Hunt for the Lost Treasure

Chapter 19 — Final Destination

With the speed Beck attained the car reached the ramp just at the right time and instead of a massive splash Purdue heard the clatter of loose wooden boards under the tires. Curious and relieved, he looked out his window and noticed the flat bed of the ferry as the car came to a halt. Once on the river, Beck's rolled-down window allowed in a much appreciated freshness with just a hint of a drizzle that gave Purdue the second wind he needed. Feeling more awake, he started devising plans to escape and make it into the river, but somehow Beck could read his thoughts.

“If I were you, Mr. Purdue, I would play along and not think of trying anything stupid,” he told Purdue as he switched off the engine. “Your door handle is rigged to send a devastating electrical charge out on contact with anything of 37º, give or take one of two degrees.

“Ah, made especially for human contact then,” Purdue confirmed blandly.

They drifted serenely forward over the scalloping surface of the water, listening to the silence tainted with the sound of gale and thunder. Had he not been in danger, Purdue may well have enjoyed the atmosphere. “Well, since we’re adrift, I'm sure you can at least tell me who the lucky bidder is, Mr. Beck.”

Beck faced him with a stern countenance. “Oh, we are not adrift at all, my friend. Much like our situation, you are misjudging what is happening beneath the surface; how we are inexorably being pulled forward by the hand of a stranger we have relinquished our fate to.”

“That is deep,” Purdue mocked. “But I was just asking for a name.”

“You don't need any names, Mr. Purdue. As a matter of fact, all you have to know is that your days are numbered,” Beck replied snidely. Purdue was repulsed by him, but regrettably the reprehensible man was his only source of information and he had to take his word.

“Alright, since I’m going to die, you may as well tell me what happened to Dr. Gould,” Purdue challenged.

“I don't have to tell you anything, pal,” Beck sneered.

Purdue resorted to childish means. “I understand. You cannot explain things you have no knowledge of. You could have just said so, Mr. Beck. In your line of work as a lackey, I’m sure information is not imparted unless it involved the location of your next task for your master.”

“I like how you think belittling my position will provoke me into proving you wrong and telling you out of pride, Mr. Purdue. But alas, you are just not that good at reverse psychology,” Beck beleaguered him.

The investigator was not such a dumb oaf after all, and Purdue realized he would get nothing out of him by conventional methods, so he elected for the other emotional manipulation — one mostly employed by the fairer sex. He became quiet, brooding and indifferent, just peering out the window for the sky flashes to show him the beautiful and restless water. Thinking Purdue defeated, Beck finally condescended to give Purdue something. He was not the type of character to be coaxed with patronization, but he certainly fell for matters of ego.

“I'll tell you this…” Beck said, clearing his throat to sound more important.

Bingo! Purdue thought under a static expression.

“…just because I think you should know. Dr. Gould is not dead. In fact, she could be and we would never know, because I never kidnapped her.”

Positively confounded by the illogicality of Beck's confession, Purdue gasped. “But then, where is she? And why would the papers report her missing? Kidnapped?”

Beck chuckled sheepishly, wiping his brow with his hand in sheer embarrassment. “I did grab a woman in her house,” he looked at Purdue, “but it was someone else.”

A moment of silence prevailed before Beck filled in the rest for Purdue. “A woman who came to feed the cat, actually. That was a right fuck-up! Hey?” Beck laughed, incessantly wiping his face and brow in a kind of frustration. “But you know, she looked exactly like Dr. Gould.” He shook his head. Even though he’d stopped laughing, his words were laden with stress about the mistake. “So, your Nina is not in my custody. Maybe she went on holiday with a friend, who knows? But she isn’t here and she isn’t dead.” Looking proud of himself, he asked Purdue, “Happy now?”

Purdue exhaled a long, labored breath in relief and astonishment. He nodded while his eyes darted from side to side in front of him as he tried to unravel the mystery of Nina's disappearance. Did she go to see Sam? Granted, Purdue did ask that she and Sam not contact him until the dust had settled on his manhunt, but for her to just leave like that without even leaving a clue was a bit worrying. At least one consolation was knowing that she was still alive.

