“More importantly, you can put yourself in even better standing if you release us. That’s their primary concern out there. They already know you’re a hostile shooter, and that you’ve killed a cop. Now they’re determining if you’re a risk to pull the trigger again,” Rafter said.
“How do you know all this?”
“Believe it or not, I had a different career before I became an artist. I was a hostage negotiator.”
“How ironic, Jon,” Arcadias said. “How does it feel to be on the other side, the hostage instead of the negotiator?”
“I don’t like it. I’ve seen what happens when a hostage scene goes bad. We’re headed in that direction if you don’t lay down your gun.”
“Are you threatening me again, Jon?”
Rafter shook his head. “I’m just being straightforward. Unless you hook the phone back up and start talking, a raid will take place soon. And you don’t want that. I’ve seen a SWAT team in action before. It’s terrifying. They come in with overwhelming force and firepower. They want to scare you into submission.”
Rafter paused before adding, “But a rescue attempt is their last resort. They’ll likely want to make you feel uncomfortable first. Cutting power to the house will be their first tactic. With no lights you won’t be able to see to find your treasure.”
Arcadias mulled over his captive’s advice for a few seconds. There was some truth in Rafter’s words. And he definitely required more time to achieve his purpose. Even though he dreaded it, maybe he needed to talk with those outside. “Why are you helping me?”
“Earlier you said you were a guest in this house. You were right, Arcadias. And as your host, it’s my duty to make you feel comfortable,” Rafter answered.
Arcadias shook his head. A sarcastic smile flashed across his face. “That’s gracious of you, Jon. I can tell you’re warming up to me. A bond is beginning to form. But the bond is temporary and tenuous at best. Don’t push it.”
****
His arms trembling from holding the Dewalt reciprocating saw overhead, Damien Charbonneau balanced his two-hundred pound frame on the four-rung stepladder. He’d found the stepladder in the pantry—the first good fortune to happen to him since they’d arrived. Although the stepladder was old and a bit rickety, it still held him steady and put his work within reach.
Damien stood on the top rung and worked on cutting a large hole in the ceiling, a hole big enough to grant him access to the servant’s staircase behind the cement wall. Plaster dust and sawdust rained down onto his head continuously.
As he guided the saw he prayed he wouldn’t break a blade. If the blade broke they were finished. The treasure would remain hidden.
A strange thought suddenly entered his brain. Damien wondered who the recipient of his prayer was. God would never help him vandalize a home. God and crime were polar opposites and could never coexist.
Damien shook his head and pushed the spiritual thoughts out of his mind. If Arcadias and he were to find the treasure they would have to do it on their own, by their own strength and their own gray matter. He had no doubts Arcadias could find the historic loot given enough time.
And yet a nagging thought badgered Damien, heckled him without letup. What good would it do to find Lafitte’s gold? They would never leave the house with it, would never be able to spend even a single doubloon. They were all headed to prison. A cell at Angola likely would be his home for the rest of his life.
Nonetheless, Damien enjoyed cutting the hole. Working kept him busy and distracted him from his gloomy future and the lawmen gathering outside. He welcomed the sweat rolling down his brow and into his eyes, and enjoyed the muscle fatigue plaguing his arms.
After a few minutes of cutting, Damien took his finger off the saw’s trigger switch and examined his work. He already had a big hole cut in the pantry ceiling. Now he needed to cut out a section from a floor joist so he could swing his legs over the cement wall. But first I need a break from sawing, he thought, and climbed down the ladder.
Damien set the reciprocating saw on the floor and climbed back up to the top rung on the ladder. He turned his headlamp on to its brightest setting, grabbed the top of the cement wall with his gloved hands and wriggled his way up the wall. He stuck his head through the hole. His heart quickened when he saw the staircase leading up to the attic. The staircase looked like something from a horror movie set. Dust covered the steps and cobwebs formed an eerie gauntlet to anyone wishing to use the staircase.
Damien’s eyebrows seesawed when he saw footprints on the steps. Like footprints in fresh snow, these footprints disturbed the dust and looked like they were recently made. He had a good idea who made the prints. It had to have been Jon and Annie. Before they escaped the attic they descended the steps looking for a way out.
His curiosity piqued, and his arms rested, Damien inched his dangling feet back onto the stepladder. He scurried down the stepladder and grabbed his saw, determined to finish the demolition and ascend the servant’s staircase, the secret room his final destination.
The treasure hid close by. He could feel it in his gut. The hidden gold beckoned him to come and find it, crying out silent petitions only he could hear.
I’m going to find it.Before the cops drag me away I’m going to find the treasure, Damien swore to himself. He climbed up the stepladder and went to work cutting a big C-shape into the overhead joist blocking his entry.
He hardly noticed the sawdust showering his face and hair. Gold fever gripped him. His brother’s obsession with Jean Lafitte’s hidden stash no longer seemed so odd. He understood now. Arcadias wasn’t crazy after all.
After five minutes of cutting he stopped his saw. He reached up with his left hand and tugged on the joist. A big section of wood came free and crashed onto the floor. Damien placed the saw a safe distance away atop the cement wall. And then he grabbed the ledge and pulled himself up. Once his stomach rested atop the cement wall, he swung his legs over one at a time and dropped onto the first step.
A dust cloud billowed up. He coughed, and then started climbing. Cobwebs tickled his arms and brushed against his sweaty face, sticking to his skin. He looked at the footprints on the dusty steps as he climbed the narrow staircase. This forgotten staircase lay dormant for so long. But tonight it had visitors aplenty.
Damien reached a landing. His breath caught when he spotted a revolving door standing ajar. Beyond the door he spied a tiny room, hardly bigger than a closet. The hidden room!
He pushed the door open a little more and stepped inside the room. His headlamp revealed more footprints. He could tell they had been recently made. Jon and Annie no doubt made them. There were large footprints and smaller ones—the small footprints obviously left by Annie. Damien scanned every square inch of the room but didn’t see the treasure box described in Rose Whitcomb’s journal.
Although he thought the Rafters knew more than they let on, he didn’t think they took the treasure box out of the room. There would have been an outline of the box in the dust had it been in there.
Confident he’d missed nothing, Damien left the hidden room and continued up the staircase. He came to a door leading into the attic. Goosebumps broke out on his skin. He could sense the treasure was very close, and that it resided somewhere in the attic. The gold tugged at him.