“Wait, you are actually considering this?” Jessica marveled, still pulling roughly at Abbie’s hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”
“Jess,” Abbie sighed, “I thought you’d be tougher than this.”
“And I thought you’d be more sensible than this,” Jessica moaned. “You know the shit that goes down in that place! I’m out.”
Jessica just started retreating at first, hoping that her friend would follow suit, but Abbie was too engrossed to move. Her fingers reluctantly unlocked from Jessica’s, evoking a disappointed wail from her.
“You are not serious,” Jessica said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are not serious!”
“Babe, I’ll call you as soon as I have met him, I promise,” Abbie promised with a gentle tone.
“You’ll be dead,” Jessica replied, still shaking her head.
And so the two girls parted regrettably, although Jessica walked much slower away from her friend than Abbie raced towards her target. She crossed the converging streets in the meager moonlight, still smelling his cologne as she slipped into the deserted dwelling of superstition and memories. The grass was short and wet under her uncomfortable shoes as she stole along the shadows of the trees, navigating carefully through the old stones and markers.
It was quite beautiful, she thought, and marveled at the age of the plain, dark grey monuments, weathered and corroded by time. He looked majestic, like a character from a Gothic novel, striding toward the center of four decrepit tombstones. They looked unremarkable and small against his towering silhouette, but that was all she could observe for the moment.
The man stopped and turned immediately, sending Abbie into a thick oak tree as she lunged out of sight. Her heart pounded in excitement and a little touch of fear, wondering what would happen if he discovered her hiding there. The student pinched her eyes shut and tried to steady her hard breathing. From a short distance away, she heard the sound of voices, perhaps three different men is she listened correctly. Words in a foreign tongue confused her, but by their hastened words and rapid verbalization, it was clear that they were arguing. Heated whispers disturbed the deathly peace of the vast graveyard as she stood inanimately, waiting for the handsome stranger to part with his company so that she could follow him home and hopefully still strike up a conversation.
Suddenly, Abbie heard an altercation ensuing, but she stayed still in fear of detection while she tried to figure out how many people were involved. The ground shuddered slightly as one of the men hit the lawn with a thump and soon after Abbie could hear a crack of a jaw under the knuckle of another.
‘Fight! God, I am dying to see if he is winning!’ she thought. But as she tried to look, her courage abandoned her, and she reassumed her position. The cracking of bone sounded through the silence a few more times before it stopped, leaving the place draped in nocturnal tranquility. Afraid to emerge too quickly, Abbie gave it a few more seconds to listen for the stranger’s footsteps.
All she could hear was the odd vehicle flashing by in the Gordian Knot of streets outside the enclosure, some distant music from a party and the rustling leaves all about her as the night breeze stirred. There were no footsteps, though. Holding her breath, Abbie slowly inched her head forward to see around the hard bark of the trunk that concealed her. To her disappointment, the stranger had vanished and so did whoever he had argued with.
Flustered by her fruitless hunt and the wasting of drinking time on her pursuit, she sighed and started from the security of her hiding place. Her absent quarry left her utterly disenchanted. But something struck her as unusual, so much so that she did a double take on the place where she last saw the stranger. Abbie’s eyes stretched in terror and incredulity as she gasped at the vision before her.
“Oh sweet Jesus!” she shrieked behind her hands.
Where there were four ordinary grave markers before, a figure in stone had now joined the formation. It was a statue of a short, plump man raising his arm in defense and he stood in plain sight, fashioned from the same material as the tombstones.
“That is impossible!” Abbie whispered to herself, astonished at the ludicrous arrival of such a heavy statue out of the blue. “That is just fucking impossible!”
As the irrationality racked her brain, Abbie hastened to the exit, hoping that she would wake with a horrible hangover and only the remnants of the nightmare left in her reasoning. She kicked off her shoes and swept them up in her hands, racing for the streets where rationale prevailed, and she dared not look back even once at the cursed witchcraft of Greyfriars Kirkyard, left in her wake.
Chapter 2
Dr. Heidmann’s heels clapped on the pristinely polished floor of the museum. In his hands, he held a plethora of plans for his upcoming exhibition on Ancient Greek Art, The Mythos Paradigm with which he hoped to establish a renewed interest in the beauty of antique sculpture. A failed artist himself, he endeavored to bring what he could not capture with his diluted talent to the masses, regardless. James Heidmann was driven purely by a love for art and a passion for educating the modern mind on the unfathomable treasures of a millennium past, for the most part.
His footsteps echoed through the hallway of the magnificent Queen Elizabeth II Great Court. The museum was still closed, but he had to deliver his ideas to the curators before opening today, otherwise he would forfeit his slot for consideration. The slight built 50-year-old wore his trademark bow tie which hardly made up for his scruffy hair and round framed glasses. As he rushed along the corridors, the sublime works of architects and painters hardly merited his attention, but he certainly enjoyed the smell of the vast complex where he had always wanted to lecture.
At last, he came to the board room where he was to meet with one Mrs. Soula Fidikos, art curator Prof. Helen Barry and a prospective backer and benefactor, Mr. David Purdue. When Dr. Heidmann reached the formal façade of the office where they waited, he could not help but feel a jolt of excitement burst through him. Naturally, he was very nervous, but for the sake of what he tried to achieve such foolish impulses had to take a backseat to the task at hand.
His sweaty fingers opened the doors. Greeted by three very friendly professionals with teacups in hand, Dr. Heidmann already felt better.
“Welcome, Dr. Heidmann,” smiled Professor Barry. “I take it you did not get lost in this Minotaur’s maze?”
“Almost,” he exhaled in relief.
“It has long been a suggestion of mine to implement holographic tour guides to usher people about in the British Museum. It emphasizes the evolution of its regality so much more,” the tall, lean billionaire told Dr. Heidmann humorously. The bewildered and exhausted Heidmann smiled and nodded as he offered his hand in greeting. “David Purdue. Pleased to finally meet you.”
“Oh, an honor to meet a world renowned explorer and inventor such as yourself, Mr. Purdue,” Dr. Heidmann panted. “Please excuse the moist palms. I was quite worried that I would be tardy.”
“Not a problem,” Purdue chuckled. “And please call me Dave.”
“And this is Mrs. Soula Fidikos, Greek historian and owner of one of the biggest private collections of antique art in the world, all the way from her beautiful home on Maltese soil,” Prof. Barry introduced the serious- looking woman in black. Her appearance fascinated Dr. Heidmann, but he knew better than to stare. In fact, he hardly made eye contact with the strangely ravishing woman — oddly, for she possessed very little esthetic beauty. Her hair was jet black as her eyes, matching the hue of her clothing.
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Fidikos,” he smiled, taking the lady’s hand gracefully for a brief formality.