Black Water
PROLOGUE
The insistent banging at his door finally roused the General from his sleep. Through the darkened room he could barely make out the last vestiges of the previous evening's fire illuminating the hearth. Silence. Perhaps it was a dream, he thought. More banging, this time more desperately. Struggling into an upright position, he shook his head to try and clear away the final remnants of sleep. The banging continued. Instantly the General's temper flared white hot. How DARE anyone wake me from my sleep! "WHAT?!?" he shouted into the darkness.
"General Wilcox, Sir?" came the muffle voice on the other side of the door, "We have a bit of a situation that needs your attention…" In a rage the general sprang from the bed and seemingly covered the distance to the door in a single stride. Unaware of what was going on beyond the door, the faceless voice proceeded. " Sir, captain Anderson asked me to…" At that instant the door flew wide open, startling the private. For a brief moment the two men gazed at each other. Slowly the young man's face screwed into a look of agonizing bewilderment, and he looked away. Feeling somewhat vindicated by his obviously intimidating presence, the General spoke.
"What's your name boy?" he barked.
"uh, uh, uh sir?" replied the private, his face a mask of confusion.
"Your name. You do have one, don't you?" asked Wilcox condescendingly, reigning in his
anger. Finally, steeling himself against the barrage of questions, the young man bowed up his chest.
"Samuelson, Sir!" said the young man, his eyes locking on the General's.
"Well, private Samuelson," said Wilcox, dragging out the young man's name as if he were drawing on a cigarette "what is it, that's so important that it couldn't wait until morning?"
"Captain Anderson asked me to fetch you, Sir." Said the young man with a sheepish grin.
"…said he needed to speak with you immediately." The fact that the young private found this news humorous ired the General to no end, and he yearned to lash out at the young man again, but restrained.
"Tell, him I'll be there momentarily, Private." He hissed through clenched teeth.
"Aye, Sir!" Said the young man. He hurriedly flashed a salute, turned and sped away as the General slammed the door. Even through the thick oak of the portal, Wilcox could swear he distinctly heard a howl of laughter.
Through the darkness of the room, a form stirred on the bed. "Who was it?" came the distinctly female voice.
"Some smug little pissant of a Private!" replied the General, returning to the bedside. "Can you believe he had the nerve to wake me up and then practically laugh in my face?" The General's bedmate stirred and sat upright.
"I'm sure that he wasn't laughing at you, he was probably just…" She stopped short, suddenly coughing as if to choke off a snicker.
"Probably just what?" probed Wilcox. Unable to control herself any longer the woman erupted into peals of laughter.
"Probably wasn't expecting to be met at the door by the General and all of his privates." She said between fits of laughter, playfully reaching for him.
"My who?" He said. "There's nobody else here but you AAAND-" At that moment, her hand reached his waist. Suddenly, as SHE grasped his manhood, HE grasped her meaning. He had unwittingly answered the door, completely naked. "OH FOR THE LOVE OF…" All over the compound soldiers stopped and pondered the source of the raucous laughter that split the night.
Minutes later, a fully dressed General Wilcox strode across the battery towards the Captain's office.
Captain Anderson was a wiry fellow, prone to nervousness. As if waking the General was not enough to send his ulcer into overtime, the news he was faced with tell him was almost sufficient to send the poor fellow into a breathing fit. Even though it was expected, the knock at his door that signaled the General's arrival nearly caused him to leap out of his skin. " Enter!" He said, doing his best to sound authoritative. "General Wilcox, Sir," said the Captain as he rose from his desk and snapped a salute. " I apologize for the early hour but we have a situation that I felt I must apprize you of." The General flashed a halfhearted salute and sank into one of the chairs in front of the Captain's desk.
"Perry, its barely four thirty in the morning," said the General casually, "what is it that couldn't wait until after breakfast?" Momentarily taken aback by the General's informality, the captain was unsure whether to sit or remain standing- he chose to stand.
"Well, General," he stammered, unsure as to the best way to break the news. "it's the Leviathan…" Anderson could feel the bile rising in his throat. Swallowing hard he continued. "she's been taken."
"WHAT!?!" roared Wilcox sitting bolt upright. Anderson backpedaled, feeling the fire in his stomach grow by orders of magnitude. "How could this have happened?"
"We aren't quite sure, Sir, but we have the situation under control."
"If the Leviathan is missing, how could you POSSIBLY have things under control?"
"Its not as bad as it sounds." Said the Captain, trying to reassure himself as much as the General. "We have signaled the patrol boats, and they are forming a blockade at the mouth of the harbor we also have the dragnets in place. They have nowhere to go, Sir. Effectively, they are trapped."
"Then why haven't we gotten the ship back yet?" Asked the General feeling slightly relieved, but still apprehensive.
"The fog, Sir, its making it impossible to see more than a few feet. But I assure you that by dawn, the Leviathan will once again be ours."
" I wish that I could share in your optimism," said the General gravely, "but in my position I cannot afford to take chances. Have the patrol boats deploy the mines into the harbor." The Captain looked up in confusion.
"Sir?"
"The mines, Captain. I want them in the harbor NOW."
"But sir, if the Leviathan hits one, she'll go to the bottom in minutes."
" I am aware of that, Perry, but I don't need to tell you what a disaster it would be if the Yankees get a hold of the Leviathan and its cargo. It would be better for us if she were at the bottom of the harbor. Either we have the ship back by dawn, or I want her sunk. Understood?" Aware that any further arguments had just become moot, Anderson pulled himself up to his full stature and snapped a salute in understanding.
Wilcox nodded and the Captain sped off to notify the sentries on duty of the new plan.
After a moment, the General slowly rose to his feet, and glanced out the window at the fog-covered harbor. Somewhere out there was the key to the Confederation's success and within hours it would either be back in their hands- where it belonged, or in a watery grave. "God help us all…" He finally said quietly.
