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A
short story by, J W James
Copyright: June 13, 2004
The study, lit only by a small lamp, had an eerie, but somewhat somber feel to it. Sitting in a throne of a chair, behind a walnut and marble desk, Milton Chadwick sat busily inspecting the huge stack of legal documents before him. Pausing after signing one of the documents, he looked across the desk, his owlish eyes settling on the young boy who was seated there. He was young, perhaps ten or so, with dark hair and blue eyes. He appeared common, especially in the cheap clothes that had been provided for him by the orphanage. But he was anything but common to Chadwick. In fact, the boy was to be his heir.
There were two others seated in the room
besides Chadwick and the boy, but both were expected to sit still and await the
proper time before even so much as sneezing should the need arise.
The first man, Edward Thompson, was Chadwick’s wolf of a lawyer. The other, a stranger to Chadwick was the head of the
children’s home. Chadwick gave
the man a quick glance as he signed another document and then turned his
attention to Thompson. Catching the
cue, he slid a briefcase from beneath his chair and handed it to the other man.
“Mr. Baldwin,” he said, his voice filled with the same honey that had
won him many a case in open court, “I believe you’ll find that this is the
exact amount discussed in our previous meeting.
I don’t expect that there will be any hassles or red tape to interfere
with the adoption?”
Baldwin held out a hand to take the
briefcase, the anticipation of the quarter of a million dollars that he knew was
inside it making him lick his thin lips. “I’ve
already taken care of everything with Judge Walker,” he said, his hands
reaching the case, “as soon as I have the proper paperwork, the boy is
yours.”
Thompson looked to his client, the
ninety-two year old man adding his signature to the last of the documents.
Seeing the other nod, which was anything but subtle, he relinquished the
case to Baldwin. “Our business is
complete, Mr. Baldwin,” he said, the honey tone gone from his voice.
“You were never here, we’ve never met, and as far as you’re
concerned, you know only that the boy was adopted by a wealthy couple from
England. Do you understand?”
Baldwin took the case, his fingers already
working the locks. “Rest assured Mr..”
“Never say names, Mr. Baldwin,” Thompson interrupted. “It’s best for everyone involved that anonymity remain a priority. Things could get very ugly if certain priorities are not observed.”
Baldwin was too busy running his hands over
the money to notice the seriousness of the expression on the lawyer’s face.
Standing, Thompson moved to the desk and retrieved the pile of documents
from his client. “If you’re
finished, I’ll show you the way out.”
Snapping out of his greed induced coma,
Baldwin closed the case. “I’m
glad I could help to facilitate this matter,” he said with a grin forming on
his face. “Should there be a need for my services in the future you
know how to reach me.”
Thompson frowned.
He knew the thoughts in the other man’s mind and was disgusted that not
only did he expect something sexual was intended for the boy, but more than
willing to facilitate it for a price. He
had the smallest satisfaction in knowing that Baldwin would only live long
enough to make the transfer of paperwork. Chadwick
had already made the arrangements for both Baldwin and the Judge to meet with
convenient accidents. There could
be no witnesses, no loose ends, and no one to arouse suspicions. Everything that was to come depended entirely on the utmost
secrecy. It was the way it was and
there was no changing it. “This
way,” Thompson said, keeping the disgust far from his voice.
“There is a car waiting for you at the rear entrance.”
Chadwick waited until the two men had left
the room to look up at the boy. He
was an attractive lad, his soft features probably coming from Irish ancestors.
But his heritage didn’t matter to Chadwick. The boy had been inspected by a team of physicians and proven
to be in perfect heath. He was
given every possible test for hidden ailments, and had a complete set of x-rays
to insure that his bones were strong. Had
he been anything but perfect, he would have been eliminated from the pool of
candidates. As it was, the boy was
now, officially a Chadwick. He
would suit the purpose that the old man intended for him.
“Are you happy that I’ve adopted you
boy?” Chadwick asked, his raspy voice breaking the silence in the room and
causing the boy to start.
“I-I’m glad that I don’t have to live
in that place anymore,” he said, his voice shy and full of an uncertainty only
possessed by boys his age.
Chadwick returned to his silence.
He was unaccustomed to having conversations with other people, his
employees doing all of that for him. He
was less apt to continue the conversation with the boy as getting to know him
had no precedence. He had a single
purpose to serve and the old man could care less to get to know anything about
him. There was less than
twenty-four hours left for them to be on the same plane of existence and there
was still much to be done. Chadwick
had preparations to attend to. “Mr.
Thompson will show you to your new room when he returns,” Chadwick grated. “You need to get some rest as tomorrow is a very important
day for both of us.”
The boy looked up at his new parent with a
full understanding of the distance that was to remain between them.
