Sip, Swallow & Scream

Part 8 | Bob & Weave

“Move!”

It was the last thing I heard before Regan slammed into me and we careened across the stone floor. The halberd — she told me later that’s what it was called — hit the ground next to us, and a voice boomed out from behind the mask like the fucking skies had opened up and an angry god was looking down on us. “Get out!”

I wasn’t about to answer, not even look back. Lindsay was still filming though, and the book — it was still nestled in the arms of the statue. “Regan, get Linds,” I screeched. Oh my god, I did screech. I fucking sounded like a banshee. But she was on it, rushing over toward Linds who was still trying to film the ghostly symbols dancing across the room. I was going for the book, my eyes on the ghost of Victor Hughes, and his locked on mine, as his rotten mouth worked, opening and closing, spitting out the next clue we needed. Of that, I had no doubt, but we still needed the book.

I zigged and zagged, which was totally my jam after those years on the Towson soccer squad as the left forward. The tables themselves were a maze, but no match for the top scorer in the conference two years in a row. And then the statue was in front of me, Victor’s mouth closing, then his eyes, and then he was gone, the silver spine staring the only thing remaining. I grabbed it. Goal!

Behind me, tables groaned as the figure in the black mask stormed ahead, crashing through the congested collection of historical accoutrement. “Thief,” it bellowed, but I wasn’t up for an opening statement by the prosecution just then. I turned, ducked and almost fell, felt as much as heard the swish of the axe over my head. Was he really trying to kill us for stealing his book? Is this who killed Poe? Had we led him here? Jesus fuck!

But he was already a few steps closer when I recovered, the halberd cocked for another whack, and this time maybe too close to avoid. I dodged left at the last second, and the axe end of the thing slammed into the floor and clattered away. His weapon down, he lunged, but I spun out of reach. We danced as Poe’s cryptic characters swirled around us, Lindsay screaming at me, “Almost got it. Go go go!” I bobbed, I weaved, slipping around one of the tables he’d already broken and knocked to the floor. Fuck. If I’d worn boots and not heels, I thought, but who planned to be attacked by the Masque of the Red Death during a haunted ball?

Oh yeah, I recognized the costume, only his mask was a horrible death face made of mottled, reddish skin, as if he was a burn victim back from the dead. His costume was all black leather, ripped open in the front, the blotchy, marled skin of his chest exposed and absolutely disgusting. I cried out when his gloved fingers caught my shoulder and screamed when he found a handful of hair, yanking me back, the book spinning away from my grip and into the darkness as I whipped around, trying to free myself.

“Regan!”

Suddenly, a blazing white light erupted from the statue next to me, where my favorite passed Poe impersonator was. That ghostly light — there was no other way to say it, hit that big, masked bastard square in the face. He stumbled, maybe half-blinded like I was. And then, Regan was there, doing her self-defense/martial arts thing, stepping forward and kicking him square in the balls.

The massive figure let out a screech that put mine to shame, and as he doubled over, we turned and ran.

We were halfway up the ramp to the trapdoor when I slammed on the brakes. “The book!” I’d left it back there with that asshole. And he had a weapon and tender balls. He wasn’t going to just let me traipse back down there and ask all nice like for my secret Poe manuscript. What the fuck were we going to do?

But Regan wrapped an arm around my shoulders before I could even move. She pressed the book into my chest. “We’re good, Ses. Let’s go.”

And my night was over, haunted ball, cool costumes and all.

The cops almost knocked me over coming out of Nevermore. No apology. Dicks. But who could really blame them — I’d barely gotten a wink of sleep all night, and there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to salvage that.

I watched them as they strolled down the sidewalk and ducked into the coffee shop we’d just come out of, but not before sizing them up. The guy anyway. It had been dark in that basement library, but it was a guy that tried to kill me. Was the cop tall enough to be the Masque of the Red Death? I’d been sizing up every dude we passed since we’d hit the street in search of caffeine nirvana.

“Maybe?” I looked back at Regan, my hand on the door handle.

“A cop?”

I shrugged, maybe a little embarrassed to even suggest it, but everyone I saw today could have been the Masque of the Red Death. It’s not everyday a girl almost gets crushed by a medieval weapon. I wasn’t going to discriminate.

“I dunno,” I grumbled, “but what were they doing here?” I pulled my hair out of my face and pushed the door open. I’d hadn’t really wanted to talk to Charlie again, but the cops having just left meant I wasn’t missing that chance.

“I’ll wait out here and see what’s up,” said Regan. “Candle shop.” I nodded, then she turned and walked out toward the street. I could handle this myself, and she could keep an eye out from across the street. We were not doing the big guy trying to kill you out of the blue thing again.

I slipped straight past the front table lined with Poe bobbleheads to the back counter, where Ravenwood’s most popular goth pixie stood glowering my way. There were more bobbleheads there, and I couldn’t help but give them the once over. I really did like the one I’d gotten, and there were some more that looked fun. But I had business.