The unearthly beast moved silently through the mist of the harbor. It was a ship, unlike anything that man or nature had ever imagined before. Half metal, half wood; the creature sat barely three feet above the waterline, with the exception of the wheelhouse. It was a prototype- a truly revolutionary concept of naval development. This ship was the first of a new class of ship that would later come to be known as ironclads, and it belonged to the Confederacy. Built under complete secrecy, the Leviathan had been commissioned by Jefferson Davis. Being a predominantly agricultural region, Davis knew that the confederacy was at a distinct disadvantage over their industrial rivals to the North, and needed a decided edge if they were to win the impending war. President Davis, along with several of his closest advisors, felt that the Leviathan could be just the edge they needed to win.
Now, in these early morning hours Wilcox was watching it all slip away. Somehow the Yankees must have learned of Davis' secret weapon and set out to steal it. Wilcox cringed, this was all his fault. He had been appointed to test this new ship design, and it had performed astonishingly well. So well in fact, that Davis and many others were pushing for its immediate deployment. Wilcox however had resisted. He wasn't completely happy about one particular aspect of the ships design, and wanted further testing to be done before signing off on it. Clad completely in metal, its top was all but impenetrable to even the strongest cannons. The bottom however was a different story. Tight budgetary constraints and a fear that a ship completely clad in metal would be too heavy to maneuver led the designers to clad only the first foot or so of the ship below the waterline in metal. Therein lay its Achilles heel. A well-placed shot that hit just below the waterline could conceivably cause sufficient damage to sink the ship. Wilcox knew this and had hoped to find a way around the weakness. And now, as he stared into the murky darkness, Wilcox had only one thought. Perhaps he could turn the ship's weakness to his advantage. God, he prayed silently, please let me have been right about the mines…
Smoke and darkness filled the wheelhouse. In the distance shouting could be heard, but the immense fog in the harbor buried everything in a shroud of grey. Occasionally a shot rang out from somewhere in the void, but few were of any consequence. Most of the damage that could be done already had. Unaware that the patrol boats had been alerted, Luke Blackwell had unknowingly run right into a trap. If not for some quick maneuvering he would surely have been pinned in and captured. As it stood, he had simply endured a futile barrage of gunfire, escaping virtually unscathed, except for a deep cut over one eye. Now with a moments reprieve, he took a second to assess any damage and formulate a new plan. What little bit of glass that had once served as the ship's portholes, had been torn away by the confederate soldier's three ringers, a fact that was based more on sheer volume than on accuracy. Other than that, the ship was unharmed. Inside, Luke stared intently into the fog, looking for any changes that would indicate the approach of the shoreline or another ship. Through the gloom he could hear the footfalls of soldiers as they dashed down the battery boardwalk searching for an opportunity to attack the lumbering giant and he knew that his trouble was far from over. The grease and powder that stained his face mingled with his sweat and stung his eyes. Cripes! He thought, it's not even daybreak and already it's hotter than hell! What kind of infernal place is this? Being careful not to break his concentration, he quickly wriggled out of the trench coat that had concealed his navy colored uniform. "Come on, come on, COME ON!" He said under his breath, as he tapped his hands nervously against the ship's wheel and rocked anxiously from side to side. His keen eyes strained to pierce the intense fog searching for something. If not for the intensive scouting he had done earlier, he'd be lost already. As it stood he was navigating more by feel and memory than by sight. The fog was lifting a little and he could vaguely make out shadows as he maneuvered the ship through the shallow waters. Luke knew that he had precious little time, and that his chances for escape waned with fog. He had to either escape or get far enough away to be able to scuttle the ship and not be seen, but with the harbor sealed off, that was going to be all but impossible.
In the distance, a new noise could be heard. Splashes. Luke could only assume that meant they were setting out mines. And in this already treacherous harbor, that could prove fatal. Once the fog lifted, he'd be visible for miles at sea, and would never make it back to shore without being captured or killed. There had to be a solution. He checked his surroundings as best he could to make sure he wasn't going to run into anything and throttled back the engine. Rushing to the deck below, he began looking for any supplies he might be able to use. The space below the main deck was so cramped that Luke had to nearly walk doubled over to avoid hitting his head. The hold was full of all sorts of items. Cannonballs, gunpowder, rope and the sort were all stacked at one end, while the entire other end was full of a dozen or so matching trunks. Maybe there was something inside that he could use. Scrambling over to the first one he tried to open it. LOCKED! Quickly scanning the others he noticed that they all had padlocks on them. What type of supplies would you keep locked in a warship? He wondered. Whatever it was must be important he reasoned, and set about to open the lock. Quickly he made his way back to the other end of the hold and returned with a medium sized shot ball. It only took three good swings to smash the lock from the chest. Tossing the shot aside he quickly removed the lock and opened the chest. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness within and he peered inside. What he saw set him reeling backwards is shock. This was all wrong! There was no way that he could let them recapture this ship. He had to get the Leviathan as far away from here as possible. THINK, damn it! How could he get out of a harbor whose mouth was guarded by every ship in the port? Why couldn't he just disappear? WAIT! That was it! Suddenly the pieces fell into place and he knew exactly what he must do. He'd disappear. Setting the details of the plan in his mind, he hurried about, gathering the supplies he'd need. Luke knew that if he were able to pull this off, it would be the biggest coup of the war. His resolve set, Luke quickened his pace, as a rush of adrenalin gave him renewed strength for the task ahead.
From the deck of the patrol boat Savannah, General Wilcox and Captain Anderson could scarcely see the outline of the next ship. Wiping the mist from the face of his watch, Anderson noted with some amount of satisfaction that it was nearly daybreak. It will all be over soon, he thought. "Almost time, Sir!" He said with a cheerful air. Wilcox cast him a quick sideways glance then resumed peering into the fog, as if by somehow concentrating hard enough he could make it dissipate at will. Moments later, from down the boardwalk of the nearby Battery gunshots began to ring out, followed by shouts of "There she is!" Wilcox felt his heart jump, and doubled the intensity of his gaze. Suddenly, the Leviathan loomed from the darkness, running full bore towards the blockade or ships. The thick fog hid her garish features, but the profile was unmistakable it WAS the Leviathan. As the ship bore down on the blockade, shots began to ring out from their decks. Wilcox stared in awe as the hulk drew ever closer to the line of ships. "Looks like he means to ram us, Sir." Said Anderson tensely.
