Half-dazed, she crawled through the short tunnel. She didn't feel guilty. Instead, she felt strangely numb. It was almost as if Pacho's death meant nothing to her.
Outside the pyramid, she rose to her feet. Rigoberta and Tum tried to comfort her. But she waved them away without a word.
The rain picked up speed. The clouds shifted positions. The sky darkened. A fierce wind sprung up out of nowhere, assailing her cheeks.
Adopting a fast pace, she slogged toward camp. She hadn't meant to kill Pacho. She'd just been so angry at his attempt to betray her. Before she'd known it, she was shoving him toward the cage trap.
Still, she didn't mourn him. Nor did she feel particularly bad about what she'd done. Votan would've killed him anyway.
She walked further. In the distance, she saw a small fire burning in the fire pit. She also saw Pacho's tent.
Over the last few months, Pacho had collected an astonishing amount of evidence against her. Fortunately, he'd kept it to himself. If not, he could've easily ruined her career. And that would've had horrendous consequences for the world.
She climbed out of the marsh and made a beeline for the tent. After checking to make sure no one was watching, she unzipped the flap. Until Votan arrived, she needed to protect herself. And the evidence Pacho had collected gave her a clear motive for killing him. Thus, she needed to dispose of it as quickly as possible.
Then no one would ever suspect what she'd done.
Chapter 65
This place really is hell.
I stabbed my shovel into the ground. Removed some dirt. Tossed it over my shoulder.
Rain splashed me as I repeated the process several more times. Gradually, the hole deepened.
Tum and Renau approached me with shovels. I waved them off. My back started to ache as I returned to work. My legs felt sore. My feet begged for a rest. But I kept digging.
Loud squelching noises caught my attention. "How're you holding up?" Graham asked in a gravelly voice.
I didn't bother turning around. "I'm fine."
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know." I rammed the shovel into the muddy earth. "It's just …"
"What?"
"I should've saved him." I climbed out of the hole. "It just happened so fast."
"Emily's outburst distracted you. It distracted all of us."
"Maybe."
He glanced at the hole. "I never really understood burials."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"It's not just the burial." He scrunched up his brow. "It's the whole deal … the coffin, the grave goods, the gravestone, the ceremony."
I stared at him, puzzled.
"Ritual burial practices go back thousands of years. Hell, even the Neanderthals had their rituals. They buried some of their dead with animal bones, tools, and other things. Lot of good it did them." He shrugged. "Most rituals probably started as an afterlife thing. You know, bury the dead with stuff they could take to the next world. But today, I think it's more about the ritual than anything else."
"And the mourning." I glanced at Pacho's corpse. It was wrapped tightly in a blanket and sealed with several layers of duct tape. "What's your point?"
"Blaming yourself for deaths you didn't cause is a ritual too, in a way. I guess it's how we make sense of an uncertain world. You're not the first to do it and you won't be the last."
"Go away, Dutch."
"But I was just—"
"Go away."
Graham turned on his good leg and hobbled back to camp. Meanwhile, I gathered Pacho's body in my arms and placed it into the hole.
"Cy?"
I gritted my teeth. "Yeah?"
"Dutch told me you weren't in the mood to talk." Emily paused. "But I wanted to say I'm—"
"Don't say it." I grabbed the shovel. "What happened to you in the pyramid?"
"I need to show you something." She pulled a large book out from under her coat. Shielding it from the rain, she opened it up.
The pages showed an old birth certificate, three photos, and several sections of scrawled handwriting. "I remember this," I said. "You were reading it on the helicopter."
"It's my family's history." She paused. "More specifically, it's my family's medical history."
I gave her an inquisitive look.
"I've got an unidentified genetic disorder. I've traced it back eleven generations so far. Generally speaking, the symptoms include rising amounts of agitation, confusion, and hallucinations. The hallucinations are the worst. They crop up during times of stress." She took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, none of my ancestors who displayed my symptoms survived past the age of forty."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I came to terms with it a long time ago." She glanced at the pyramid. "The disease is the reason I came here."
I stared at her.
"I'm not naive enough to think the ancient Mayas knew about genetic disorders." She cracked a smile. "But the Library of the Mayas will contain cures for many other diseases. I figure bringing it to light is a worthy way to spend my last few years."
"You should talk to Dutch. He owns a cryonics company named CryoCare."
"Cryonics?"
"It's a crude form of suspended animation. Essentially, his scientists attempt to preserve life at extremely low temperatures. The idea is to bridge the gap between now and a time when current diseases can be cured."
"Does it really work?"
"The science is sound. But until someone is actually revived, no one knows for sure."
Her look turned thoughtful.
"Ask him about it," I urged. "I'm a client. So is Beverly."
"Maybe I will." She paused. "Well, that's all I wanted to say. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. It's not an easy thing to talk about."
As she walked away, I turned to the northeast. It was nighttime. The clouds soaked up any and all starlight so the area was nearly pitch black. But I could still see the pyramid. It looked like a massive tumor on the otherwise flat marsh.
Deep down, I knew Graham was right. Pacho's death wasn't my fault. Perhaps it was Hunahpu's fault. After all, he'd built the pyramid and constructed the trap. But that didn't seem right either.
Pacho's death replayed in my mind. He'd shot past me at a rapid speed, almost as if he'd been pushed. But who could have done that?
Miranda.
Memories swirled in my brain. Miranda was the only person who'd been close enough to push him. She could've used Emily's hallucinatory outburst as a cover. But why would she want to hurt Pacho? As far as I knew, he was one of her most trusted assistants.
I scooped up some soil. Then I tossed it onto Pacho's corpse.
The smart thing to do was to keep my head down and finish the excavation as quickly as possible. Then I could fly away from the cursed canyon and put everything behind me.
But I felt nearly certain Miranda had taken a life. And there was no way I could turn my back on that.
"I'm going to get to the bottom of this." I stared at Pacho's corpse until my eyes hurt. "You've got my word."
Chapter 66
Flat duffel bags were heaped in the corners of Pacho's tent. A sleeping bag lay neatly on the ground.
I zipped up the tent and grabbed one of the duffel bags from the closest pile. It felt nearly weightless in my hands. Quickly, I opened it up.
It was empty.
I opened another one. It was also empty.
Swiftly, I opened the other bags in the pile. One bag contained several changes of clothes and other personal items. The others were empty.
I crawled to the other corners and checked more bags. They were all empty. Frustrated, I sat down on the sleeping bag. Someone, possibly Miranda, had seen fit to dispose of Pacho's belongings. But why? What had he kept in the bags?