“You again? Where’s the goofy one? And the tall girl?”

I smiled, half because I was gonna tell Linds what she said, and she would lose her shit about being called goofy, and half because just then I wanted to punch this bitch in the nose for insulting my goofy friend. Said goofy friend was putting her genius intellect to work right now deciphering the latest ghostly ciphers behind a locked door with a charcuterie board and a really solid red blend to keep her company. And Regan was doing her thing — protecting the merch.

“Cops have a thing for Poe, huh?” Let’s just get right to it, I thought.

Charlie looked at me, then at the door, and then back at me, blowing off my question. “Back for more Poe smut? I gotta tell ya. You picked the top of the line the first time. Edgy is grade A prime.” She grinned, and I couldn’t tell if she was making fun of me or not.

I glanced back to the Poe smut section, which I still thought was sort of hilarious — but you gotta get your kicks where you like ‘em. Then, I turned back to Charlie and did the whole ‘you got me’ embarrassed shrug accompanied by a squinched up face and sort of sad eyes. Something like that. “Yeah, no. I didn’t really care about Edgy. I was here to see your brother. About the book. The manuscript? I’m sorry about — you know, for your loss, and I know this is sort of shitty, but did you say you don’t have it?”

We’d gone through this in the room beforehand. Just go right at her. Don’t play coy. Just lie, and see what she says or does. The one thing I wanted to know now was who else wanted the book. Soap and Loofah, okay. And the nerdy dude from the hayride who couldn’t stop talking ciphers with Linds and who was clearly falling in love at light speed. He’d mentioned a couple of names, too, but there had to be more. The news was in the paper, and a cursory internet search had revealed a bunch more news, links to Reddit, etc. If dudes were talking about it on Reddit, come on — it had to be important to a lot of people.

And the cops, why were they here?

Charlie frowned and turned away. “Not buyin’? Keep tryin’.” She sighed, staring at the back of the store, where I’d run off with that quill, and I wondered if it was dawning on her that it was gone. Or if she even knew what it was. Had she been keeping it there on purpose because she knew where the book was? Was she playing me? Or was she just —? She turned, and I could see the tears in her eyes, like little fireflies glittering in the darkness of her heavy eyeliner. Oh, she was good. Or maybe she was just sad and didn’t know anything.

“You know, my brother just died, and all any of you can do is come storming in here with questions and your bullshit about this book, whatever it is. Manuscript? If it was unpublished, was it just some notebook Poe kept his notes in? A bunch of old yellowing papers tied up with a string? I’ve never even seen it. Victor felt he had to hide it — even from me, he said, because it was dangerous and valuable, and someone might come and —.” She turned away again and walked to the back with a, “Come back when you’re ready to buy something.”

I watched her slink off, her shoulders slumping, and then I shrugged and ducked under the counter past the sign that said, “No customers behind the counter,” which I must have missed the day before. I slipped past the tables of unshelved books and wound around the few items she’d stacked up to create a little privacy in the back. Charlie was sitting there on the toilet, door open, definitely not going to the bathroom because Jesus fuck was I about to be mortified.

“Charlie,” I said, my voice as non-combative as I could come up with.

“I’m on the toilet, lady.”

Okay, yes she was, but not like that. It was clearly not that kind of moment, so I kept going.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just barge in here and get all up in your face,” which was not at all true, and then I squatted down to get on her level and I really lied. “I’m Emma, and I’m here from the Temple News to do a story on this entire thing. I — my friends and I — were on the ghost tour with Victor the night he passed, and I had been hoping to interview him. Talk about the manuscript. Maybe get a peek. But also to learn about the people who were in town to buy it. And now, well, we all know what happened. I was in the bar when they found him. And I just wanted to know what kind of guy he was, and about his love for Poe and really dig into what happens when someone makes an amazing discovery.”

Okay, where the hell did that come from? I gave myself a mental high five and waited. Talk about awkward. I didn’t want to stare, but it was clear the toilet seat was down and she was just hiding in the bathroom. I’d definitely done that before. Now, this was the part where she told me to fuck off, or she told me something I needed to know. As long as she didn’t ask for ID, I could live with either. We still had Soap and Loofah to talk to, as well as the dude from the hayride. Send Linds over in a low-cut top and he’d give his own mother up as the murderer.

“I’m not really — I hope you didn’t want an interview. I don’t know if I can talk about Victor right now. And the manuscript…” She paused, running her fingers through her hair and staring at her chunky boots. “I told him not to sell it. Keep it. Study it. He’d always wanted to be a scholar, and this was a chance for him to get back into UPenn in a masters program. The Lost Manuscript of Edgar Allan Poe? He could have done so much with that, but he wanted the money.” Her voice faded, her face in both hands, and I couldn’t tell if she was crying or not.

“And who’s in town to win his favor and bid on the prize? That Soap and Loofah? We met another guy on a hayride who couldn’t stop talking about it. Reddit has been buzzing.”

