The Lost Years

84

In the agonizing forty minutes since she had awakened, Mariah had summoned every ounce of her remaining strength to try to survive. She had managed to wiggle to her feet by leaning her back against the marble table where Greg had laid the silver chest containing the parchment. Inch by painful inch she had pushed her body upward, slipping and sliding back to the floor over and over again until she finally succeeded in standing on her feet. Her light jacket was shredded from being rubbed up and down against the ornate leg of the table, and her back was scraped and raw.

But now she was standing.

It was then that she had heard the rumble of the lift and knew that he had come back. She knew she had only one chance to try to save herself and Lillian.

It was impossible to free or even loosen the bindings around her hands and feet.

She heard Greg get off the lift. Because of the marble statues shielding her, she knew he could not see her. She heard him talking to Lillian, his voice rising with every word.

He was telling her that he had been followed. That the police were downstairs. But he shouted that they wouldn’t find the way to get up here in time to save either one of us. Horrified, Mariah listened as he boasted that the parchment was genuine and then sobbed, “I loved Mariah…”

Lillian was begging for her life. “Please don’t… please don’t…”

Once again, Mariah heard the grinding of the lift. It had to be the police, but they would be too late by the time the lift went down and came back up again.

With her bound wrists she struggled to grasp the silver chest and managed to hold on to it. Her heart pounding, she inched her way past the statues the short distance to the couch, grateful that the heavy grinding of the lift would prevent Greg from hearing her approach.

He can’t hear me, but if he looks up it will still be over for both of us, she thought as she shuffled quietly on the heavy carpet the last few steps to the couch.

While Greg wrapped the cord around Lillian’s neck, Mariah raised the silver chest and with all her strength smashed it down on the back of his neck. With a startled grunt, Greg toppled over Lillian and slid to the floor.

For a long minute Mariah stood leaning on the couch to keep herself from falling. She was still fiercely holding the chest. Balancing it on the back of the couch, she opened the lid and took out the parchment. Touching it only with the tips of her fingers, swollen from the tight cords around her wrists and arms, she held the parchment to her lips.

That was the image that Richard saw as the lift stopped. Two detectives raced over and tackled Greg as he was struggling to his feet. A third detective rushed to Lillian and released the cord that had been tightening around her neck. “You’re all right now,” he said. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

Mariah managed a weak smile as she watched Richard running toward her. Instantly realizing that she was holding the sacred parchment, he gently slid it from her hands, set it down on a table, and enveloped her in his arms.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said, his voice breaking.

Mariah felt a sudden peace, a peace that was beyond understanding, fill her being. She had saved the parchment and by doing that she knew that she had at long last made her own peace with her beloved father.