"Not to worry, he'll never make it through the mines." Came the General's casual reply.
The bullets continued to assault the hide of the charging giant, but had all the effect of a swarm of gnats. "Just a little closer," coaxed the General, "that's the way." And suddenly the Leviathan was amongst the thick of the mines. One brush was all it would take for the ship to be sent plunging to the bottom.
"He's seen the mines!" Burst the Captain, as the ship began to make an obvious turn away from the looming wall of ships.
"For all the good it will do him," said the General as the ship began to once again recede into the fog bank, "he's got no more than an hour at best before this fog lifts and he's ours. Besides, he's not out of the mines yet." As if on cue just as the ship was about to disappear back into the mist it began to veer sharply, obviously to avoid a mine. Suddenly from out of the grey there was a blinding flash of an explosion, followed by the shockwave of heat, noise, and debris. The blast was so intense that it rocked the entire ship knocking its crew to the deck. Struggling to his feet, Wilcox looked around at his crew. Finding the Captain, he helped him sit upright.
"Well," said Anderson, a bit more loudly than he anticipated, "looks as though we have some explaining to do to President Davis."
"Just you leave that to me," Said the General, as his mind began to spin the story, "these men didn't see anything here tonight! Understand?" Anderson nodded. "And Captain," Wilcox continued, "Meet me in my office in ten minutes. There is a matter I'd like to discuss…" Anderson nodded again, his ears still ringing mercilessly. He tried to stand and salute, but Wilcox was already gone.
CHAPTER ONE
"NO!!!" Griffon sat upright in the bed. His forehead and torso were drenched from sweat brought on by the recurring nightmares. His heart pounded in his ears as he struggled to regain control of his breathing. Griffon looked at the clock; 3:39 A.M. This has got to stop! He thought to himself. The nightmares had been going on for nearly 6 months now, and were always quite similar. But no matter what the differences, they all ended the same. He'd find himself trapped in total darkness, unable to move or scream, alone and helpless. He glanced at the motionless lump beside him under the covers. If it weren't for the large nest of platinum blonde hair, the form might have been all but unidentifiable. Not detecting any stirring, it was fairly apparent that his outburst had gone unnoticed by his bedmate. Sliding to the edge of the mattress, he quietly slipped out of bed and padded across the hardwood floor into the adjoining bath. Closing the door behind him he fumbled for the light switch. After allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he stared intently at his reflection in the mirror as he filled the sink basin with cold water. Griffon Hunter was young by most standards, in his mid thirties. But by that time, he had seen and done more than most people do in a lifetime. At two hundred and twenty five pounds, he was a large man, but his 6 foot two inch frame carried the weight quite well. The two hazel eyes that stared back at him appeared sunken and red from lack of sleep, but still gleamed almost defiantly. Manifestation. That was the word the psychiatrist had used. They told him that the nightmares were a manifestation of something that was deeply troubling his subconscious. "Hogwash!" he said aloud, startling himself with the sound of his own voice. There had to be more too it than just that. He had experienced nightmares before, but these were different, they were too…real. Finally breaking his gaze from the mirror, he wet a washcloth and briskly wiped himself clean. Then he splashed more water on his face. Feeling mildly renewed, he turned off the light and returned to bed. As he drifted back off to sleep, he couldn't help wondering to himself when the nightmares would end…
The next time Griffon opened his eyes, the world looked completely different. The early morning sun was streaming in through the shear-covered window, bathing the bedroom in a golden glow. The lump that had been beside him earlier was gone, and he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. He quietly rose, and plodded to the kitchen for his morning ritual. Breakfast never happened at his house; instead he slugged down 2 cups of bitter black coffee and hastily dressed. He was in the process of lacing up his boots to take Max, his Golden Retriever, out for walk when a female figure appeared in the bathroom doorway. She was slender and shapely and water glistened off her naked form. Her trademark Blonde hair was wrapped turban style in a large towel.
"Damn it Griffon! When are you going to remember to set that stupid alarm clock? You knew that I had an important meeting this morning, and now I'm late!" Max, sensing the tension of the moment, scurried under the bed.
"I'm sorry, Aly." He mumbled under his breath.
"This is the third time in less than two weeks! If you can't do better than that, I'm just going to have to get my own place."
"Sorry," he repeated, looking like an abused animal.
"Sorry? SORRY? You're always sorry. Sorry you forgot my birthday, sorry you forgot to set the alarm…I've had it up to HERE with sorry!!! Just because YOU aren't working right now doesn't mean that the rest of us aren't!"
"Its called a sabbatical." he fired back, temper flaring slightly.
"Its called burnout!" She flashed," And I don't know how much more of it I can take!" With that, she turned and slammed the door to the bathroom behind her, sending two picture frames flying off the wall.
A few minutes later, Alyson emerged from the bathroom. "Griff, I'm really sorry. It's just been really stressful lately with my grandparents accident and the medical bills and I… Griffon?" He was gone.
Griffon's CJ-7 sped powerfully down the road. The growl of its throaty V-8 engine was scarcely audible above the swirling vortex of wind blowing through the vehicle. It was going to be a beautiful day, and he had left the hardtop at home. Cruising with the top off always made him feel better. It helped him let go of whatever was going on in his world at the time and clear his mind. True to form, the recent argument with Alyson had already faded from his thoughts. Griffon's relationship with the CJ was one born of sentiment. It had belonged to his father before he had died, and was the only thing Griffon had to remember him by. He had found it in his father's garage buried beneath years of amassed clutter. Seeing it again had brought back a rush of memories so powerful that Griffon had to choke back the tears. He had spent the next 6 months loving restoring the machine. Now, the Gunmetal grey paint once again glistened in the overhead sun. He had always been intoxicated by adrenaline, and as he had grown he had migrated towards whatever gave him the biggest rush. As a teenager it was motorcycles, later on it was sky diving, and most recently is was scuba diving. Casually glancing at the speedometer He noted with mild amusement that it hovered around Seventy-Five miles per hour. Just for fun he nudged it up another fifteen. Following the causeway that led from the mainland, he turned off onto the primary street that ran the length of the island from North to South. Heading North, he drove to the farthest point of the island, where the road dead-ended at a public beach access. "Its about time!" said the man leaning against the old Mustang he had parked beside. " I was afraid I might suffer a sunstroke before you showed up."
