Roni looked down as Ella handed her a cream colored envelope addressed to her.
‘This was in Della’s file, along with strict instructions from her friend Renata that it was to be delivered to you after Della’s death.’
‘Thank you,’ Roni replied quietly.
‘Della will be moved to the funeral home first thing in the morning. Do you wish to arrange her funeral, or would you like the home to take care of it for you?’
‘No,’ Roni shook her head, ‘I’ll do it.’
Ella nodded.
‘I’ll see to it that her belongings are packed carefully. As her only listed next of kin, we would just pass them to you unless you don’t want them and then we’d just donate them all to goodwill.’
‘I want them,’ Roni told her numbly. ‘Let me know when they are packed up and I’ll arrange to have them collected.’
‘Thank you,’ Ella squeezed her hands and then disappeared down the corridor.
‘Are you sure you want to deal with her funeral?’ Jake asked.
‘Yes,’ Roni gazed back into the room. ‘No matter what she did or didn’t do in life, wherever the truth lies, she was family which makes her my responsibility, because I guarantee my mother won’t do it.’
‘What’s in the envelope?’ he asked.
She looked down and opened it carefully. Inside was a folded piece of paper with Old Mercy Mutual Savings and Trust written on it and several numbers beneath it.
‘A safety deposit box?’ Jake murmured, ‘I guess that’s what the key is for.’ He shook his head frowning, ‘that’s what this was all about? An old safety deposit box, that’s the key everyone was going on about?’
‘No,’ Roni replied.
‘You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?’ he looked into her eyes.
‘You’ll see.’
They waited for the sunrise, unable to sleep, too wired, too everything. They waited for the bank to open and were the first customers through the door. A brief conversation with the bank manager Mr Banbury revealed that, unsurprisingly, Roni was already listed on the account for the safety deposit box as an authorized signatory.
He walked them through to a private room and helped them remove the box, laying it out on the table and then giving them some privacy.
Roni removed the key she’d found in the book from her pocket and unlocked the box, opening the metal lid.
‘At first when that German kept asking for the key, I assumed this was what he meant.’ She lifted the unremarkable metal key and placed it on the table. ‘But that wasn’t the key everyone was talking about,’ she reached into the box and lifted a small velvet drawstring bag. Inside was a diamond bracelet, just like the one Della had given her right before she died. ‘This is the key.’
‘That?’ Jake frowned, ‘that’s a bracelet.’
‘Is it?’ she turned it over and slowly peeled away the velvet backing to reveal a sequence of numbers, just like Della had showed her. ‘It’s a code-key,’ she told him, ‘a sequence of numbers used to decipher an encrypted text.’
‘What text?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out,’ she replied as she set the bracelet aside and looked back into the box. Inside was a small, black cylindrical object.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Jake looked at it closely, ‘is that… a micro film?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Roni mused, ‘I wonder what’s on it?’
‘Whatever it is must’ve been important if they went to all this trouble to hide it,’ Jake answered.
‘We’ll have to be careful with it,’ Roni frowned, ‘we can’t risk any damage to the film. I’ll have to find a specialist to process it.’
‘What else is there?’
Roni investigated further and found one more item, a grey paper folder. She lifted it out carefully and opened it up. Inside was a full manuscript, typed in German which she was mostly unable to read, but she instantly recognized the name of the author.
HANS FRANKE.
Della’s husband; Roni was willing to bet whatever her husband was working on for the Nazis was inside that manuscript. Despite her limited understanding of German, his name wasn’t the only thing she recognized. The title read Das Buch des Himmels.
‘What does it mean?’ Jake asked.
‘Das Buch des Himmels translates to The Book of the Heavens,’ Roni replied, ‘and here in the manuscript, if you flick through it, Hans keeps referring to something the Germans called Die Funf…The Five.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jake frowned.
‘It means that the Nazis knew about the five books and that Hans was looking for one in particular.’
