Marjorie Thelen - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

Paco pulled up beside him and passed, showing the way to the abandoned warehouse. They wove around garbage cans, around downed poles, around pieces of roofing and at one point sailed across a small ditch swollen with rushing water.

Dominic had a good idea where the warehouse was. It was well hidden from the passing traveler in a car but someone on foot might see it, if they knew what they were looking for. Elena and Miguel had to be there. They had to be safe. They had to be.

The two men stopped some distance from the warehouse. The rain beat on their heads, and Paco said, “The door is open on this side. Dominic, watch that door. I’m going around back to see if there’s an entrance. Our exposure is too great if we try to go in on this side.”

Dominic nodded, edged closer to the building and stood behind the cover of the trees at the border of the small clearing. He had a good view of the open door, which appeared to be an old cargo door. It had a tall, wide opening. A wind gust pushed him sideways, and he hugged the nearest tree for support. He had never been outside in a hurricane. He imagined Elena and Miguel inside. At least they were out of the elements. They had to be in there, he kept saying to himself over and over. They had to be.

Before long Paco appeared at the door and waved Dominic over. He didn’t know what to think as he ran through the rain.

“What?” Dominic said when he gained the inside. “Are they here?”

Paco shook his head. His eyes would not make contact, and Dominic’s heart sank.

“What?” said Dominic, fighting down the urge to shake Paco. He scanned the inside of the warehouse but could see only dim outlines of boxes and crates strewn helter-skelter like the hurricane had whipped through the place.

“I found blood. I’m sorry. Come. Look. Better I show you.”

Dominic could barely put one foot in front of the other. Paco had found blood but no bodies. They could still be alive.

Paco showed him a large metal storage cabinet, maybe an old grain bin. Maybe big enough for two small humans. He pointed to the floor.

“There,” he said.

Dominic crouched down and studied the drops on the floor. Dark red drops.

“What do you think?” Dominic had trouble forming the words, his throat was so tight.

Paco didn’t respond. He pointed the flashlight on the floor around the box. Clumps of mud spotted the floor. A mixture of shoe prints cut into the clumps.

“I judge those mud prints to be the same as the clinic. I’m speculating that someone brought Elena and Miguel here not very long ago. One of them is hurt, and for some reason they left.”

“Did you make a thorough search? Maybe they’re tied and gagged in one of these old crates.”

Paco rubbed the back of his neck. It was obvious the strain of the day was catching up with him. “We’ll search, but the stuff in here hasn’t been disturbed in a long time.”

Each taking half of the space, they covered every inch of the dirty old warehouse. Dominic swept his flashlight by every crevice. In the end he had to agree with Paco. Nothing had disturbed the accumulated dirt for a long time, except in one corner, which was the driest, where he found an open empty crate lined with cardboard that had served as a bed for someone. Maybe recently.

Disheartened, Dominic went to find Paco. He was standing near the opening watching the storm toss the fronds of a palm tree around like a whirligig.

“Nothing,” Paco said. “You?”

Dominic shook his head. “They’re not here. Then where?”

He tossed the question to the wind wondering if it would respond. Where were Elena and Miguel, and who was hurt? The boy had to be with them.

Paco didn’t answer the question. “I wonder why José did not come. Maybe he got held up at the station.”

Dominic didn’t answer. He didn’t care about José. He wanted to find Elena and Miguel. How were they going to do that in a hurricane?

Paco asked, “Do you know why that guy might want the two of them?”

“That question has been gnawing at me,” said Dominic. “I knew Miguel was in danger because he saw the murder, and the murderer saw him. I had an uneasy feeling about Elena. She was visible and worked at the ruins. I think whoever this is thinks she knows something. Maybe. I don’t know. But he might think she knows something.”

Paco put his hand on Dominic’s arm. “Wait. You say she might know something. About what? Who committed the murders?”

Dominic pursed his lips. “Not exactly. She knows a lot about that Hieroglyphic Staircase, and someone was stealing stones from it. Her knowledge is about the ruins, not about the people involved.”

Paco snapped his fingers. “Then they might be on their way to the ruins.”

Dominic frowned. “But the entrance is way on the other side of town.”

Paco’s brown eyes glowed with excitement. “There’s an old trail that goes from this end of town out to the ruins. It comes in not far from here. The townspeople know about it. It’s a short cut to the ruins.”

“You think they went there?” asked Dominic. “In this madness?” He gestured to the fury that shook the walls of the rusty old warehouse. Water dripped from holes in the corrugated tin roof, and they couldn’t find a dry spot to stand.

“That or they went back to town. But why would they leave town then go back? Why would they leave here when it is a protected place for them to weather the hurricane?”

It didn’t take Dominic long to figure that one out. “Something not worth waiting out a hurricane is driving them.”

“Yes,” said Paco. “I hate to say this but if and when that guy gets what he wants from them, they’re lives aren’t worth much. Not to someone like him.”

“You have given voice to my greatest fears.”

They jumped back when a fierce gust of wind laden with rain ripped through the opening.

Dominic debated the options. He could wait out the storm here or try to make it back to town. Or try to make it to the ruins in a hurricane. There was no question. If what Paco said were true, Elena and Miguel were battling a hurricane on their way to the ruins. He would follow them whatever the cost.

“I’m going to the ruins, Paco,” he said. “Tell me how to get to that trail.”

“I’ll do one better,” said Paco. “I’ll show you. I’m going with you.”

The only good part about the second half of the hurricane was that it wasn’t as fierce, thought Elena. They must be on the side that didn’t produce as much wind though the rain was relentless, and the river was over its banks and rising. She could see it from where they sat in the shelter of an overhang high above the river bank.

She hurt all over. Her head ached, her eye throbbed, her knee was bloody, her leg on fire. Miguel sat by her side holding her hand, which was a comfort. She looped her arm over his shoulder and pulled him closer. If she didn’t come up with a brilliant idea soon, they would not be alive much longer. As soon as Jorge got what he wanted, he’d get rid of them. But she wouldn’t go without a fight.

She hoped her theory was right about where the hiding place was. The drawing in the director’s book had given her the clue. He had drawn lines projecting at different angles from the eyes of the picture of Smoke Shell, like he was trying to determine a direction in the line of sight. One was highlighted darker than the others. Using that line of projection Elena had calculated what Smoke Shell was gazing upon from his frozen position in the stone stellae.

His gaze was trained on the fifty-second step in the Hieroglyphic Staircase, a number significant in the Mayan calendar which progressed in fifty-two year cycles. Elena was betting that behind the stones on that step was what Jorge and the man he had murdered sought. She wondered what had been hidden that would drive men to murder, and who had hidden it. Had the director hidden whatever they were after?