" Ah, come on Jack, what's a few less brain cells?" Griffon Joked.
"Well, I only have two left and I'm rather fond of them both." Jack said with a hint of sentiment. The two laughed and exchanged a handshake. Jack Aubrey was a walking contradiction. From all outside appearances, he was a redneck, and dressed the part quite convincingly (from his well-worn cowboy boots to his raggedy old Earnhardt ball cap). What the typical onlooker missed however was the 150-point I.Q., the propensity for eclectic music, and his love for exotic cuisine. None of this was lost on Griffon.
After grabbing his surfboard out of the back of the Jeep the two friends began the half-mile hike to their destination. There are two ways to reach the northern tip of the island. One can follow the beach up the coast until it begins its turn back inland, or they can use the road through the old abandoned coast guard base. Griffon chose to walk through the base. Side stepping the barricade that blocked the entrance, they hoisted the gear onto their shoulders and set out at a steady march. The buildings that lined both sides of the path looked like havens for the homeless, and on occasion they were. Broken windows, missing doors and half collapsed roofs were everywhere. Not a single building was in tact. Being in the heart of Hurricane Alley didn't help matters much. What vandals hadn't already destroyed would eventually be reclaimed by Mother Nature. The sand dunes that loomed ahead signaled his arrival at the end of the base. From there the asphalt path gave way to hot sand. Only by brute force were they able to muscle their way across the remaining hundred yards to the beach. After a short rest to catch their breath, both men began putting on their shorties, and checking their boards. The Northern tip of the island was a secret hotspot for hard-core surfers. While most of the average surfers kept to the Eastern side of the island, a few brave souls would venture to the northern tip, where the bay curves inward and the currents become treacherous. The shoreline elsewhere on the island had a gradual slope that caused the waves to break weakly, but here at the point strong currents had stripped away layer after layer of sand until the drop off became extreme, and the resulting waves were mammoth. " You ready, Rookie?" prodded Griffon.
"Cowabunga, Dude!" Jack replied as both men dashed into the water
"Jack," said Griffon, suddenly quite serious. Aubrey looked up from his paddling, concerned about what might be troubling his friend.
"Yeah, Grif?"
"NEVER, say that again!"
CHAPTER TWO
Sitting alone in the misty rain, the old Victorian house looked like a sleeping giant. A great blanket of fog rolled lazily from the pond and across the yard, giving everything a dreamlike quality. But even in the soft focus of the morning haze, the house looked alone and forlorn. The hedges, once well manicured and the envy of the neighbors now ran wild and unmanaged. The paint was cracked and in many places the bare wood showed through. On the front porch sat a middle-aged gentleman. He was slender with long salt and peppery hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail. His grey eyes sparkled brightly behind the lenses of a small pair of eyeglasses that perched precariously across the bridge of a beak-like nose. This was a fact that was made all the more apparent whenever he introduced himself by name- Andrew Hawkins. He had the disheveled look that only a genius can carry off, and the brains to match it.
From the end of the long drive that ambled amongst giant Oaks, two faint lights slowly materialized and began to draw nearer. In just a few moments a black Camry appeared from out of the mist and pulled to a stop in front of the house. Alyson opened the door and threw a friendly wave to Andrew. She was impeccably dressed in a soft yellow skirt and matching jacket.
"Drew…" she said throwing her arms around him, "I'm so glad you are here. I don't think I could have made it this far if it weren't for you."
"Don't be silly," he said humbly, as he planted a brotherly kiss on her cheek, "you're in very capable hands with Griffon."
"I know," she said, growing a little misty, "but you're family. And people need family at times like this." Drew nodded silently in understanding. Truth be told- Drew wasn't family in the strictest sense of the word. His father and Aly's grandfather had been lifelong best friends. So much so that it became easier to think of them as relatives than as friends. It was just easier to call his father 'her Uncle Nick' than to explain the subtle nuances of the true relationship. Eventually the two families had become so integrated that every holiday and family vacation was arranged together. "I'm sorry I haven't called lately, its just been-"
"Its okay, I understand. REALLY, you don't have to explain." He interrupted.
"No, you DON'T!" She argued back. "Please, just let me finish." Aly swallowed hard, her eyes welling with tears. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was to him, and how much everything he had done these past few weeks had meant to her, but the words wouldn't come. She began to sob. Drew had been the one that had discovered her grandparents following their accident. He had been the one that had stayed with them through the torrential rain, waiting for the ambulance. He was the first one to meet Alyson at the hospital and the last to leave. He had TRULY been their guardian angel. Then in the weeks that followed Drew had been there to help HER. There were funeral arrangements, legal issues, and bills to sort, and Drew had helped her through all of it. He had even shown up to help her clean her grandparent's house. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There were no words that Aly could utter that would express her eternal gratitude, and she knew it. At a total loss, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a silent hug. For a minute she clung to him, shuddering, and he softly stroked her back.
"I know," he said softly as if the hug conveyed her message perfectly. " I know." Eventually the moment passed and they began to resume their small talk.
"Are you SURE that Grandpa's books are all that you want?" She asked for what seemed like the tenth time. "I don't know WHAT this Cox guy is going to want when he gets here, so if there is anything else you want, speak up now."
"I'm sure." He said reassuringly. " Besides, I couldn't take anything else even if I wanted too," he joked, "after those two car loads of books I took home, there's barely enough room for me and the cat!" They both laughed, and were silent for a bit. When Andrew spoke again, he sounded completely lost in another time. "That was the one thing I remember the most about Uncle Elbert, was all the hours he spent reading his old books and writing in those silly journals."
At that moment a limousine began making its way up the long drive, Andrew blinked hard and the spell was broken.
