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The entire floor of the Inner Sanctum was in some ways identical to the one below, but with more care given to the preservation of the books and so on. It was full of books in bookshelves, in glass display cabinets, and the oldest or best antiques were in special, dust-free drawers. Gloves were available, and I guessed that was so the books were not damaged by the oil on one’s skin. I knew this because there were instructions on the walls. Who were those charts for? Roland and Inigo must also come here.
I found shelves that held thick glass bottles with specimens swimming in clear liquid. Clear but for the fragments of flesh that had peeled away. I shook one and watched the swirling pieces. It was a horrific version of a snow globe. Hearts, kidneys, a fetus even? There were other samples I couldn’t identify that had no labels. These all seemed human in origin.
Creepiness level increase. The room Cassius had found downstairs must have had similar bottles, but was this serial killer stuff, as in mementoes of victims, or simply evidence of a doctor dedicated to study?
One section of wall was covered in antique knives and swords. The pock marks in the metal of the blades advertised their age, as did the labels underneath. Roman, Greek, Phoenician, Incan, and Aztec were represented, and some civilizations I didn’t recognize.
Then I found a book that caught my interest. A memoir, held under glass, labeledPersonal Diary, but the cover looked old as fuck, as old as some of the antiquities, with its custom-made leather. I lifted the glass lid and opened the book, and discovered the pages were merely paper. Modern paper, perhaps. Curious. I fetched a glove, nevertheless, and on a front page was a name that made me smile.
Dr. Horatio Romanus.
“Gotcha.” How grandiose to use an antique document cover for his diary. Now what was I to call him for short? Horat? Hor? I giggled at that one.
There were no years inside, no months, just a chunk of blank pages at the front and then reams of writing, lists, descriptions of what appeared to be thoughts or events. Nothing stood out as a memoir to murder.
Due to being unsure how much time I had, I took photos of every page, but did not try to read many of the words. My fast study of the rest of this Inner Sanctum had not revealed anything that was obviously connected personally to the doctor. Antiquities seemed really low on the list of things that could be clues to murder.
What about the knives, swords, and old doctor’s equipment? The preserved organs? Those might be relevant, but I didn’t have the time or the ability to study those properly. I took some photos, especially of the organs floating in liquid. I even took pics of the ancient weapons, some jewelry, and a few other objects.
What smart man would use a Roman gladius sword to execute his victims rather than a gun, a modern knife, or perhaps a rope for strangling? A good forensic pathologist might goomg, this cut was made by an antique sword. Maybe I was wrong, but it seemed plausible.
“Check, check, check. All done,” I muttered as I headed to the door.
On another day I might return. For now, I would retreat and hope some of this was useful. I would sort through those pages before I sent anything to Jacob. I didn’t trust a man who was nowhere to be seen, even more than I didn’t fully trust the doctor or Cassius. Except, I reminded myself, in kink I trusted them, so far.
Atap-tapnoise sounded then the rattle of a key in a lock.
I wasn’t completely naïve or stupid. I’d imagined there might be motion sensors or similar. With that in mind, I’d sorted out my escape plan after entering. An escape plan for the phone, that is. Me? I was going to be duck food or get another caning. I prayed for nothing worse than a caning because I had found no exit that would let me leave this floor without plummeting to my death.
I shoved open a small window and dropped the phone out, having hurriedly wrapped it in some clothes I had brought for precisely this emergency. I still did not believe the doctor meant to actually harm me. That on ‘pain of losing your soul’ threat had to be fake.
“It had to be,” I whispered, reassuring myself and biting my lip as the door opened.
The open door revealed not Inigo but one of the heftier staff, dressed in patented security-guard style, with ninja-black, zip-up jacket and black pants with military boots at the bottom.
“Sorry.” I held up my hands to show I was harmless. “I got lost?” Worth a try.
The guard approached me with a gun in hand, though thankfully it was pointed at the floor.
“I am too. Sorry.”
Then he tasered me. The shock dropped me instantly, and I mostly blacked out, only vaguely aware of what was happening because I was in extreme pain and possibly on fire.
By the time I was recovering, I was handcuffed and being dragged and frog-marched between two men, down a deserted corridor, with my legs all wobbly. A door was opened, and I was deposited on the floor on my side.
When the door shut, I was alone and in almost complete darkness.
They left me there, all night. The concrete leached cold into my flesh. I could tell morning had come from the sunrise sneaking in weak rays, through a small grille at the top below the ceiling.
“Damn.” The doctor and Cass would arrive soon, and I wouldn’t be there to greet them. Someone would tell on me, that I’d transgressed, and was waiting in a cell.
I’d been caught where I’d been clearly told not to go. Except, the doctor had nearly signposted the way into the Inner Sanctum, and I didn’t know why, but he had. I hoped it wasn’t luck that I found the key. I didn’t believe in souls, but if I had one, I wanted to keep it.
Hours later, long after the helicopter must have landed, they came for me. Or rather a guard did. The door opened, and that first guard dragged me to my feet. I remembered him from the staff line-up now that I had time to check his face.
“Alejandro?”
He grunted and jerked my elbow. “Walk. I’m not to talk to you.”