‘The Book of the Heavens,’ Jake breathed heavily. ‘Jesus, if the Nazis knew about that, if that book is half as powerful as the Hell Book...’
‘The question is,’ Roni replied quietly, ‘how close did they come to finding it?’
Keep Reading
The Guardians Series 2
Book 1
Scarlett
Scarlett has hidden successfully for more years than she cares to admit. Hunted for a crime she did not commit and with a price on her head, she has survived this long because she didn’t allow anyone to get too close. She’d been betrayed before, a pain she never wanted to experience again. But she is about to learn the hard way that fate is a fickle and capricious creature. When Sam, the one man she never thought she’d see again, lands in her lap with a serious case of amnesia and the message ‘find Olivia’ scrawled across his arm, she finds herself facing the past she tried so hard to run from.
Even knowing it’s a bad idea, she reluctantly agrees to help him recover his memories and find the mysterious ‘Olivia’ so that she can send him on his way with a clear conscience; sounds so simple, right? There’s just one problem. Sam’s the one who betrayed her, only he has no memory of those events at all. Suddenly everything isn’t so black and white, and the more of Sam’s memories they recover, the more she questions her own memories of those dark days.
Pursued by Angels and Demons alike as they try to piece back together Sam’s damaged mind, Scarlett finds the lines blurring. Unable to tell friend from foe, she has no idea who to trust with her life and Sam’s, but the closer they get to the answers, the more she comes to realize that the one person she needs the most is the one who hurt her in the worst way.
When her enemies begin to close in, she is faced with a choice - save herself or risk everything for the man who betrayed her, knowing that it may cost her life.
Keep reading for an exclusive preview of Chapter 1.
1
He was caught in a subconscious wasteland, the thin line between dreaming and the real world. He tried to move his body, but it was like trying to swim through turbulent waters, only the water was warm and somehow thicker than it should be, like syrup. Somewhere in the distance he could see an indistinct figure. He tried to speak but though he opened his mouth no sound came out. Voices intruded on his consciousness, but they were distant and tinny as if they were coming through a badly tuned radio. A half-remembered name whispered in his ear, soft and sibilant and somehow familiar, but he couldn’t quite catch it.
He watched again as the shadowy figure moved and a new sound began to intrude. It was a frantic beeping; like an alarm clock, but not quite the same. A sharp pain seared through his skull as he opened his eyes to a harsh bright light which stabbed at his vision like a thousand tiny pins.
‘Hey there handsome,’ a distinctly Latino voice spoke closely. Her voice was warm and musical, loaded with lush invitation, but to his wounded mind it seemed too loud, too harsh.
‘You’ve finally decided to wake up.’
He dragged a deep and rasping breath into his tight lungs, his head lolling to the side as his vision swam in and out of focus. Lifting his hands to his face he got caught in a mass of tangled tubes and wires.
‘Hold still honey,’ she leaned over him to disentangle
his hand and he caught a hint of what may have been a fruity exotic perfume, but he found it sickly and cloying.
He bit back a sudden bright wave of nausea and failed miserably. Leaning over to the side of the bed he heaved unmercifully. He felt her small warm hand smoothing back his dark hair as she held a bowl under his face. Fortunately, his stomach was empty, and his heaves were dry. Unfortunately, they pulled agonizingly at his ribs which, judging by the pain he was in, were damaged somehow.
When the heaving finally subsided, he fell back to the bed, breathing heavily. Closing his eyes, he felt the strange woman wiping his mouth with gentle hands. Punching a few buttons, she reset the nearby monitor allowing the frantic beeping to once again resume a low monotonous pulse. Tentatively cracking open one eye and then the other, his focus slowly sharpened as his head began to clear and the sharp pain he’d experienced settled into a muted throbbing ache behind his eyes while he studied her intently.
Her almond shaped eyes were large and dark, her skin golden and hinting at a Cuban heritage, if he had to guess. Although she was not tall her ample frame was all womanly curves, but there was also an inviting over-ripeness to her as she readjusted the pulse-ox clipped to his finger and studied the monitor.