"Anyways, there are more pages in that dusty heap of books, than I'll ever get around to reading." Slowly the long black car rolled to a stop. A door opened and out stepped the driver. He was tall, at least six and a half feet, with unnaturally silver hair for a man his age. The predatory gaze of his eyes made Alyson shudder uncontrollably, but she refused to look away. As he moved to open the rear door she couldn't help but notice that the handle looked laughably miniature in his hand. As the door opened, Alyson found herself leaning forward in curious anticipation.
The circumstances leading her to be here, were quite bizarre, and she had found herself pondering their significance all morning. The bills relating to her grandparents accident and subsequent deaths had been huge. Although they had some money in savings as well as life insurance, it wasn't nearly enough and Alyson was left to cover the expenses by taking out a second mortgage on her grandparent's house. She had juggled everything well enough at the beginning, but as the bills continued to roll in Alyson found herself slowing falling further and further behind. Finally the bank had stepped in and threatened to take the house if she didn't pay the account current within sixty days. That was when she had received the phone call from the mysterious Augustine Cox. Cox was the chairman of the board for the bank, as well as a longtime business associate of her grandparents. He had apparently learned of her plight at one of the board's monthly meetings, and promptly offered to step in and help. A lifelong Southerner, he was what people commonly referred to as "Old Money". Originally he had offered to buy the house and all its contents- sight unseen. Alyson had refused, saying that she did not wish to sell it. Cox was unrelenting however, and Alyson (knowing that she was in an unavoidable pinch) had finally offered to sell him whatever he wanted from the contents of the house, in order to buy her some time with the bank. Cox agreed, and they had scheduled this morning for a walkthrough of the house.
If there ever were a polar opposite of the steely-eyed driver, the gentleman who appeared from within the rear of the limo was it. He was small and elderly but his miniature frame did nothing to diminish his overwhelming presence. Well dressed from head to toe, the man looked impeccable. Though he walked with a bit of a limp, his gold tipped cane was more of a statement than an aid. Alyson rose and walked over to greet him. "Mr. Cox? Hi, I'm Alyson Larkin, we spoke on the phone."
"Ms. Larkin, its very nice to finally meet you." He said, taking her hand in his and smiling warmly. Andrew had followed her from the porch and stood silently nearby.
"And this is my cousin, Andrew Hawkins." The two shook hands and nodded obligingly.
" This is an amazing old house, I can't wait to see what's inside," he remarked with genuine appreciation. For a second, Aly flinched, internally revolted at the thought of selling off her grandparent's treasures like so much flea market fodder. I don't have any choice, she told herself. Its either this or lose everything. At least this way I keep the house. The group stood silently for a moment taking in the scene that could have come from a Rockwell Village. It hurt her to see the house in such a sad state. In it's day, the old Victorian had been the jewel of the neighborhood. Now it was but a sad shell of its former self. One day, she thought. One day I'll make this house shine like the gem it once was. Steeling her nerves, Alyson turned back to the old man.
"Okay then, Shall we?" They stepped boldly through the open door and glanced appreciatively around the foyer. Cox gasped, it was even more amazing than he had imagined. Slowly the two walked through the entire house, stopping occasionally to look more closely at certain pieces. All the while, Andrew and the driver followed silently. After nearly an hour, they returned to the front hall where the tour had begun. Maybe it was his elegant manner, or his intelligent speech; but for some reason Alyson became all too aware of the mass of boxes and bric-a-brac that filled the foyer- and she was suddenly embarrassed. " I apologize for the clutter," she said blushing slightly, "but we have been trying to get things in order. I'm going to have a garage sale and get rid of whatever you decide not to buy."
"That won't be possible." Cox said offhandedly. Alyson's eyes locked on his.
"What do you mean?" she asked with an unmistakable tone of suspicion in her voice. Andrew, who had been listening from nearby, also eyed him suspiciously.
"What I mean," said the old man with a wry smile, "is that I plan on buying the entire lot."
"You… you DO?" Said Alyson sheepishly, unable to control her growing excitement.
"Down to the last spoon!" Cox chimed, his voice almost a laugh. "Now, how does twenty thousand dollars sound?" For a moment Alyson's eyes flickered to Drew for confirmation. She needn't have bothered because he looked just as amazed as she did. She tried to stifle her gleeful smile, but it was uncontrollable- and contagious. Soon everyone in the room was smiling happily; except the driver, of course. Cox prepared the check as they discussed plans for the removal of the goods. "There is one other thing…" Cox said casually as he handed Alyson the check. "I am an avid collector of old literature and antique books, and could help but notice that there are no books in the house…" He paused, giving Alyson time to finish his thought.
"He did have some, but I have already given them to Andrew," she said nodding in Hawkins' general direction.
"Oh, I see," said Cox, frowning slightly, "that's most unfortunate." He turned to address Andrew directly. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in parting with them?" Andrew shook his head no.
"Very well then." He said with a scowl. "Then I guess our business here is finished. Ms. Larkin…Mr. Hawkins…" He bowed ever so slightly to each one as he spoke their name, and left without another word.
It was getting dark, so Aly hurriedly said goodbye to Andrew and left for home. Her mind was a flurry of activity as she drove. The overwhelming pervasive fear of losing her grandparent's house has faded, giving way to feelings of guilt over the way she'd left things with Griffon that morning. Through all of this, he had been rock solid; always there wanting to help her and to be supportive, but she had constantly pushed him away. In her mind she could see his warm eyes, and feel the comfort and security that they brought. But as the words from earlier that day ran through her head, she could feel his eyes grow sadder and more withdrawn. BURNOUT. She winced as the word echoed in her memory. That had surely been the unkindest cut of all. She KNEW it wasn't true, so why had she said it?
