Southern Gothic (21 page)

“I live to serve.”

“You’re dead.”

“Then shut up and get in here. We’ve got some gold to find.”

Crouching down, Max and Sandra stepped through the bottom part of the door. The bits of glass gave off the chill of a ghost cold enough to notice even in the cold, night air. They entered a small lobby, their footsteps echoing off the tile. As a teenager, Max had dreamed of breaking into his high school, but doing it for real lacked the thrill he had expected.

Probably has to do with the fact that my life is being threatened.

To his left — a glass-walled room filled with musical instruments. To his right — a small kitchen with a concession stand window for sporting events. Also on the right, he saw a long hall that led far into the back. Student-made sculptures and paintings lined the walls.

Peeking over Max’s shoulder, Sandra said, “Looks like they use this for more than just sports. Art, music — I wonder what else is down there.”

Drummond said, “Doesn’t really matter what they use the building for. Can we focus on why we’re actually here?”

Max looked ahead at a trophy case on the back wall. Basketball appeared to be one of their big sports. To the left of the trophy case, he saw double doors that led into the gymnasium.

As they entered, the heavy odor of wax assaulted his thawing nostrils. Max had not been in a gym since his high school days, and even the sound of his shoes on the floor rushed the memories back. He could almost hear the steady ringing of a rubber kickball bouncing on the floorboards.

“Let’s spread out and look around.”

By “spread out,” Max meant for Drummond to go off in one direction while he and Sandra went another. They only had the penlight to guide their way, and without that light, they would be standing in total darkness. Drummond, as a ghost, had no need for light. He saw better than a cat.

Moving along the perimeter of the gym, Max whispered, “How are we ever going to find anything? We can barely see a few steps in front of us.”

“We’ll find it,” Sandra said. “Remember the witch said
Wood
and
Three
. It’s a good bet the wood has to do with gym — I imagine it’s the only wood in this building. So let’s look for things that come in sets of three.”

“It won’t be basketball hoops. There are six of those.”

Sandra flashed her light up but the weak beam could not reach the nets. They walked by an entrance toward the locker rooms.

Max pointed in. “There’re only two of them.”

“Yes, but the number three is on lockers. Maybe it’s there.”

“I doubt there’s been gold hidden for years in one of the lockers. If there was, then why would Sebastian take photographs of any empty field?”

“Maybe it’s
under
a locker with the number three on it. You know, under the ground.”

Max poked his head into the locker area. “Concrete floor, hon. Not wood.”

Before Sandra could snap out a sarcastic rebuttal, Drummond’s voice broke through the darkness. “I found it!”

Max and Sandra locked eyes like a sitcom married couple before dashing across the floor. Three quarters of the way, they found Drummond pointing to the floor. “It’s the three-point line.”

Tense from the run, Max said, “Are you kidding? It could be that, but there are plenty of things that have got the number three in it.”

“I already checked underground. There’s a box a few feet down. We’ve got to start digging.”

“Oh,” Max said with dumbfounded eloquence. “I guess I’ll get some tools.”

In a flurry, he rushed back to the car. His heart pounded at the thought that they might be on the verge of huge riches. He popped the trunk and pulled out flashlights, a pickaxe, and two shovels. It no longer bothered him that he carried these things in his car. Working so often with the dead made such tools mandatory. It bothered him now that it didn’t bother him at all.

Careful not to drop anything, he hauled the cumbersome tools back to Sandra and Drummond. All the time, he promised himself that he would add a carrying bag to the equipment in his trunk. Just what he needed — more specialized stuff.

With a loud clatter he dropped the tools on the gymnasium floor. The sound echoed off the walls, and Max cringed. He did not bother looking at Drummond or Sandra — he knew the scowls he would see. Instead, he listened for an alarm to be triggered.

When nothing came, his shoulders lowered and he let out a sigh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Drummond said. “We’re going to have to make some noise to dig up this place anyway.”

