Морган Райс - Loved

She had a way of always making him feel better. It was like she knew what he was thinking, and knew how to put him at ease. It was incredible. All of his worries flew out the window.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I took you there.”

“Hey,” she said, “we wanted to take a drive anyway, right?”

He stared at her, and then they both burst out laughing.

The tension in the air lifted.

Sam reached out, and took a big bite of his untouched burger, and as he did, Samantha suddenly stared at his wrist. She reached up and grabbed it with her icy hands.

Sam lowered the burger in mid-bite, and wondered what she was doing. She pulled his wrist closer to her, and stared at it. His watch. She was staring at his watch.

As she did, her expression changed. She seemed totally serious now. Transfixed.

“What?” he finally asked.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, deadly serious.

He looked at his watch. He had totally forgotten he was even wearing it. He’d always worn it, ever since he was a kid. It was like a part of him, and he didn’t even realize when he had it on. It was a weird-looking watch, he had to give her that. But still, he couldn’t understand why she was so obsessed with it.

“It was my dad’s,” he said. “Or at least, I think it was. I was too young to remember. I’ve always had it.”

Sam looked at it himself now, curious. It was encased in some kind of weird metal—he’d always thought it was some kind of platinum—and it had these weird carvings all along the side. It actually looked ancient, and it ticked time in a weird way. It was actually pretty weird that he’d never had to wind it once, or change the battery. It just always ticked, and always told time perfectly.

She ran her fingers along it.

“Here,” he said, taking it off. “Go ahead. Check it out. Try it on, if you want. There’s this really cool stuff on the back. I was never able to figure out what it meant,” he said, handing it to her.

She look like a kid in a candy store as he placed it on her palm. She turned it over, and looked at it carefully, and her eyes opened wide. She seemed genuinely surprised.

“What is it? Can you read it? I think it’s like… French or something,” he said.

“It’s Latin,” she corrected in a whisper, breathlessly.

She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes staring right at him, opened wide with surprise and excitement.

“It means: the Rose and the Thorn meet in Salem .”

Caitlin and Caleb stood in Boston Common, at the top of a small hill, looking out, surveying the park. He held a map of the Freedom Trail which he’d just bought in a store, and he ran his finger along it again and again. Caitlin stood beside him, holding out both halves of the ancient scroll.

“Read it again,” he said.

Caitlin squinted to make out the words. She read:

The Four Horsemen travel a trail to freedom. They leave common ground, Enter a ring of blood, Meet at the house, And find the ones they loved Beside the fourth tip of the cross.

“A trail to freedom,” Caleb repeated aloud, concentrating. “It must be a reference to the freedom trail. It would make perfect sense. It’s right in the middle, right between Salem and Martha’s Vineyard. We’re in the center.

“And the ‘common ground’ reference…that must be Boston Common, where we are right now. It would also make sense. In the 1600s, where we’re standing, they hung the witches. It is a very important spot, especially for the vampire race.

“The scroll…it says they ‘leave common ground.’ But that means we begin here. I’m not sure why. And the rest of it…‘a ring of blood’… ‘meet at the house,’ ‘the fourth tip of the cross’…I just don’t know where we go from here.”

Caitlin looked around again. The view from up here was commanding. There was still some snow left, despite the warming weather, and several kids were sledding down the other side of it, screaming in delight, their parents joining them. As Caitlin looked out, she saw a very beautiful and idyllic park. It was hard for her to imagine witches being hung here.

She surveyed the hilltop, but all she saw was a large tree. There was no clue whatsoever.

“Why ‘four Horsemen’?” she asked. “What’s that about?”

“It’s a reference to the Apocalypse. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, spreading out to the four corners of the earth. I think what it’s saying is that, if we don’t find the sword, it will bring the Apocalypse.”

“Or maybe,” she said, “we’ll bring the apocalypse if we do find it.”

Caleb turned and looked at her, deep in thought. “Perhaps,” he said softly.

He looked around. “But why here ?” he asked again. “Why this spot?

Caitlin thought, and something occurred to her.

“Maybe it’s not about this place,” she said. “Maybe it’s about leaving this place. About the journey,” she added.

He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“The scroll talks about traveling, about leaving one place and going to another. Maybe it just wants us to go to these places, to travel the road. But not necessarily find things along the way. Maybe it’s about the journey .”

Caleb furrowed his brows.

“It’s like those people who walk those mazes, those Labyrinths,” she said. “It’s the walking—that’s the reason they go. Not the destination. By walking in certain directions, in certain patterns, it’s supposed to, like, change you in some way.”

Caleb looked at her with appreciation. He seemed to like her idea.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll buy that. But even so. Where would we walk? Where would we go next?”

“Well,” she said, examining it again, “it says they leave ‘common ground,’ and enter ‘a ring of blood.’ So our next stop would be the ring of blood.”

“Which is?” he asked.

She stood next to him, and stared at the map. There were 18 sites on the historic freedom trail.

Two and a half miles’ worth. She felt overwhelmed just looking at it. She had no idea where to go next. She looked at all of them, and none seemed to be in the shape of a circle, or a ring. And there was certainly no reference to a ring of blood.

She read the captions on the map, and still couldn’t find anything.

Then, she saw it.

There, at the bottom of the map, was a footnote. Beneath the caption for the Old State House.

It read: “At the base of the building, on the street, stands the spot commemorating where the Boston massacre occurred.”

“Here,” she said excitedly, pointing. “The Boston Massacre. There’s nothing about a ring, but that certainly qualifies for blood.”

She looked at him. “What do you think?” she asked.

Caleb studied the map. Finally, he looked at her.

“Let’s do it.”

As Caitlin and Caleb left the park, turning down Court Street and heading into the heart of the historic district of Boston, the old Statehouse came into view. It was a large, brick building, perfectly preserved from the 1700s, with multiple historic windows and topped by a large, white cupola. It was stunning in its simplicity and beauty.

As they reached its base, they walked around the structure, looking for the site of the Boston massacre. Finally, as they turned the corner, they saw it.

They both stopped in their tracks.

It was a ring. A perfect circle.

The spot marking the Boston massacre was small, hardly bigger than a manhole cover. They came close and examined it.

It held no special markings. It was just a humble circle, made up of small tile, embedded in the ground at the base of the Old State House.