Griffon had made no small point of explaining to Aly why he wasn't teaching at the college this semester. The reason was twofold. First, there was the alleged affair with one of his students. Griffon had vehemently denied the allegations, and had eventually been able to shrug off the entire incident as a false rumor, but not before his reputation had taken a hit. Had that been the sole issue, Griffon might have walked away unscathed. Unfortunately for him, however, shortly after charges of the affair had sprung up, another charge arose. This one was far worse than the other and threatened Griffon's very career as a professor of history. As an academian in a high profile university, Griffon was aware of the constant pressure to submit papers for publication. The running motto among the staff was " Publish or perish" and it was very nearly true. It was almost an unwritten rule that in order for a professor to be granted tenure, they had to be highly published. Being all too familiar with this notion, Griffon had jumped at the opportunity to co-author a paper with a colleague who was a professor of archaeology. It seems that the other professor had been working on identifying an old wreck that had been discovered under the bank of a local river, and wanted Griffon to confirm his research. Together, with the help of a few artifacts discovered near the wreck, the two concluded that it was the remains of a famous supply barge that had disappeared in that area during the Civil War. The paper had been received with great zeal, much to their delight. In fact, the city officials had been so impressed with their discovery that they spent millions in restorations to the barge, viewing it as a local landmark. Then, shortly before its grand unveiling, trouble struck. A local man by the name of Rod Gragg made a startling discovery. Less than half a mile upstream from their site, Gragg found ANOTHER wreck, this one FULL of artifacts just like those had been found at Griffon's original site. After some analysis, he was able to prove conclusively that the city's newly restored wreck was not that of the lost supply barge, but simply a derelict gravel barge from around the same era. The river's current had simply carried artifacts from Gragg's wreck upstream to their site just over a quarter mile below, resulting in their mistakenly identifying the ship. The repercussions were instantaneous. The city, unable to admit their error (for fear of a political backlash caused by the ill spent millions) was forced to disavow the new discovery. This of course gave way to Gragg obtaining salvage rights to the ship, and making hundreds of thousands of dollars on the sale of artifacts. Griffon, along with the other professor, was immediately put on leave pending an investigation. Aware of the delicacy of such a situation, the school issued him six months off, calling it a mandatory sabbatical, with pay. Griffon had handled it well at first, using the time to work on new research, but as the days drug by, he had slowly slipped deeper and deeper into a depression. Then came Aly's grandparent's accident and the funeral. He had been SO great to her, and now she felt like a heel.
That settles it, she thought, she would make up for it tonight. Her thoughts once again turned to the check tucked securely in her pocket, and she smiled. Oh yes, she'd certainly make up for it, and in spades! She pushed the accelerator closer to the floor and the car sped down the deserted highway.
CHAPTER THREE
As Griffon's Jeep rolled to a stop under the tree beside the house, he could see Aly's car parked in its customary spot at the end of the driveway. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervous tension as he cut the headlights and opened the driver side door. Would she still be mad from this morning? He certainly hoped not, but one way or the other, he'd make her see that he was sorry. The house appeared dark from the outside. Maybe she's already asleep, he thought to himself. The key rattled noisily in the door. Slowly he entered and closed the door behind him. Max, who was busy napping beside the fireplace, dutifully awoke long enough to raise his head and utter a solitary 'Woof' in Griffon's general direction. "Best guard dog south of the Mason-Dixon," he muttered to himself with a chuckle. From the back of the house he could hear music playing softly. "Aly?" he called as he made his way towards the source of the sound. From the doorway of the bedroom he could make out the distinctive flicker of candlelight emanating from the adjoining bath. "Aly?" he called again.
"In here." Came a sultry reply from the dimly lit space. It was then that he noticed the rose petals strewn all over the room. Cliché as it was, Griffon couldn't help but smile.
"Sweetheart," he said as he approached the glowing doorway. From the sanctuary of the bubble filled garden tub, Alyson could make out Griffon's silhouette. "Listen, I'm really sorry about this morning…" he said quietly as he leaned against the doorframe.
"No, I'M sorry," she replied, cutting him off. " I never should have said those things." Griffon walked slowly across the room and sat beside her on the step to the tub. She continued to talk as their hands slowly intertwined in a miniature embrace. " You have been SO terrific through everything that's happened lately, and I have been just horrible to you. And all the while you have been suffering quietly through your own problems."
"Shhh," he said quietly as he leaned down and kissed her glistening forehead, "none of that matters."
"But it DOES!" She said emphatically. "I feel just awful about the way that I've acted lately, but I want you to know that everything is going to change." Griffon just gazed at her, allowing her to continue. "You know that meeting I had today? The one with Mr. Cox?" Griffon nodded in remembrance. "Well, not only did he want to buy some of my grandparents stuff…He bought it all!"
"That's FANTASTIC sweetheart!" said Griffon excitedly "I told you it would all work out."
"Wait!" said Alyson, "it gets better! He gave me twenty thousand dollars for everything!"
"Oh my God!" said Griffon, unable to fully absorb what was happening.
"So you see," she continued, "you were right, everything IS going to be okay. And to celebrate, I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow night? Agreed?"
"You got it" Said Griffon. " Now if you'll excuse me," he added with a devilish smile, " I appear to have dropped my soap."
"Oh no you don't!" said Aly warily, but it was too late. Griffon had already thrown himself over the side and into the tub clothes and all. "Griffon!" She scolded playfully between kisses. "What about the 'baby'?" Both of them turned and peered at Max who was watching curiously from the doorway. Apparently all the laughter had piqued his curiosity enough to rouse him from his naptime location.
"Max," said Griffon with a hint of authority. The dog woofed in acknowledgement. "Take a walk!" Again the dog woofed, and without another sound padded back out to the den. "Now," said Griffon, his eyes glowing lustily "where were we?"
An hour later, the satiated couple rested comfortably on the bed. Hearing a sniffle from his bedmate, Griffon looked up from his reading and stared curiously at Alyson. She was sitting Indian style on her side of the bed, surrounded by a cornucopia of musty smelling items that she pulled from a seemingly bottomless box. "You okay?" He asked tenderly as she swabbed her nose with a tissue.
"I'm fine," She said between snuffs, " its just hard to believe that they are gone sometimes. I look at all this stuff and it just doesn't make sense. I mean, why does God take good people?" At a loss for words, Griffon slid close to her and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. Alyson nuzzled closer and buried her head in his chest. Slowly she began to feel better, and her attention turned again to the small leather pouch she'd been unconsciously stroking between her fingers.