He was at least thankful that he’d been rescued from the children’s
home and the bullies who had never treated him in any way but terribly. He was wiser than most ten year olds, knowing that even if a
more caring family had adopted him, the chances of them having the kind of money
that he could see in the various objects of this small room were slim to none.
What attention the old man didn’t give him would be made up for in
gifts and other things. He would be
the envy of every other kid that had beaten him up at the home.
Thompson returned about ten minutes later,
the look of disgust gone from his face. Giving
the boy no more than a peripheral glance, the lawyer moved close to the desk
where the old man remained seated. “I’ve
made the calls,” he said, a hint of satisfaction coming into his eyes.
“Everything is well in hand. Shall
we get things underway?”
Chadwick gave the boy another, more intent
look. “See the boy to his room
and then return here,” he said. “I
want him to be as comfortable and rested as possible.
This is a very important ceremony and I’ll not have it ruined.”
Thompson nodded and turned to the boy.
There was something in his expression that made the boy suddenly uneasy,
but nothing that he would be able to figure out on his own.
“Come with me,” Thompson said. “You’re
room is right this way.”
Chadwick stood, his age-weary legs barely
able to support his weight. Moving
across the study, he went to one of the bookshelves and reached for a thick,
leather-bound volume. The book slid
forward, stopping when it was halfway out.
Taking a slow step backwards, the old man watched as the bookcase to his
right began to slide open. With the
secret door now revealed, Chadwick stepped inside.
There was work for him to do in preparation of the ceremony that he and
his lawyer had spoken of. Letting
the door close behind him, he disappeared into the shadows.
Having settled the boy into the room, which
had been prepared long before his arrival, Thompson moved to join Chadwick in
the secret room. Shedding the Armani coat that had obviously come at an
expensive cost, Thompson slipped into a long, ceremonial-looking robe.
He moved soberly towards a large stone slab in the center of the dimly
lighted chamber, his client already there.
“Are you ready to begin, My Lord?” he asked, giving aid to the old
man, as he removed what little of his clothing remained.
“I’ve been ready to do this for ten
years, Edward,” he said, allowing the other man to help him onto the slab,
“be quick. Midnight will be upon
us soon.”
Following the other man’s instructions,
Thompson retrieved an ancient-looking book from a stone pedestal and moved back
to the stone slab. Opening the tome to the place where it had been marked, he
began to recite the words. The
language was strange, sounding like Sanskrit or something older, certainly
nothing that any common man would understand without translation. At once, the chamber began to darken, a strange breeze
somehow slowly winding its way through it.
Thompson continued on, his voice growing louder as the wind intensified.
The candles that lit the room went dark as what appeared to be lightning
began to flash across the ceiling. Whatever
it was, it lent an eeriness to the mystical events that were unfolding there.
Thompson became more animated, gesturing
over the old man, who was laying completely still, eyes closed on the slab.
His words came faster, more emphasized as he went on. The lightning, overhead grew more violent, licking the walls
and reaching towards the floor as Thompson read on. Then, in one brilliant flash, it dashed to the slab, striking
it and turning the stone a bluish color. With
a final shout, Thompson threw his hands towards the ceiling and then ceased his
movements altogether.
Stepping back from the stone slab, which
appeared to be made of turquoise or aquamarine now, Thompson closed the book.
With the ceremony complete, he had but only to wait.
Returning the book to its place on the stone pedestal, he removed the
robe and retrieved the coat that he’d discarded earlier.
Turning, he took a final look at the old man on the slab.
The blue glow was slowly receding, the stone changing back to its
original color, as the room grew dark. Without
a word or gesture, Thompson crept slowly out of the secret chamber. His work there was complete.
Thompson spent the next hour and a half
sitting at the large desk in the study. He
watched the hands of the old clock as they drew closer to midnight.
Then as the chimes began to cry out that the appointed time had arrived,
Thompson got up and slowly made his way to the stairs.
It was difficult to hide the anticipation that flowed through him, but he
managed to make the trek upstairs as slow as possible.
His timing had to be exact. A
moment too soon and all would be for naught.
Listening to the last tolling of the clock,
he slid the door to the boy’s room open.
Moving to the side of the bed, he took a moment to discard the items that
he’d left on a bedside table. He
glanced over, making sure there was no sign of bruising on the face where he’d
had to hit the boy earlier. He had
not wanted to do so, but the boy had become hostile at the sight of the syringe
that Thompson used to sedate him.
Looking to his watch, Thompson reached for the boy’s wrist. Taking his pulse, he made sure that he was still alive. Then, as if his touch had brought the boy awake, he opened his eyes. The blue had been replaced by the slate gray color of Chadwick’s eyes. “Success, Edward,” the boy said as he looked up at the lawyer. “We have cheated death once more by giving him another’s soul.”
The End