Morgan Rice: Loved

He smiled. “Glad you’re on my side,” he said.

They walked quickly down Washington Street, and within moments they stood outside the Meeting House Church. It was another perfectly-restored, historic church.

They entered, and were stopped by an attendant.

“I’m afraid we just closed,” she said. “This is a working museum. It’s five o’clock,” she said. “But feel free to come back tomorrow.”

Caleb turned to Caitlin, and she could feel what he was thinking. He wanted her to test out her mind power on this woman.

Caitlin stared at her, locking eyes, and sent a mental suggestion. She would let them in. She would make an exception for them.

The woman suddenly stared back at Caitlin. She blinked.

Suddenly, she said, “You know what? You two seem like such a nice couple. I’ll make an exception for you. But don’t tell anyone,” she said with a wink.

Caitlin turned to Caleb and smiled, and the two of them walked inside.

The church was beautiful. It was another huge, open space, with massive windows in every direction, and filled with wooden pews, all empty. They had the place to themselves.

“It’s huge,” Caitlin said. “Now what?”

“Let’s follow the trail, to start,” he said, gesturing at the marked museum trail beneath their feet, the large, red arrows guiding visitors where to walk.

The trail took them to a series of museum exhibits and small plaques, displayed along the wooden railing. They stopped and read.

Caitlin’s eyes opened wide. “Listen to this,” she said. “‘In this spot in 1697, Judge Sewall apologized for being one of the Salem witch judges who, in 1692, condemned the witches to their death.”

Caitlin and Caleb looked at each other. The reference to Salem excited them. They must be in the right place. All the clues from their search were converging. They felt so close. As if the sword were hiding just beneath their feet.

But they looked around carefully, and did not see any place, any clue that would point them elsewhere.

“Well, this must be the ‘meeting house.’ And if you’re right, if it’s about the journey, then the question is: where’s the fourth place?”

He held up the scroll again.

“We’ve left ‘common ground,’” he said, “we’ve entered ‘the ring,’ and we’ve ‘met at the house.’ Now we have to ‘find the ones they loved, beside the fourth tip of the cross.’ So, if you’re right, if it’s about the journey, that means we have one last destination.”

They both stood there, thinking.

“I think that ‘find the ones they loved’ is a reference to finding your father,” he said. “I think there’s just one stop left. But where? What is the ‘fourth tip of the cross?’ Another church?”

Caitlin thought. She racked her brain again and again. She studied the scroll, then reached over and studied the map. She, too, felt that they were so close. She agreed that there was only one stop left. But it wasn’t immediately coming to her. She looked at all of the other churches on the freedom trail, and none of them felt right to her.

Then it suddenly hit her. She took a step back, and looked again at the map. She traced her finger along it, along everywhere they had already traveled. And her eyes lit up with excitement.

“A pen,” she said breathlessly. “Quick. I need a pen.”

Caleb ran down the aisle, found a pen in one of the pews, and hurried back.

She began drawing a line on the map of the freedom trail.

“It’s a pattern,” she said. “We’ve been walking a pattern. We started in the Common,” she said, circling it. “Next, we entered the ring of blood,” she said, connecting it with a line, and circling it. “Then, we went to the meeting house,” she connected that with a line, and circled it.

She held it up, showing him.

“Look at where we’ve walked. Look at the pattern.”

He squinted, unsure.

“It’s not finished yet, that’s why you don’t see it. We’ve only walked three points. But a fourth point would complete it.”

She drew a straight line to complete the pattern.

His jaw dropped as he recognized it.

“A cross,” he said quietly. “We were meant to walk in the shape of a cross.”

“Yes,” she said excitedly. “And if we follow the line, if we complete the cross symmetrically, it only leads to one place.”

They both followed the line she drew.

Right there, at that exact spot, at the fourth tip of the cross, lay the King’s Chapel burying ground.

“The ones they loved,” Caleb said. “The burying ground.”

“He’s buried there,” she said.

“And so, I bet, is the sword.”

Samantha raced the BMW on the outskirts of Boston, Sam in the passenger seat beside her, heading along the highway towards Salem. She was increasingly annoyed at the growing difficulty in finding his dad. She’d been sure, when she’d seen those Facebook messages, when Sam had told her with such excitement that he’d been in touch with him, that this would be easy. She would just take him to his dad’s house, and from there it would be a direct path to the sword.

But things had gotten complicated. She hadn’t expected to encounter that creep, and most of all, hadn’t expected to develop any feelings for Sam. It was complicating things. Making her less sharp. Her original plan had been so simple: find his dad, kill them both, and return with the sword. Now she wasn’t sure she wanted to kill Sam at all. Especially as she looked over at him, and saw that fresh scar on his cheek, the reminder of how he’d tried to save her.

More than anything, she was mad at herself for that, mad at her lack of discipline. She hated feelings. They always got in the way.

After she’d seen his watch, after he’d given her the lead to Salem, she could have easily cut him loose. But for some weird reason, she wanted him around. She didn’t quite understand why. She’d told him she needed his help, for something important to her, and that they’d need to go to Salem. Was he game? He’d broke into a big smile. This was clearly a kid who didn’t care about going back to school.

Besides, she could still use him to find his dad. That had been a lucky break with the watch. But Salem was a big place. And that inscription could mean anything. Having him around might actually come in handy.

Suddenly, she sensed something, and slammed on the brakes. Their car screeched to a stop in the middle of the highway.

“Whoa,” Sam said, slamming his palms on the dash. “What’s the deal?”

Several cars screeched to a stop behind them, leaning on their horns.

But Samantha didn’t care. She had felt something in the air. A vibration.

She sat there and raised her chin. Sensing.

Yes. There it was again. So close. The signal was unmistakable. There was important vampire activity. Right here in Boston. The vibration of it coursed through her veins. It was so close. She felt an urgency. Maybe, even, something to do with the sword itself.

She suddenly peeled out of traffic, made a sharp U-turn. All the traffic on both sides of the highway screeched to a halt, as she sped down the opposite side of Storrow Drive.

Sam was thrown against the side of the door, as he tried to get his bearings.

“What’s the rush?” he asked, surprised, and a bit scared.

Samantha drove another few hundred yards, then made a sharp left, screeching and cutting off four lanes of traffic.