"What's that?" Asked Griffon.
"I don't really know," She said, passing the item to him. "I found it tucked inside one of my Grandfather's jackets."
"It looks like a tobacco pouch," he said, turning it over in his hand. "My Dad carried one for years. He used it whenever he smoked his pipe."
"I guess that makes sense," said Alyson, " my Grandfather used to smoke, but that was years ago. What would it be doing in the coat he was wearing the day they had their accident?"
"Maybe he had a secret habit," offered Griffon, thinking out loud. "Or maybe…" His eyes sparkled at the thought of a mystery. He looked reluctantly at Aly. Sensing his hesitation, she nodded in consent. Griffon's fingers carefully worked the zipper of the pouch. Aly held her breath eyes straining to see what was inside. They both let out a collective sigh of disappointment. "Tobacco. So much for that great discovery." Griffon said tossing the pouch onto the bed with the other items. Aly's ears perked as the bag landed with an oddly metallic clink. She retrieved the pouch from amidst the clutter and began probing the contents for the source of the noise.
"BINGO!" she said, pulling a scrap of blue cloth from one corner of the leather. Slowly she unfolded the fabric and held out its contents for Griffon to see. In her hand were an unusual key with the number 118 engraved on it and a coin.
"It's silver." Said Griffon, as he examined the coin.
"And old too from the looks of it." added Alyson, the key all but forgotten.
"That's not the half of it," said Griffon, his face changing to a look of total bewilderment. "This coin appears to be a Confederate Half Dollar, minted in 1861."
"So it's a REALLY old coin, so what?"
"So," Said Griffon, his voice becoming shaky, " there were only four Confederate Half Dollars known to exist…if this one is legitimate, it would make a fifth and be virtually priceless."
CHAPTER FOUR
The news of the coin and the ensuing rush of excitement had afforded Aly precious little sleep, and now as she meandered through the downtown traffic she found her mind drifting euphorically. A sharp horn blast from the car behind her alerted her to the change of the stoplight to green and she proceeded on through the intersection. Once through the light, the flow of traffic widened and the car behind her shot up along side. She gave a sheepish wave and mouthed the words "I'm sorry". Her apology was met by a cold glare followed by the finger. Undeterred by this blatant act of immaturity, she proceeded casually to her destination a few blocks away. As she pulled to a stop in front of the bank, the angered driver gave her a final defiant honk of his horn and sped away. She gave a slightly embarrassed shrug to an elderly couple exiting the bank who had witnessed the scene, and went inside.
The bank's lobby was lavishly decorated in a spectrum of marbles and silks. On the walls hung dozens of ornately framed works of art. Alyson couldn't help musing to herself that in spite of all the unmistakable beauty, the customers might be better served by lower interest rates. Unlike most smaller banks where you simply stand in line for a teller, this one had a central "associate" that directed you to the appropriate bank representative based upon your transaction type. Alyson approached the large round desk where the woman sat and explained her business. She was directed to a lush seating area, complete with imported coffee and scones, and told she would be helped momentarily. She joined a handful of others all waiting quietly, and patiently waited her turn. Presently a short balding gentleman wearing the trademark banker's suit approached her with his hand outstretched. "Ms. Larkin?" he said with a warm smile. " I'm Barry White, it's very nice to meet you. Follow me please." The man walked with an almost comedic shuffle, and Aly couldn't help but laugh to herself at the stark contrast between this Barry White and the famous soul musician. The office area was a sharp contrast to the lobby. Here, opulence had been replaced by minimalism. Glass walls surrounded each desk giving each person inside the appearance of being in a giant zoo exhibit. Alyson could almost see the little placards in front as she walked by, proclaiming the contents of each space: Accountant Overthehillus, Company Drunkus, Office Whorus. Finally they arrived at his office. "Now," he said, planting himself behind a behemoth desk, "what can we help you with today?"
"I have this check," she said pulling Cox's check from her pocketbook and handing it to him, "and I'd like to put it towards my loan."
"Ah yes!" said White examining the check "So you know Mr. Cox."
"Just met him yesterday for the first time, actually." She replied.
"He's a voracious collector!" said White, noting the 'payment for purchase of collection' comment on the memo line of the check. "Are you a coin collector yourself?" he asked.
"Me? Coins? No." she said. " He bought some furniture and things from me. That's all."
"Oh, my mistake," replied White, "He usually just deals in coins. Anyhow," he said getting back on topic, "I'll need just a little more information from you, and we can complete this transaction." White jotted down the necessary information as Aly spoke. "No problem." He said finally. "This will take a few minutes to arrange, in the mean time please make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right back. Alyson nodded in understanding and he left. She watched him as he disappeared around the corner, and chuckled to herself again as he shuffled off, looking like some sort of giant windup toy.
Sitting alone in the office, Alyson couldn't help but feel as if she were on display. She shifted around uncomfortably in her chair, though nobody else seemed to even notice her. Whites office was on a corner and shared one wall with an adjoining office. Through the glass Alyson could see the bank officer and his customer conducting business. The man was significantly younger than White was, and had a polished appearance. His client was an elderly woman wearing what, to her, must have been her finest business outfit. In reality it was a rumpled old flower print dress with matching hat. Aware that she was staring, but too curious about the old woman to look away, Aly did her best to simply look lost in thought. The young man had her sign multiple copies of some document, as well as put her signature in some sort of ledger. After she had apparently jumped through all of the necessary hoops, the young man lead her to another room, this one directly next to the vault. Alyson noted absently that this room seemed to be the only one in sight with opaque walls. The man entered the safe and returned a moment later with a long steel box, which he placed on the table. He exchanged a few brief words with the elderly woman and exited the room, closing the door behind him and effectively cutting off Aly's view of the woman inside.
Just then Mr. White returned. "He we are," he said, handing her the receipt, "all taken care of. Now, is there anything else I can help you with today?" at that moment the old woman emerged from the privacy room. "Interested in a safe deposit box perhaps?" he asked, noting her interest in the old woman. Alyson blushed.