Sandra picked up the flashlights and illuminated the area that Drummond had indicated. Max lifted the pickaxe and wasted no time in breaking open the expensive waxed floor.

“How much gold do you think is there?” Max asked Drummond. “I mean how many chests?”

“I only saw one, and it didn’t look too big. But, hey, one gold bar for free is better than none.”

Max slammed the pickaxe into the floor again, wood splintering up and out. Sandra took a shovel and pried open a larger area.

“One box? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Don’t worry, kiddo, whatever’s in there, it’s what we came for.”

As Max continued to dig, his mind weighed out Drummond’s words. With enough money, the problems with the Hulls no longer existed. If the Hulls could buy protection, so could they. They didn’t even need to be as wealthy as the Hulls — only enough to protect themselves. And even less than that would be fine.

Enough to get out of the trailer and into a house, enough to pocket away so that they could continue their work without fear of being unable to put food on the table or pay their bills, the ability to have a decently heated room — any of that would be nice. One gold bar wouldn’t do it. One chestful — that might be enough. It depended on how much gold traded for, and Max had no clue.

Then again, Max reminded himself, whatever they uncovered was found money. Even only ten dollars meant ten more than he had in his bank account. Though his muscles already complained, he quickened his pace.

Max and Sandra had stripped past the wood and reached the concrete slab foundation. Max attacked the slab, lifting his pickaxe into the air and letting gravity slam it down. Within a few strikes, his body broke out into a sweat. A few strikes more and he had soaked through his clothes.

Wiping his brow and panting heavily, Max said, “I can’t imagine having to do this all day.”

He picked up one of the flashlights and shined it on his work — barely a dent. He didn’t need to look at Sandra to know the disappointment she felt. He felt it, too.

Drummond glanced down the hole. “You got anything stronger in your car trunk?”

“No. Haven’t had to dig through concrete before.”

Sandra said, “This is going to take too long.”

They stood around the hole, staring at it like cavemen unable to figure out why their fire went out. Max kept waiting for a solution to flash in his mind, but nothing came. This couldn’t be it. He refused to accept the idea that they were standing atop riches he could not reach.

“Maybe I can do this,” Drummond said, leaning closer to inspect the hole.

Max said, “How? You can freeze concrete?”

“Don’t know until I try.”

Drummond pulled his arms back, ready to thrust them into the concrete, when Max said, “Wait. Isn’t this going to hurt you?”

With an incredulous tone, Drummond said, “Of course, it’s going to hurt me.”

“I mean more than usually. I mean permanently. If you were alive, I’d be worried that it’d kill you.”

“I don’t know what it’s going to do to me. But we can’t just stand around here staring at this thing.”

Sandra took Max by the arm and pulled him all the way to the wall. Drummond remained by the hole, cast in the dim flashlights, looking like a weary cowboy staging a bizarre camp scene in the middle of a darkened forest.

“Wish me luck, Doll.” Drummond’s voice echoed toward them.

Sandra blew him a kiss. “Good luck.”

Max wanted to stop Drummond but knew the ghost would not listen unless a good alternative could be presented. Max had nothing to offer. He watched as Drummond jerked his arms into the concrete and cringed at the sound of his friend screaming.

After a few seconds, the screaming intensified — loud yet trailing off quickly. Max’s mind had a hard time reconciling the dampened sound occurring in a cavernous, echoing gymnasium. Drummond cried out again.

Max stepped forward, but Sandra pulled him back. She hugged him. Her arms were warm, and against her, Max could feel his own body tremble.

She kissed the side of his face, and in his ear, she whispered, “Even if you went over there, you couldn’t do anything. You can’t stop him. And if you touch him, you’ll only make his pain worse.”

Drummond’s screams continued. Max wanted to clutch his ears, to drown out the sound, yet at the same time, he thought it was his duty to listen — to offer that little bit of support when he could do no more.

And then it ended.

Abrupt silence cut through. No tapering off of agonized cries. Just sudden quiet.

Max and Sandra rushed over. They found Drummond floating listlessly nearby. His body slumped over. His arms dangled in the unseen currents of air above.

