct. Have you met him?”

  “No, him we haven’t.”

  “Well, follow me. He’s on the set grabbing some pick-up shots.”

  They followed Sheila around a building onto what must have once been the prison yard. The next words out of Ellie’s mouth nearly caused Stewart to faint. “Are our colleagues here?”

  Sheila kept walking but did slow her stride a bit. “Who?”

  “Our colleagues from London, they arrived a few hours ago.”

  Sheila shook her head. “I’m sorry, you’re the only visitors we’ve had tonight.”

  Ellie glanced at Stewart. “Oh, they must have gone on to the hotel, then.”

  Ellie had never been on a movie set, but she suspected she wasn’t looking at what one would call a big-budget production. The “set,” as Sheila referred to it, consisted of a dozen people standing in the vicinity of a small camera. There was a young man holding a boom over two teens dressed in orange overalls and a girl dabbing makeup on their faces. Another teenager was repositioning a Klieg light while everyone else stood around talking. A young man, wearing a baseball cap as well, sat beside the camera with headphones wrapped around his neck.

  “Let me introduce you to Andrew Ramer, our director. Andy, this is Ellie…?”

  “Scotes,” Ellie said, extending her hand. “Ellie Scotes. This is Stewart MacDougall.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Ramer said, standing and shaking Ellie’s hand. “Thank you for everything you’re doing. This location is spectacular!”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Ellie replied. “It is a proper prison, isn’t it?”

  “It’s perfect. Have you seen the dailies?”

  “They look amazing, Andrew,” Ellie effortlessly lied. “I know Earl is very pleased.”

  “Thank you. I can’t tell if Mr. Buchanan’s happy with how things are going or not.”

  “Oh…he’s very happy…don’t you worry.”

  The young man beamed, and Ellie decided she’d pushed her luck far enough. “Well, you people have work to do. Would you mind if we look around for a while?”

  “No, help yourself. Be careful in the buildings, though. They’re dark and pretty well rundown. In fact, Sheila can give you a tour, if you like.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I think we’d enjoy just exploring on our own.”

  “Are you sure?” Sheila asked. “I’d be happy to—”

  “No, really, you go back to work, we’ll be fine.”

  “Well, at least take this flashlight,” Sheila said, handing Ellie the light.

  “Thank you, Sheila,” Ellie said, passing the light to Stewart.

  “No problem. You’ll let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  Ellie and Stewart smiled and walked away. Once out of earshot, Stewart said, “That was brilliant, Dr. Scotes.”

  “They’re lying, Stewart. I don’t know why, but they’re lying.”

  “About what?”

  “This is no more a movie set than I am Angelina Jolie.”

  »»•««

  Sheila watched as Ellie and Stewart crossed the prison yard and headed toward the large concrete building on the other side of the compound. The words stenciled above the building’s entrance read Block C. She turned to Andrew and nodded. The director made a slicing motion across his neck, and everyone stopped what they were doing and began dispersing. Sheila unclasped the walkie-talkie from her hip and brought it to her mouth. “Joe, kill all the lights out front, we’re wrapped.” She took out her cell phone and pushed one button. The call was answered immediately. “You might want to get back here,” she said, watching Ellie and Stewart enter the building. “We have visitors.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The air was damp and stagnant. The smell of mold growing on wet stone was so pungent it permeated their nostrils. The only sound was their own breathing as they made their way down the long, bleak corridor. The cells were stacked three stories high on either side and stretched beyond the ability of Stewart’s flashlight. The inside of each brutally small enclosure looked the same; a rusted toilet, a tiny stained sink, and an iron cot bolted to a filthy cement floor.

  “It’s horrid,” Stewart whispered, feeling like a full voice was inappropriate.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Ellie replied. “The Diyarbakır prison in Turkey, now there’s a place you never want to end up.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, note taken.”

  “We’re not going to find Bea in here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They wouldn’t have let us in here if she were.”

  “Do you think she’s a prisoner, Dr. Scotes?”

  “Well, she’s not a bloody guest. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  They turned around and made their way back the way they came. Once out of the cellblock, they navigated through two outer rooms and down a long hallway leading to the exit. Ellie pushed open the door, and they stepped out. What they saw brought them both to a complete st
op. The prison yard was empty. No people. No movie. No lights. No light at all—it was totally dark.

  “Where did everybody go?” Stewart asked, shining the light across the yard.

