"A thief murdered him while he was off duty," Evan corrected me. "He was walking into a liquor store while the robber was leaving. He fired once, and it hit Karl in the chest. Poor guy bled out before the ambulance arrived."
"You said three were left," Krystal said. "What happened to the others?"
"Greg was a marine, and he died on a mission. I think it was South or Central America. There are rumors it was a black op gone bad, but the government won't release any details. Chuck committed suicide five years ago and did not leave a note. Whatever was bothering him, he kept to himself," I said. "Just me and Evan and Brian left now."
"You said Chuck was a Catholic Priest, and suicide is a big no-no, isn't it?" Krystal brought up frowning. "What could push him towards eternal damnation?" I just shrugged, and Evan remained silent.
"What about you Frank," Amber asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Has your charisma played a part in your life?"
"Are you kidding? His effect on women is legendary," Evan bragged.
"If that is true," Krystal began with a mischievous smile. "Where is your date?"
"Her husband didn't take off for the weekend with his buddies. They had a fishing trip planned. Instead, he stayed home with her," I said as I poured syrup on my pancakes.
"Damn Frank," Amber exclaimed nervously. "Just how many women have you slept with?"
"I don't know," I replied sheepishly. "Low end of three digits, yeah, that sounds about right." The table fell silent, and four pairs of eyes regarded me. "Eat up, or your food will get cold."
"Fuck man," Gerald cursed. "Over a hundred, you can't be more than your early twenties."
"I just turned thirty," I said, and they looked from Evan to me and back again. We were born a year apart, but Evan looked his age while I appeared closer to my tweens.
"Yeah, he is well preserved," Evan said. "Mmm, bacon."
The awkward silence held until I began sharing stories about the cabin my dad had passed down to us and how our grandfather had inherited the land after a distant relative died. Grandpa designed and built the house himself as a gift for his bride. They split their time between the big city and this place, good times. Evan took over and talked about the fishing trips and hiking we did as kids out here. The thousand or so acres were suitable for hunting, camping, and there was even a cave on the property somewhere. I never had the time or the nerve to go looking for it. Spelunking had never been high on my list of things to do. I stood and gathered the dirty plates and utensils.
"Oh no," Krystal argued. "You two fixed the meal. The least I can do is wash the dishes."
"You can wash, and I'll dry," Amber offered with a smile.
Evan, Gerald, and I grabbed our jackets and stepped outside. I reached into my jacket pocket and removed the pipe and tobacco pouch. I unzipped the leather case and let Evan sniff the contents.
"Sure as shit ain't tobacco," he snickered. "You always did have the best stuff. Purple, what is that?"
"It is an import from Brazil called the King's Weed," I explained with a wicked grin. "A pastor from Boston imported it back in the early nineteenth century. He started life as a pilgrim and discovered this in the rainforest. It was a bitch to get a parent plant to grow my own."
"Let me guess," Evan said as I loaded the pipe. "The pastor found it near a step pyramid."
"Bingo," I chuckled. I drew out my lighter and started the party. One deep lungful of smoke later, and I passed it to Evan. Gerald eyed the pipe enthusiastically. He took his turn, and after his first taste, we were friends. I was in the process of reloading when the ladies joined us.
"I thought I smelled something," Amber purred. "What is that? I've never had that before."
"Half an hour," I muttered dreamily. "Yeah, maybe sooner, judging by your height and weight."
"Sooner? What are you talking about?" Gerald asked.
"You'll see," I laughed. "Set the pipe and lighter down there afterward. I am going to take a walk. It is going to get loud pretty soon, trust me. I will collect the pipe and lighter later."
Twenty minutes later, the first orgasmic cry sliced through the air. It sounded like Krystal, but it could have been Amber. The overgrown path brought back memories. Before grandpa passed, we would visit him, and he took Evan and me for walks on the property. Grandpa knew every inch of this land. I remembered him pointing out a lightning-struck tree or the perfect spot to view the lake when the moon was full. Dad built a shrine on that spot to house his father's ashes. The sundial design seemed appropriate as a memento of the man we loved so dearly. The path led to the secret garden, the prize location built for grandma as her special place. Wild ivy nearly completely obscured the stone wall surrounding the flower garden. I perambulated around the exterior twice before finding the door and the fake stone holding the key near it. The key turned easier than expected. The door opened without effort as well. When I examined the lock and hinges, they had both been oiled and recently. Had Mirabelle come out this far?