Charlie looked up when I mentioned Reddit.

“I do my homework. Masters in Mass Comm coming my way, and maybe a job down at the Washington Post one day. But, you have to know how to dig to be a real journalist.” I gave her a shy little smile, as if I was embarrassed about my faux career goals. “Oof. Mind if I sit?” I said, looking back, finding the chair at the desk, my eyes lingering a moment on the empty space that used to be the home of the raven quill key, which was now buried in my bag in the room.

But Charlotte popped up, her smile a little wretched, and I wondered if her brother’s death was really taking a toll on her, especially not knowing that the book he’d died for was in fact not missing. She caught my elbow and turned, pulling me back toward the front of the store. “You’re not supposed to be back here. Sorry. Employees only. Victor really had a thing about that.” She waited until I’d ducked under the counter, and then she leaned in, elbows on the wood, her face resting in her palms, as if she was carrying all the weight in the world.

“I can tell you a few things, but really, these were all Victor’s friends or people he knew, some of them even rivals, you could say. Book people can be weirdly territorial,” said the girl who had just excused me from her territory. “The loofah guy is named Oliver. Oliver Dawson. Old friend of Victor’s from Penn. Poe guy, too. I used to have a crush on him, but then he fucked off to California and met Mavis.”

“Soap?”

“Yeah, only she’s not that squeaky clean. She was a book banner until she met Oliver, and then love changed her heart blah bleh blech. You know how it goes.” She rolled her eyes. “They showed up with cold hard cash yesterday, but Victor’s gone, and I don’t have the book. Oliver was a real asshole. And they won’t leave me alone, accusing me of having the book and trying to drive up the price.”

“I’ve seen them in here, but I haven’t spoken to them.”

“Be careful. If you think he has a temper, she’s a snake in the grass. Straight poison pill.”

I nodded in place of any kind of reaction to that statement. “Anyone else?” Stay cool. Reporter vibes.

“It’s a small network really -- the Poe people, if that’s a thing. Emily Sinclair was Victor’s art school buddy and a gifted painter when he was at MICA. I’m surprised her husband let her come, considering, but she’s over in the Raven Inn. She came by yesterday and is staying for the funeral. And Henry Aimes. Poet and writing critic. He and Victor were thick as thieves until Victor critiqued a poetry collection featuring Henry’s works, and things sort of fell apart. Like, he lost a lucrative writing contract, and they’ve never made up. I’m surprised to see him actually. He was in here yesterday smelling of bourbon.”

“Writers and book people. Sounds like a dangerous sport.”

“Who wouldn’t kill to have a priceless item like the Poe manuscript?”

“Kill? Are you saying someone killed Victor? Is that why the cops were here?”

Charlie just stared, as if she wasn’t even seeing me. “Claude and Jenny. Only two cops in town. Always in here. Just a friend thing.” She blinked, seemed to notice me again, and said, “And the only other person I know of who’s here is Alice Foster. She’s a powerhouse from the Big Apple, fetches rare books and antiquities for the rich. She would have brought the biggest payday.”

“Would have?”

“Even if I could find the book, after Victor’s death, could I part with it? He deserved better. Better than this.”

And that was that. She wouldn’t say anything else, so I thanked her and pulled open the door. At least I had a better idea of what was at stake and who might have some stakes ready to drive through someone’s heart. We had another clue, the quill, the book, and now, I just needed something to break my way to give me the murderer.

Author’s Notes: When I got to this episode, I was in a bit of a fix — what to do next? What did Sesame need to do while Lindsay was working out the ciphers? It seems that a lot of the story revolves around the little bookshop, Nevermore, and I thought I would give Sesame a bit of a challenge — go back a third time and try actually to extract information. She’d snooped, then stolen something, and now she had to go back into the lion’s den and do something. What I didn’t actually see coming was this line:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just barge in here and get all up in your face,” which was not at all true, and then I squatted down to get on her level and I really lied.

I mean, why not? And the bit about her name being Emma and her being a college reporter for the Temple News? I have no idea where that came from, but it worked. I thought why can’t she just lie? And it seemed so obvious when I realized it. And the bit about wanting a story about what it’s like to make a fantastic discovery, and all that — I just pulled that out of my ass. But, when you’re writing, as I often say, your characters start taking on a life of their own and doing things you didn’t expect. Even saying things you didn’t expect.

At least that’s how it works for me.

Through our novels together, Sesame and I are figuring out how to solve crimes and what a sleuth can and can’t do. In this story, we discovered that she can lie to obtain information. I realize this might seem trivial, but it’s hard to allow your characters to do things sometimes — to make mistakes, to do wrong things, to take incredible chances or do something dumb. And when they do, it’s freeing because you realize how humanized they’re becoming. After all, real people do all those things, and that’s what making a well-rounded character is all about.

Six more episodes to go! Stay tuned!

Read episode 9 below!