  Ellie took the flashlight from Stewart and shined it where the film crew had been. It was like they were never there. She shined it at the gate where they’d entered—closed and no Joe. Finally, she pointed the light to where she’d parked the car. It was gone.

  Suddenly, a blinding spotlight engulfed them inside a perfect circle. Both raised a hand to shield their eyes from the intense beam. A crackling sound from a loudspeaker squealed on, and a man’s voice echoed across the yard. “Welcome, Dr. Scotes, Mr. MacDougall, we’ve been expecting you.”

  Ellie lowered her hand. “Who are you?”

  There was no reply.

  “What do you want?”

  Silence.

  “Where’s Beatrice Whitt?”

  The voice responded, “Both of you will follow the light.”

  The light began moving. “Come on,” Ellie said, taking Stewart’s hand.

  Ellie and Stewart walked down three concrete steps and onto the prison yard. They followed the moving orb, unable to see anything outside the confines of the light. They walked until they came to a white building. The light stopped, and Ellie and Stewart looked up. Stenciled above the door were the words Death Row. Stewart squeezed Ellie’s hand. The light began moving again back across the yard.

  “I guess you thought that was funny,” Ellie yelled.

  No response.

  They came to another building, this one larger. The door was open.

  “Enter,” the voice ordered.

  Ellie looked at Stewart, squeezed his hand, and nodded.

  The moment they stepped through the door, the spotlight went out and the inside lights flashed on. Standing in the foyer with a microphone in his hand was an obese man they’d never seen before. Beside him stood Sheila and the film’s director, Andrew.

  “Andrew, take our guest to the tartarus,” Earl Buchanan ordered.

  »»•««

  “This place is better stocked than my clinic,” Sarah said, inspecting the metal cabinets at the end of the room. “Sutures, syringes, bandages, there are drugs in here I don’t even have.”

  Ben was sitting on the bed across from Timon, writing something on a paper bag.

  “Ben?”

  Ben looked up. “Yeah, sorry.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to remember the layout of this place.”

  Sarah took some items from the cabinet and then came over and sat down next to him.

  Ben put down the pen and held up the paper bag. “This is what I remember it looks like. It’s basically a rectangular compound with a half dozen or so buildings surrounded by a wall. I don’t know how high the wall is, but it’s high. I think only a couple of the buildings are actual cellblocks. The biggest building is the administration building located here, it looks like a castle. It protrudes out beyond the wall, and everything else sits behind it. Now, I think we are—and this is nothing but a rough guess—back here at the far end of the compound directly opposite the administration building. That’s where I remember the hospital being.”

  Sarah took Ben’s sketch and looked at it. “This is good, Ben.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “No, it’s a shitty diagram of something I sort of remember. Besides, even if it was drawn by Rand McNally, it still doesn’t get us out of here.”

  “It’s a start.”

  Ben smiled and then noticed Sarah was holding something. “What’s that?”

  “An oxygen mask. I found it in the cabinet. There’s a portable O2 tank over there too. I want to ease Timon’s breathing some. Can you grab the tank for me?”

  Ben got up, went to the cabinet, and rolled the tank over to the bed. Sarah attached the mask’s hose to the tank and turned on the nozzle. She placed the mask over her own face and took a breath. Once she was sure the device was operating properly, she placed the mask on Timon’s face and strapped the elastic bands around his head.

  “Better?” Ben asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  Ben had no sooner sat back down than he heard someone unlocking the door. He quickly grabbed the diagram from Sarah and slid it under the mattress. Then, without thinking, he took her by the hand and pulled her to the opposite side of the room. They both froze when the door opened.

  The policeman entered, swinging his keys. Behind him was an attractive woman followed by a tall man with shaggy red hair and another man wearing a baseball cap. Ben thought he recognized the man in the cap but couldn’t remember from where. The policeman patted the two new arrivals down, taking their cell phones as well as the flashlight. Once the cop completed his task, he nodded to the man in the cap. Without uttering a word, both men turned and walked out.

  Ben, Sarah, Ellie, and Stewart stared at one another for a long moment. Finally…

  “Who are you?” Ellie asked. “Are you a part of all this?”

  “Who are you?” Ben replied. “Why are you here?”

  The stare-off began again.

  Sarah took a step toward Ellie and Stewart. “My name is Sarah. That’s Ben. We don’t want to be here. We’re being held against our will. Now who are you?”

  “My name is Stewart MacDougall. We don’t want to be here, either.”