“Finally. Payday,” Beck remarked. His tone had suddenly shifted to more accommodating and less stressful as he pointed toward the approaching river bank. Beck still reckoned that maybe Purdue hadn’t caught his hint the last time, so he mentioned the payday for good measure, but still Purdue did not take the bait. By Beck's lighter tone Purdue knew the end of the line was near, where he would part with his abductor. Purdue's mind oscillated Between apprehension and repulsion, his heart racing.

On the other side of the bank the dark palette of the rainy night was broken by colorful lights, four in number — their nature unknown. Again, Beck started the car and pulled away with a bolt to hit the ramp just right. With a shaky dismount the wheels hit the knackered cement roadway on the other side of the watery crevice between the ferry and the river bank.

“Mother will be so pleased,” Beck grinned as they turned a sharp left and the vehicle propelled down a steep dip that quickly evened out into a clump of dark trees that seemed to rise to reach the flashing heavens above them by a trick of the light.

“Meeting your family for a shindig, Mr. Beck?” Purdue asked sarcastically, taking in the environment that looked like nothing Scotland would normally yield. The explorer was in awe of the scene, but his intuition afforded him a serious admonition as to the character Beck was referring to as Mother. The very word instilled in him a sense of dread for reasons well buried since childhood. In his mind's eye Purdue pictured Mother as some sort of hybrid monster woman from an old 1930s horror film.

“Not my family. Family is for those too weak to evolve to survive on their own,” Beck gloated with a smirk. “No, Mother is the matriarch of my employer's clan, not mine. You will not be fond of her — she is a bit of… an acquired taste.”

Oh my God, Purdue thought to himself, taking a deep breath to prepare him for what turmoil awaited him. Not once did bribery cross his mind. Early on in life, Purdue learned that bribery only worked on men who had no honor, and men with no honor were not predisposed to keep their word at any rate. By the looks of him, Beck was a perfect candidate for the disloyal type, mercenary and fickle. Purdue wondered if his captor even had a woman, or man, for that matter, in his life. A successful relationship bearing any resemblance to a yield of emotion was somehow unimaginable given Beck's narcissism.

“Here we are,” Beck announced proudly as the car slowed down and carried them into a cathedral dome of tree branches that bore incalculable lanterns of red, white, yellow, blue, and green. It was ironic how such a cheerful looking place could be the tomb of powerful men, but then he remembered the name of the property owner and the malice that tarnished her title among the clan Beck had referred to.

“Remarkable,” Purdue whispered involuntarily.

“What is?” Beck asked as the modest, but classy home came into view.

“This place looks completely out of place,” Purdue mentioned, his wonder barely exhibiting his abhorrence for the situation and the people involved. “This house, this yard, the design; it all belongs in the American South, like some place in the bayous where voodoo chants are as natural as the song of crickets.”

Beck frowned. “Really. You’re being delivered into the hands of the darkest souls in the world and your first take is the architecture and cultural design of the snare pen. It’s a good thing you are rich, because your priorities suck,” he laughed as the brought the car to a halt next to the east wall of the old, white-washed Victorian with its large windows and rough masonry. Although it was dark, Purdue could see the wild garden hugging the walls and the quaint, antique lace that decorated the inside window sills. The porch wood was also painted white and the buttresses ornately flavored with wild growth and evergreen foliage. Dirty barge boards told of slight neglect or overly damaging weather, giving the porch a homely and rustic appearance.

“Get out,” Beck commanded after he disengaged the electrical device wired through the passenger door. The tall Purdue had to crane his neck forward to exit the car with his hands tied, and when he stepped out he saw her for the first time. She sat in an old rocking chair, dressed entirely in white, including the head scarf that snaked her skull and gathered in the grip of a broach made of ruby.

It was then that Purdue noticed the veranda stretch along the sides of the house as well, populated with rose trees in large pots and a host of rocking chairs akin to that of the one she was seated upon.

“Specifics appeal to Mother,” Beck informed Purdue as they joined in front of what Purdue now saw was a red Volkswagen Polo — the chariot to his nightmares.