‘Where am I?’
He winced at the sound of his own voice, cracked and rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. He tried to swallow but his throat was dry and tight, making it almost impossible.
‘Here honey.’
He watched as she poured a small cup of water from a cheerful colored pitcher and dropped a straw into it, before raising it to his parched lips. Although it was lukewarm with a faintly clinical aftertaste it was, never the less, soothing.
‘Thank you,’ he croaked.
‘No problem,’ she smiled lightly as she ran her gaze over the long strip of paper drifting from the monitor, ‘you’re at the Mercy Medical Center, in Baltimore.’
‘How long?’ he croaked again as he struggled to rise, pulling at the various tubes and wires attached to him.
‘Oh no you don’t handsome,’ she pressed him back gently but firmly against the crisp white pillows and settled the pale blue blanket covering him.
‘How long?’
‘A couple of days,’ she gazed down at him, her lips pursed speculatively. ‘Cops brought you in, you were pretty out of it.’
‘I have to go,’ he tried once again to rise.
‘Whoa,’ she held him back, ‘what’s the rush?’
‘I don’t know,’ he frowned in confusion.
‘Look, why don’t I go find the Doc, okay?’
After a moment he nodded slowly and seemingly satisfied she turned and left the room. He fell back against the pillows and drew in a shaky breath as he tried to relax his tightly coiled muscles, but once again the strange feeling of urgency washed over him, accompanied by a compelling need to leave.
His brow folded into a frown as he struggled to make sense of the situation he had awoken to. Still confused and disorientated he began to wonder how the hell he’d ended up in a medical center in Baltimore. He tried to cast his mind back to the last thing he remembered before waking up, but all he got was the faint scent of trees and the bite of cold air, then nothing. Not only could he not recall the events leading up to his collapse, but alarmingly he couldn’t remember anything at all, not even his own name.
There was something though, not a memory as such, no, it was vaguer, more fleeting, more a feeling than an image. Something tantalizing danced coyly at the very edges of his consciousness only to skip gleefully out of his grasp every time he reached for it. He didn’t know what the strange feeling was, only that it left him with a terrible sense of urgency which gnawed deep in his gut.
Releasing a deep, frustrated breath his eyes were drawn back to the monitors. He watched them flicker for a moment before he gave up and cast his gaze around the room. The window was open, and the curtain fluttered in the slight breeze, which carried with it the dusty scent of stifling humidity and endless summer days. Once again, he was struck by a sense of wrongness. It should be winter, but why did he think it should be winter? He was so wrapped up in his confusing thoughts, that at first he didn’t register the new aroma subtly underlaid beneath the summer scent. It was one he couldn’t quite place and yet it was painfully familiar to him, so much so his heart clenched, and he felt a wave of longing so strong his fists involuntarily gripped the bed sheets. This new scent was in no way summery or floral, it was darker, earthier and the edge of it crawled under his skin making him itchy and restless.
Trying to force his mind from the strange pull of that scent he absently studied the room, the walls of which were painted a muted sunshine yellow. Mounted in the corner was a small TV screen set to some random channel and quietly playing out a daytime drama that he had absolutely no interest in. Ignoring it completely he turned back to the window and the faint sounds of traffic beyond. The feeling of urgency had now settled into a more subdued sense of disquiet which coiled sleepily in the pit of his belly. Easily ignored, he let his mind drift, watching the ghostly form of the billowing curtains as they lulled him into an uneasy sleep.
It was a cage, golden and gilded…but still a cage.
The bars glowed with letters, a strange language. He was familiar with its flowing looping form and yet still he lacked the understanding to read it. His fingers reached out to grasp the bars and he felt the heat and power sear into his flesh, burning and maiming. Cradling his hand to his chest he looked up into the sky. The light was suffused with a strange, eerie kind of pale blue wash, as if he were looking through tinted glass. A lonely cry echoed through the air as a Raven circled high above.