  “And you?” Ben asked.

  “Ellie Scotes.”

  Ben looked at Sarah and then back to Ellie and Stewart. “You’re Ellie?”

  “Yes,” Ellie replied, shooting a confused look at Stewart.

  “Ellie the liar?”

  “Liar? What are you talking about?”

  “You’re Ellie the liar. At least that’s what she calls you.”

  “Who?”

  Ben nodded toward the bed in the corner. “Her.”

  Ellie and Stewart looked at where Ben was nodding.

  “Bea!” Ellie yelled, rushing to Beatrice Whitt’s bedside. Ellie rubbed her hand over the woman’s head, but Beatrice was unresponsive. “What’s wrong with her?” Ellie said, wiping a tear from her face. “What have you done to Bea?”

  “She was like that when we arrived,” Sarah answered. “She’s been drugged, but I think she’ll be okay.” Sarah instantly picked up on the look she got. “I’m a doctor.”

  “You look familiar,” Stewart said. “Have we met?”

  “No,” Sarah answered, understanding why Stewart would ask but not wanting to go there.

  Ellie continued stroking Beatrice’s head. “Why is she here? What’s going on?”

  Sarah glanced at Ben. He still wasn’t prepared to answer a lot of questions. “We’re not sure, Ellie,” Sarah said. “There’s a man named Buchanan. He seems to be a part of some kind of cult. We’re not sure what he wants. We just know he’s been planning this for some time.”

  “How do you know that?” Stewart asked.

  Ben broke in. “How do you know this woman? Why did she call you a liar?”

  “You’re mad,” Ellie spit back. “Beatrice and I are friends, Stewart too. We’re colleagues at the Museum of Great Britain. Beatrice is the museum’s director.”

  “And what do you two do?” Sarah asked.

  Stewart answered. “Research. I’m a lab technician. Dr. Scotes is an archeologist.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Ben said. “Why did she call you a liar?”

  Ellie replied, “I have no idea why—”

  “Dr. Scotes,” Stewart interrupted. “That’s not what Ms. Whitt meant. They’re Americans. She didn’t call you a liar. She was talking about—”

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Ellie exclaimed. “Not liar, lyre, the musical instrument. Bea was talking about the lyre.”

  “What lyre?” Ben asked.

  “The one I found in Nigeria.”

  Ben looked at Sarah and shook his head.

  Ellie continued, “I found a lyre while on a dig in Nigeria. Stewart and I were
studying it when it went missing. Security video showed it was Bea who took it. It didn’t make sense.” Ellie turned to Stewart. “They drugged her, it explains everything.”

  “Not everything,” Ben said. “Is this lyre worth a lot of money?”

  Ellie shrugged. “I guess it could be. But it seems to me if money was the motive, they would have had Bea take it, give it to them, then disappear. Why would they bring her to America and do all of this? Did you know they’re making a movie outside?”

  Ben looked at Sarah and then back to Ellie. “We had a feeling. But you know they’re not really making a movie, right?”

  “Sort of figured that out when some fat guy ordered the director to bring us in here.”

  “That’s Earl Buchanan,” Sarah said. “The one behind all this.”

  Ellie nodded. “So, that’s who we are and why we’re here. Your turn.”

  “We honestly don’t know, Ellie,” Sarah said.

  Ellie’s jaw tightened. “No. That answer will not fly, as you Yanks like to say.”

  “It’s the only one we have,” Ben replied. “What do you want us to tell you?”

  Ellie got up and moved next to Stewart. When she spoke, it carried more than an edge of contempt. “You can start by telling us why we’re locked in a prison with the former first lady of the United States and her dead husband’s songwriter brother.”

  Ben let out a long sigh. Sarah sat down on the bed and covered her face.

  “I knew I’d seen her before!” Stewart exclaimed.

  Ben said, “How did you—?”

  “Oh, please,” Ellie interrupted. “We’re from England, not the Tibetan Plateau. We have newspapers and the telly.”

  Sarah stood. “We think this has something to do with who murdered my husband.”

  “I thought it was his friend,” Ellie said, pointing to Ben. “And isn’t he dead?”

  Ben felt like he should have been put off by the woman’s bluntness, but he wasn’t. In a way it made everything easier. “Yes, he is. But we think he was set up…along with me.”

  “Why?” Stewart asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ben answered. “But I started looking into it and…well, here we are.”

  Ellie asked, “What made you start looking into it?”