"Oh, no. I'm not- that is to say-" she flushed even more, embarrassed at having been caught staring. " What I mean is that I don't have anything valuable enough to need one."
Her mind flashed to the previous night and the coin. "Actually," she countered, "that's not entirely true…" Always eager to make another sale, and delighted to get an extra few minutes with an attractive young female, he plunged ahead with his spiel.
"We are very discreet, and have an advanced security system. Even our keys are electronically encrypted." As he spoke he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and plundered through them. "There is no other system like it on the East Coast." Finally he found the key he'd been searching for. "See." He said holding it up to show her. Alyson gasped. It looked identical to the key that she'd found in the tobacco pouch. Immediately she began to rifle though her pocketbook.
"If I showed you a key would you be able to tell me if it was one of yours, and if so who it belonged to?" she asked excitedly.
"Sure I could," answered White, "shouldn't take more than a minute or so. We have all our records here in the system." Alyson finally found the key. "Here it is," she said, passing it to him, "number one eighteen."
"It certainly LOOKS like one of ours," he said. "Give me just a minute to get the program loaded." He clicked noisily on the keys for a minute or so, all the while schooling Alyson on the other features of their safe deposit security system. Finally he stopped and squinted at the screen. "Here we go," he finally said triumphantly. "Box one eighteen- registered to an Elbert and Alease Porter."
"That's my grandparents!" she said excitedly.
"Well, that makes a little more sense then." Said White from behind his computer screen.
"What does?"
"That explains why you are listed as an authorized key holder."
A few minutes later, Alyson found herself again staring at the opaque walls of the privacy room, this time from the INSIDE. Her hand shook as she place the key into the lock on the front of the box. There was an audibly electronic click and she was then able to rotate the key in the cylinder, just like Mr. White had explained. Slowly she drew in a deep breath and let it out again. What could possible be inside the box? More old coins? Jewels? Secrets? Unable to bear the mystery any longer she lifted the lid and peered inside. It was more of that mysterious blue fabric like the scrap she had found wrapped around the coin and key in the tobacco pouch. She MUST be on the right track. She delicately lifted the bundle and placed it on the table. As she carefully examined the fabric, she suddenly realized what she was looking at. It was the jacket from a Union Soldier's Civil War uniform, but why it was here she didn't have a clue. Taking a lesson from last night, Aly slowly began to examine the coat more closely. She carefully unfolded it and laid it out beside the box. Sure enough, there on the sleeve was a square hole the exact size of the scrap she had found the night before. This is SO odd, she thought to herself, why would my grandfather go through the trouble of getting a safe deposit box for a tattered old uniform? UNLESS… She looked back at the box beside her on the table. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the lid. With agonizing slowness she lifted it a fraction of an inch at a time. Finally the fluorescent lights from above the table were able to filter into the opening, but it appeared empty. Cautiously she reached her hand into box, probing the darkest corners for anything that might be there. Suddenly her hand brushed something near the back. Yes! There was definitely something there. She reached even deeper into the box, eager to see what else the box held. Finally her fingers closed around the edge and she pulled it out into the light. It appeared to be a small leather bound journal tied with a thin leather strap. The pages were yellow and faded, but showed no signs of deterioration. Gently she tugged at the cord and was surprised to find the leather knot open with supple ease. The book fell open in her hand and her eyes scanned the pages hungrily. It was in fact a journal, but the entries made little sense to her. It wasn't until she saw the date of one of the entries that the pieces of the puzzle began to slowly fall into place. It read February 24th, 1861. Surely this was all too much to be a coincidence. The Confederate Coin, a Union Soldier's Uniform, and a Journal, all dating to the early parts of the Civil War... Her grandfather had DEFINITELY been keeping a secret, but what was it?
A tentative knock at the door, finally brought Alyson back from her thoughts. "Ms. Larkin?" came Mr. Whites voice from beyond the door. "Is everything okay in there?"
"Oh, uh yes," she replied, slightly startled by the interruption, " I'm just finishing up. I'll be out in just a moment." Hurriedly she retied the journal and folded the coat back into an indistinguishable bundle. Then she closed the box and placed the key back into her pocketbook. When she emerged she had the coat and the journal tucked discreetly under one arm.
"All through?" Asked Mr. White, curiously.
"Yes, thank you." Replied Alyson. " I may be back later this week with some other business, but that's everything for now." She gave him a warm smile and shook his hand gently. "You have been most helpful," she said "thank you for letting me take up so much of your time."
"Not at all," White smiled back, "it's not too often I get to enjoy the company of such a beautiful young lady." She blushed slightly, mumbled a quick thank you, and headed for the door. She KNEW that White was staring at her as she left, and hastened her pace towards the exit. Casting a final glance over her shoulder she reached the doors, glad to at last be free of the man's gaze. As she burst out on the sidewalk, she suddenly found herself tumbling downward, her arms and legs tangling with someone else's. They both spilled onto the ground their belongings flying everywhere. She immediately leapt to her feet and began to help the stranger.
" I am SO sorry," she said automatically, "I didn't see you until it was too late. It was all my fault." As she spoke she help gather their scattered belongings.
"Its perfectly alright, my dear." Said a familiar voice. "What I want to know, Ms. Larkin, is if YOU are okay?" She immediately looked up in recognition. Smiling down at her was Augustine Cox. Relieved at seeming a familiar face, Alyson relaxed a bit. The two chatted briefly as she continued to gather her things. The uniform and book had fallen a few feet away from them and Alyson casually picked them up and placed them into her oversized pocketbook. Never one to miss anything, Cox eyed the bundle. "That certainly looks OLD," he said nonchalantly.
"Its not," she lied, not really sure why at the time, "it's a couple of props we are using in a play I am helping with."
"My compliments to the costumer," he said, his eyes probing her, " I'd SWEAR those were authentic." Alyson was relieved to find the conversation quickly steer away from the bundle and soon she was able to find an exit. Minutes later she was on the causeway and again lost deep in thought. I wonder if Griffon found any answers today? She pondered. So far all she'd come up with was more questions.