He glanced down at his hands again; a pair of cruel looking metal cuffs were attached to his wrists. Each cuff was deeply etched with the same symbols scratched into the bars of the cage. The inside of each cuff was lined with cruel metal spikes, dipped in some kind of poison, and bit viciously into his flesh. Spindly veins of deep blue wound up his forearms, pumping the poison through his system, making him weak, making him disorientated.
He knew he had to escape, there had to be a way, somehow…
His surroundings blurred and shifted. He found himself sitting at a deserted bar, staring into a mirrored wall behind rows and rows of bottles as he lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips. His wrists were unmarked, his face younger somehow but still carrying the weight of guilt. He turned to glance to his right and found a familiar looking woman watching him curiously. She was incredibly beautiful with long, dark, wavy hair and whiskey colored eyes. He knew her, he knew he did but try as he might he couldn’t bring her name to mind.
‘Look Sam,’ she stared into her glass for a moment before taking a sip, ‘I know you don’t know me right now and you have no reason to trust me, but I need your help to find Theo and get back to the real world…’
‘I can’t help you,’ he frowned, ‘my father trapped me here as a punishment and I can’t guarantee when he’ll decide to let me out.’
‘What did you do?’ she asked curiously.
‘Look, I told you I can’t help you,’ he snapped angrily.
‘But…’
‘Look Lady…what’s your name?’
‘Olivia,’ she sighed, ‘my name is Olivia.’
He shot up in bed, breathing heavily, the monitor once again beeping frantically. Running his hand shakily through his raven hair he took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Falling back against the pillows he watched as his heart rate slowed and the beeps once again settled into a low pulse. He glanced down at his hands, both his palms were marred by nasty thick burns, his wrists bore puncture marks which ran in a ring around each wrist, faint blue vein like stains ran up his forearm, but what really caught his attention was the faded black marker pen scrawled down his arm in big untidy letters.
‘FIND OLIVIA…’
He blinked at the name from his strange dream, it couldn’t be a coincidence? Wa
s she just a dream, someone conjured by his feverish and damaged mind, or was it something else? Could it be possible she was real? A fragment of a memory? And if so, did he write the message on his arm or did someone else?
He glanced up as he heard the door open. Expecting to see the small Latino nurse he was surprised to see a young red-haired woman enter. She looked down at the chart in her hands allowing him a brief moment to study her.
She was tall and slim, and her feet were tucked into high elegant heels, which seemed to him, highly impractical, for someone in the medical profession. Still, his brows rose in appreciation at the long-toned legs leading up to a tidy skirt ending just below her knees. Her crisp white blouse was tucked in neatly and covered by a pristine lab coat. A stethoscope hung negligently around her neck, but it was her hair which had snagged his attention. It intrigued him, a dark glossy red the color of over ripe cherries and swept back into a tidy twist at the nape of her neck, with just one errant curl escaping.
Tucking her pen into the breast pocket of her coat, she suddenly looked up. His stomach clenched in recognition and his mouth was dry. Her dark eyes locked on his and for a second it felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Her expression flickered for a micro second and he though he saw something, annoyance maybe? Then it was gone, and her polite smile was back in place.
‘Good afternoon,’ she moved closer and stopped beside his bed. ‘I’m Angela Vincent, I’m the physician who has been treating you since you were brought in a few days ago.’
She leaned over to check the stream of data pooling from the monitor next to him.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I know you,’ he whispered hoarsely.
She stopped and glanced down at him, studying him silently. His hair was as black as ink, slightly too long and curling as it hit his neck. His face was almost too beautiful for a man, but it was definitely all male, with a whisper of a cleft at his chin and faint creases in his cheek which would deepen into dimples if he smiled. There was no smile on his face now, just a puzzled frown creasing his brows over intensely piercing blue eyes.
A Little Town Called Mercy Page 25
