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Part II: Best Left Buried
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 2016- 3:30 PM
***
"I had dreams, once," the tiny boy tells the reflective glass in front of him, "Hard to believe, right? But I did. There were things I was gonna do, and people I was gonna see... A whole world, ripe with possibilities..."
Tony Higgs leaned back in his chair, tiny fingers rapping daintily off the tabletop.
"But I had to stay put. To look after Grandma. So, yeah, I'd have little diva episodes... 'Oh, I wish you were dead, Gran!' Not because of anything she did, but because...well, she was holding me back! Keeping me prisoner! I had to get out of there.
"And now she's dead," he lifted two stick-thin arms to the heavens, "And I'm still in prison. Like...actually a prisoner."
He crossed his legs, one platform heel scraping inelegantly off the featureless concrete floor as he did, "Smooth move, Gran."
Elsewhere, moves are being made to investigate the unsettling claims made by young, hapless Tony Higgs. Already, it seems as though his insistence the police be kept as far from this as possible will already come to naught.
Was he wrong to trust the girl who said she could help him?
Or did he really have any choice in the matter at all?
"Thanks again for letting me tag along," Jamie said, head leaned against the rest of the squad car. Richard said nothing, simply nodding. It had taken some convincing, mostly on Jamie's part, but Miguel had finally relented to let her tag along.
They pulled up to the house and exited the car. The scene was still being secured.
Richard nodded to the Deputies, who let them both through after they signed in. He looked to Jamie and wordlessly gave her a pair of gloves, putting his own on afterwards.
"Let's start. In her. Room."
Jamie nodded and they made their way to the Grandmother's room.
About an hour of searching later, Jamie called out, "Found something!"
Richard immediately came over and helped her pull out the box. It had been behind the paneling of the closet, and was just like the kid had described: About the size of a shoe box, and required solving a puzzle to open it.
The box is a painted confection of polished black wood, its entire lid given over to a sumptuous mural in greens, blues, golds and striking burnt reds.
Dead center of the illustration is a bright red orb, shaped vaguely like a pair of doors, tongues of fire shining out from them. The orb acts as a divider, separating two halves. The bright colorful fields and meadows to the left and a murky darkness to the right, all grays, blacks and browns, with weird shadowy figures in it.
There are peculiar brass claps to either end of the lid. On the lower side, a brass goat's head, curled horns and upturned snout, and on the upper side, a burnished silver sheep, maybe in iron.
The box has a certain heft. Whatever's inside, it's got a considerable weight.
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4:45 PM
***
The box has been brought back to the station, where it remains as impossible to understand as it did before. One new feature: on the underside is engraved, in an elegant cursive, 'He will swallow up death for all time, and will wipe tears away from all faces, and will remove the reproach of his people from all the earth.'
Hopefully fatalistic seems to be the brand for the day.
The box sits on a desk in Miguel's office, the mural seeming to condemn the tiny boy brought before it.
"That's it," Tony said bitterly, "You found it. Congrats."
He doesn't look at Jamie, but there's something accusatory in his voice.
"It's Isaiah 25:8," Miguel stated, looking at the young boy, "You want to save us all some time and tell us what's in it?"
"I already told your little mole," Tony looked furtively to Jamie, "I have no idea. I never even knew there was something written on it! My Gran never let me take a close look."
He folded his arms, "I know, that's not what you wanted to hear and I'm making myself look very bad. Believe me, I am totally aware."
Miguel pinched his nose. He needed a smoke, "What aren't you telling us, kid? Why was your Grandma so afraid?"
"I told you everything I can!" Tony exclaimed, "I have no idea, I never knew, I just did whatever she told me, followed wherever she went, and now she's dead, I am completely without purpose, and you think I'm the reason she's dead. You haven't said it, but you do."
He broke off, panting heavily, "May I go back to my hole in the wall, or have I earned an even nicer torture?"
"You can go back to the Interrogation Room," Miguel said, "And What's In this box will determine where we go next."
Tony got to his feet, tossing thin black locks out off his eyes as he did so, "Well, good luck with that."
He started out of the room, aware of the Grim Reaper deputy hovering over his shoulder like the shade of death. He was determined to ignore him, instead turning his eyes to the girl.
"I hope you're happy."
"Kid, I..." Jamie opened her mouth, but failed to find any words.
She'd been to jail once. She hadn't wanted to go back. And if they'd caught her looking without permission, she'd have gone back. And not to the County lockup either. No, prison would have been her next destination. And she doubted her Dad could have helped her out of it.
And she had been curious. The woman hadn't been close to death. Why had she died? And why hadn't Tony seen anything?
It made no sense.
"I'm sorry," she finally said.
"Well, you should be," Tony paused in the open doorway, rounding with a surprising amount of balance on his platforms to glare at her, "Fine, you called the police after you showed up! That's...that's fine, that's what a reasonable person would do, I guess, and it's not like I was lucid enough to notice until it was too late, but..." he shook his head, "You asked if there was anything you could do to help, and I told you about the box, specifically saying to get it on your own and not tell the cops..."
He lifted both arms, "So what did you do? Tell the cops! What a twist!"
"Kid. I would have. Found it. Anyways," Richard stated.
"Oh, screw you, Grimace, that doesn't excuse anything!" Tony turned back to Jamie, "You lied to me, you said you would find it first, that you would keep it away, and you lied. I'm not sure where the gray area is in that. You could've always not said anything, but you had to act like some do-gooder crusader, promising to do right by me...
"And then you made everything worse!"
Jamie lowered her head in shame.
"Come on," Richard said, "Let's. Go."