Max had to drop to his knees in order to see Drummond’s face. “You there? Are you going to be okay?”

Drummond groaned and in a weak voice said, “Never better.”

Max heard harsh scrapping to his left. He looked over and found Sandra shoveling out chunks of iced-over concrete. Max sat back astonished.

“You really did it.”

She scooped up another shovelful. “Yes, he really did. Now get up and help me.”

Smiling, Max grabbed the pickaxe and broke apart the last of the concrete. Soon, they dug into dark soil. Within ten minutes, Sandra’s shovel clanked against something metal.

The excitement of their goal being so near fueled their energy. Max and Sandra dug furiously until she was able to reach down and remove a small, rusting box.

Max knelt before the box while Sandra played her flashlight upon it. Even Drummond perked up at the sight of their success.

The box, no bigger than a fishing tackle box, had a small clasp on the front and no lock. Max flipped it open and pushed back the top. It gave way with a soft whine. They all leaned over to peer in.

No gold.

Max reached in and pulled out a piece of paper folded over several times. Unfolding the paper, it opened into a large blueprint.

Sandra pointed to the paper. “Is that this school?”

“No,” Max said. “This is Baxter House.”

Though weak, Drummond managed to point to the bottom corner. “Might be the original. Look here.”

Checking out where Drummond had indicated, Max saw in the information box that this architect’s blueprints were based upon
the specific instructions of Mr. Cal Baxter
.

“This is it. The real thing. And look here. That’s the secret room attached to the study.”

“That’s a lot of floors underneath it.”

“Looks like the secret room had more secrets to give. Want to bet that somewhere down there is the gold? Or at least instructions on where to go to get the gold?”

A familiar voice spoke out of the darkness. “That’d be a good bet.”

Max recognized Rolson’s ugly tone right away. He turned his flashlight onto the man. Rolson stood with his feet wide apart. In one hand, he held a gun with a bright light mounted on top; the other hand, he held out, palm up.

With his light blinding Max, Rolson said, “Take your flashlights off me.”

Max and Sandra complied. It was difficult to argue with a gun.

“Now, fold that blueprint back up and hand it over.”

Max took his time folding the paper, trying hard to memorize what little details he could.

Sandra said, “You know you’re nothing but a pawn to them, right? The Hulls. You get them this gold and they’ll dispose of you. If you’re lucky, they’ll kill you. If you’re unlucky, you’ll end up being a magic experiment for them.”

“We’re all pawns, honey. The Hulls, the Magi, witches, covens — you been here long enough to know that much already.”

“You’re only a pawn if you let them use you like one.”

“Give me the blueprints or I’ll show you what this pawn can do with a bullet.”

Max jumped to his feet. “Everybody calm down. Here’s the map. Go in peace.”

“Peace? You hurt me. Where was the peace in that?” Rolson snatched the paper from Max’s hand and stuffed it in his trench coat pocket. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he paced a wide circle around them, always keeping his gun fixed on them, growing angrier with every word.

“You’ve got the blueprints, now. We’re beaten and tired. We can’t do anything more. So, you win. Go. Get your gold.”

Rolson sneered. “We had peace until you came along. The Hulls, the Magi — sure they’re warring with each other, but it’s a quiet, secret kind of war, it doesn’t flow over into the daily lives of the people of Winston-Salem and Greensboro and the whole Triad. But you come along, and Sebastian Freeman, with your questions and your arrogance, and you disrupt everything. All these years, all I ever had to do for the Hulls was to occasionally bury an arrest or misplace a bit of evidence. Nothing so terrible that I couldn’t sleep at night. Ever since you showed up in Winston-Salem, I’ve had to be on the move. I’ve had to deal directly with witches, falsify reports, and hurt people. I’ve managed to stay in the shadows, keep eyes off of me, but I was there, and now with Freeman and Baxter House and you, this pawn became a much more important piece on the board. So, thank you, you bastard. Thanks for screwing up my life.”