Michael Devaney - The Elisha Pool

“What?” Finn said, turning a shocked gaze toward Andria. “We just got here. Is something wrong we should know about?” he asked.

“No, nothing is wrong, at least not yet,” Andrew said. “But we are behind the eight ball again, so to speak.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Stephenson flew home from Brazil yesterday.”

“What! That was fast.”

“I know. I’m just as surprised as you,” Andrew said. “I had set an alert on my computer to keep track of his electronic transactions, but I got so pre-occupied with researching the Curar people that I didn’t check my email until early this morning. I’ve been trying to contact you ever since.”

“What about the pool?” Finn asked.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s remained a secret this long; it can remain that way without our interference. Besides, whatever Stephenson went after is a done deal now. Finding him and securing the Monkey’s Paw is our main concern now.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. We’ll be back in the states as soon as we can.”

“Good. Hopefully by then we’ll have pinpointed Stephenson’s whereabouts and can put an end to this wild goose chase.”

Finn was visually frustrated. He lowered the phone from his cheek and pressed the END button to disconnect the call then turned to face the trail leader.

“It looks like we have a change of plans,” Finn said. “Andria and I need a lift back to Manaus as soon as possible. Don’t worry though, our offer to pay for fuel and supplies still stands. I wouldn’t dream of reneging on our deal.”

The trail leader’s posture changed, grew more aggressive.

“I’m sorry to tell you this my friend, but you’re not going anywhere,” the trail leader said, pulling a Bolo machete from the scabbard strapped to his leg. In one quick motion, he stepped forward and pointed the machete’s tip a few inches from Finn’s throat.

“Wait,” Finn said, holding up both hands. “Why would you…” The trail leader cut him off.

“Because you’re looking for the pool,” the trail leader said.

He knows about the pool?

“No,” Finn said quickly, his eyes wide as saucers. “What pool? I don’t know anything about a pool.”

“Don’t play me for a fool,” the trail leader said. “I just overheard you mention it to your boss. That’s why you two are here looking for the Curar, isn’t it?”

Finn was temporarily frozen. He needed to lie, but his mind was uncharacteristically blank. Fortunately for the both of them, Andria’s was not. Acting completely off instinct, she quickly spat out a plausible story.

“We’re here looking for the Curar because we believe they hold the key to solving many of the world’s foulest diseases,” she said. “If we’re right, talking with them could open up a whole new way of thinking about medicine that would exponentially further our stagnating research to this point.”

Wow! She’s good.

The trail leader turned his head toward Andria, but kept the machete pointed at Finn.

“Then how do you explain your partner here referring to the Pool? ” the trail leader asked, smugly.

“He didn’t say Pool ,” Andria said. “He said Louvre …as in the Louvre Museum in Paris. That’s the name of our research project. We picked the name as a reference to the renaissance with hopes that our discoveries would have a similar cumulative, reviving impact on today’s medical community.”

The trail leader eyed her hard for a few seconds. “I’m not buying it.”

Andria kept her cool. “Then maybe you’ll buy this,” she said, producing a small handgun from a concealed holster under her shirt.

“Andria!” Finn shouted.

“Lower the machete,” Andria ordered.

The trail leader didn’t move.

“Drop it I said!”

The trail leader hesitated at first then obliged. He slowly lowered the machete then let it fall to the ground before raising his hands to surrender.

“Good,” Andria said, surveying the rest of the group, most of which, including the boat driver, were still aboard the canoe. “Now,” she said waving the gun side to side. “Everyone except the canoe’s driver join the trail leader. My partner and I are going back. Once we’ve made it there safely the driver will return with the canoe to rescue you.”

When everyone except the driver had exited the canoe, Finn and Andria boarded one at a time. While Andria kept the gun trained on the group, Finn untied the canoe from the dock then shoved them off.

When they were a few feet away Finn focused his gaze on the trail leader. “I’ve changed my mind,” he yelled. “No supplies for you. The deal’s off.”

The trail leader made an ugly face then waved a good riddance hand gesture.

In under two minutes they were safely away and headed back up the river.

Finn took a seat at the front of the canoe. “That bit about the Louvre was genius,” he said. “How did you come up with that so quickly?”

“I was a museum curator in my former life, remember? Thinking on my feet was part of the job.”

“Ahh, yes,” Finn said, smiling. “How could I forget. What about the gun?” he asked. “I don’t recall you carrying one before.”

“I didn’t,” she replied. “But after the Death Mask incident I became paranoid. I’ve been carrying it ever since.”

Finn nodded. “Well, it certainly saved our hides today,” he said. “Maybe now we can catch up to Stephenson and put an end to this whole crazy mess.”

Stephenson’s big day had finally come and he’d slept in to celebrate.

It had taken him most of the previous night to get the raised bed frame into the cemetery and set up, but finally everything as ready. Now all he needed was to bide his time for one more nightfall. With the ever-present possibility of visitors to the cemetery during the daytime and not knowing what kind of supernatural shenanigans to expect when he actually wished for the Pool to materialize into existence, Stephenson again was forced to wait for the cover of darkness to hide his immoral deed.

After a mid-morning breakfast Stephenson, still in his robe, did what he hadn’t had the energy or desire to do in many years — he began cleaning house. He wanted everything to be perfect when his beloved Rachel came home. He was roughly an hour and a half into the process when the doorbell rang.

Stephenson narrowed his eyes. Who could that be? I’m not expecting anyone.

He quietly tiptoed to the front of the house to peek through a side window beside the door. When he eased back the curtain he saw his grandson, Owen. He was unshaven and wringing his hands while anxiously waiting for the door to be answered.

Hmm. This is curious.

As if acting out a part, Stephenson put on a “happy face” and pulled open the door. “Owen,” he said. “It’s good to see you made it back from Brazil safe and sound. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Is everything okay?”

A rash of emotions crossed over Owen’s face. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say first. When he finally did muster the strength to speak, exasperation won out. “Is everything okay?” he repeated, in a snappy tone. “Are you kidding me! I should be asking you that same question. But actually, at his moment, I don’t care whether it is or not. I’d instead like an answer to another question.”

“And that is?” Stephenson said in an unnervingly tranquil tone.

“What have you been up to that was so urgent that you felt it necessary to leave me, your grandson, stranded in Brazil?”

“Everything is fine here,” Stephenson said, in the same calm voice. He paused a moment to tighten the belt of his robe then continued. “I left you there to spare you from boredom. I had some important business to take care of that you, quite frankly, would have found miserable to tolerate. Besides, you seemed so persistent about staying in the village a few more days that I didn’t think you’d mind.”