He'd witnessed the whole thing. Either way, even if Jamie hadn't asked to tag along, they'd have found it.
"You carry a pocket metronome to measure those beats?" Tony asked dryly, looking over his shoulder to Jamie as he went, "Whatever happens next...it's on your head."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
5:00 PM
***
Tony paced the interrogation room feverishly, "You know, I'm pretty sure you can't keep me here forever! I did get a B in Civics!"
He moved to the sturdy door, his platforms barely sufficient to peek out through the tiny window, forcing him to get up on his tip-toes, a singularly uncomfortable motion for him. From his vantage, he could barely make out the sheriff's office, and the puzzle box sitting on the desk, like a trophy.
"I'd really like to know what I've done!" he exclaimed, "Crimewise. You know, so I have something to tell the unbelieving masses."
"We're not Charging you, yet," said Miguel, as he finally walked over to the door, "I'm just keeping you here, until we sort this out."
"And just what do you think keeping me here is going to accomplish?" Tony cocked an eyebrow, "Hm? For all we know my Gran had a spontaneous heart attack and keeled over. This could as easily have not a single thing to do with that puzzle box."
He crossed his arms, "You think I have something to do with this," he shrugged, "You can at least be honest."
"You haven't given me reason not to think so," replied Miguel, arms crossed, "Do you even realize how shady you are? You're shadier than my son."
"Yes, of course, a five foot tall pixie with a coif and platform heels, I must be the most fearsome little thing you've ever seen."
He sighed, "It doesn't matter anyway. If my Gran really was right, we're all screwed already."
"There it is! You keep saying that, and you never tell us why we're screwed," Miguel said, impatiently.
"Well, I can't tell you why, you...you peabrained...person!" Tony blustered, "I can only tell you that's what she said, and if she is dead because of that, and if you idiots took the box from the house...which you did...then that can only mean that we're all just as screwed as she was! Probably worse, because we don't even have the luxury of knowing what's going on!"
He threw his arms in the air, "I might as well drop dead right now!"
"And why would you..." suddenly Miguel didn't feel so well. He started spasming uncontrollably as he dropped to the floor...with him grabbing his keys as he did.
"And, again, the answer is 'How should I...'"
Tony broke off speaking as the sheriff began contorting himself in a way tackily reminiscent of an inflatable, arm-waving tube man.
"Oh, developed a sense of humor, have we?" Tony rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, this is exactly what I was talking about...Whooo I can do it too!" he started waving his own arms about, pivoting his hips, "When you're blue and you don't know where to go to you go where fashion sits..." two neat taps with his heels, "Puttin' on the..."
Acosta collapsed to the floor.
"...Ritz."
Tony knocked on the door, "Uh...hey, buddy? Sheriff? Sir? You okay?"
No answer.
"Oh no," Tony felt a sinking weight in his gut, "Oh my God. Oh, crap."
He tried the door, "Are you, like...alive?"
No answer.
"Oh poo. If...if this is what happened to her..."
He looked around abruptly, "Oh Jesus."
"Okay, there's...there's got to be something you can do," he paced around the room, clapping his hands forcefully together to gather his thoughts, "You could...scream. You're good at screaming, you..."
But what if the mysterious 'they' were still around? Did they...need to be around? Could Tony just drop dead himself right now? Why hadn't he?
His eyes fell on the crack beneath the door. It was narrow, but if he got down on his knees, he could just glimpse...
"Oh!"
Yeah...he was definitely dead. Lying on his side, eyes frozen open. His hand was splayed out in front of him, all fingers frozen right at the end of...
"Keys," Tony breathed, "Oh, thank you."
Maybe he'd been trying to open the door? Did...did he think Tony could've helped him? Poor schmuck, if he really did think Tony knew what the hell was going on here.
Still, he reached out under the door, his fingers scraping against the concrete floor. Tony had never been more grateful for his dainty hands. Before long, his nails had reached the bottommost edge of the keys and, from there, it was just a matter of a few quick motions to get them into his hand proper and under the door.
Tony might've kissed those keys, he was so relieved, but they were slick with sweat...dead guy sweat, and he was already pretty close to puking as it was.
He got the lock undone quickly enough, slipping out into the station which, he realized, was either empty, or pretty close.
Out of the room now, he could get an uncomfortably complete look at the sheriff's corpse, splayed out on the floor, limbs at odd, twisted angles...
Just as his grandmother had been. But if that was true...and if the sheriff really had just dropped dead out of nowhere...
His grandma had been a tiny old lady. The Sheriff couldn't have been a day over forty, and pretty healthy too.
"I'm sorry," he told the body, not sure what he was apologizing for, or if he should, as he started for the dispatch...
And became aware of the open door to the office behind him. And the puzzle box sitting on the desk.
If that really was the reason...
Tony didn't waste another moment to think, racing into the room and picking the box up in both hands.
"You've got a lot of explaining to do," he told the polished goat's head on the clasp, tucking the box under his arm and turning to go...
"Sheriff?" a new voice, footsteps down the hall, "Sheriff, is everything..."
A stout woman he recognizes as the dispatcher appears in the corridor, freezing in place at the sight of the body. Her words dissolve into a short, ugly gasp as her eyes go up to meet Tony's.
"I...I can explain," he tried.
"Wait. No. I can't," looking around desperately, he added, "So sorry!"
And, with that, he seized the chair from behind the desk, hurling it through the window. The dispatcher cries out, alarms sound throughout the station, and Tony escapes into the gathering evening, the puzzle box under his arm, his heels clacking against the pavement, and a cocktail of dread, terror and relief sweeping through his heart.
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