"Oh, my god," I exclaimed. Someone had weeded the flower beds and snipped off dead blooms from the remains in a nearby bucket. The trellises and climbing roses lined one corner. Maybe it was the weed, but I wept to see that someone had put so much love and time into this. Autumn touched the blooms but come next spring, and this place would be glorious to behold. "Grandma would approve. I need to show Evan and the others gram's secret garden."
Wait, there was something about the garden, something grandpa brought up before he died—secrets within secrets he had said. What would I do if I wanted to hide something but have it found by the right person? Clues, he'd leave hints about its whereabouts. I walked the paths looking for anything that might point the way. Ten minutes later, nothing stood out, so I examined the interior of the outer wall. The ivy that concealed the exterior also clung here as well. I pulled the creepers free of the stone, and while it was slow going, I discovered the first of the six markers. I made a mental note of the signs and the order I found them in. There was no clear beginning to the sequence.
"Yes!" A female voice echoed from the house. I laughed and wondered who it was. If I hazard a guess, Amber since Krystal is more restrained in her vocalizations.
"Fuck me! Harder damn it! Fuck me like you mean it!" Krystal screamed. I take it all back. The King's Weed strikes again. The mental image was fun to contemplate, and a smile curled my lips. Then I remembered the night I got the call. Evan was out of town, Krystal was too shit-faced to drive, and it was raining. I went to the rescue, and it changed her life. For me, that night became a deep dark secret between Evan, Krystal, and me. I think Krystal inspired the drowned puppy look as one of my favorite kinks from then on. The bartender had taken her keys while she stubbornly stood outside during the downpour. Her clothing clung to her, and the white blouse was practically transparent. Thank god she wore a bra that night.
I pushed the memory of Krystal from my thoughts and focused on the symbols I had uncovered. One of them was vaguely familiar. It was worth checking out, so I left the secret garden, locked it behind me, and made the long walk to the family crypt. The vault was two stories and surprisingly full. The lower level held the oldest coffins. Each had been sealed away and marked with marble plaques. If I remember correctly, one of those older panels had a mark similar to the one I had found in the garden.
As a child, I snuck out and investigated the crypt after dark. The crescent moon dimly lit the ground level of the structure. I brazenly found the furthest spot from the door and sat down. On a dare from Evan, I turned my flashlight off. All it took was the weak shaft of moonlight, a gentle breeze, and the skeletal limbs of a nearby tree to launch me into the night screaming. A faint memory of the strange leaf carved into a granite plaque rekindled my curiosity. Were the two carvings the same? I wondered if I could find it in the tomb as I walked. What did it represent? Could it be a map marker? If, and that was a big if, did the six signs physically mark the location of something? My grandpa had erected the secret garden, so what could be so important that he went to the effort of carving them?
Moonlight painted the shadowy landscape granting a sinister quality and stirred childhood recollections. I recalled the nightlight I needed when I was young. While Evan had given me grief over it, he did not possess the imagination I did. He saw the room as it was, whether it was well lit or shrouded in silhouettes. In contrast, my mind created formless menaces that moved at the edge of one's vision. The vile monsters feared two things, the light and my father. They fled unconditionally from both. I smiled despite my uneasiness remembering the times dad rescued me from the beasties.
"You are lucky," dad would say. "These are simply weak shadowy things," he continued with a stern face. "Auspicious for you, I have placed protective wards to keep out the older, more powerful beings of the unlight." Of course, I asked him what was unlight. He spun a tale of a terrific unclean spirit born of darkness in the shape of a great spider whose silk was composed of the void or unlight. The trick worked. Why should I be afraid of meager umbral things when the mother of all nightmares lurked outside waiting for the dark of the moon. I learned later that he had borrowed the idea from his favorite author, Tolkien. His love for fantasy inspired me to read the first four books and the prequel.
