The Letter

“See you tomorrow!”, yelled Gavin out of the uber window.

“I love you!”, I yelled back, but he was already rolling up the window and telling the driver to get out of there. The car peeled away on the wet street. I thought to myself that it was odd that he didn’t say anything back, but ran towards the door anyway.

I checked the mail on my way into the flat we rented in Greenwich Village.

The neighbor's dog, a brown and white shih tzu, barked at me as I waited for the elevator. “Hi Princess. I hope you are having a good night. Do you need to go up?” The dog kept barking louder and louder. The elevator dinged, and we got it. I leaned down and pet Princess so she would be quiet. It worked, thank the gods.

I unlocked my door, went in, and immediately locked it. I’m not in Texas. This is New York. And we don’t leave our doors unlocked for anyone to just come and go as they please. After shedding my coat and shoes, I sat on the couch and grabbed the mail I didn’t look at on the way up. Light bill, cable bill, letter from my mother, and an envelope with no return address. My grandfather used to do that, and it would drive us, my mother and myself, to a frenzy. I opened it first because I want to get the trash out of the way. The note read:

Ms. Tailyour,

We know your proprietor is restoring a parchment copy of The Canterbury Tales. Bring it to 8700 Victory Blvd. at 10pm. Be there Kallie or you will pay.

I sat on the couch staring at the note trying to make sense of it all. I haven’t used my maiden name in years. A sudden knock on the door made me jump. I didn’t answer it at first, then it sounded again. I sprang up half scared to make a sound.

“Ms. Tailyour, we know you’re in there open up.” yelled the husky voice. A silencer cocked, and I knew I was in trouble. I sat back down to change out of my heels to my running shoes I always keep handy; I just never thought I would actually need them for a situation like this. I dropped to the floor on my hands and knees ready for an attack and crawled to the door. I heard the whispering, “1, 2, ..” I swiftly opened the door causing the two burly gentlemen to come across my threshold. I tried to jump over them to get away but one of them grabbed my leg and my husband was standing in front of me as I tumbled to the floor face first.

“I told you she was not to have one scratch on her.”

“Gavin, what is going on? You’re supposed to be on your way to Chicago.” With my world crashing around me I had to respond fast. I felt the hand around my face, and it was too late.

My consciousness returned as we pulled up to a gate. Large, wrought iron, on a roller. The scroll work throughout the gothic piece was magnificent and terrifying. The gate opened slowly with loud squeals; we drove through as soon as there was enough space for the car. We drove through oak trees with hanging spanish moss and I could see the shadow of a building off in the distance. My mind, my clear thinking was coming back quickly, and I realized I was no longer in New York.

“Gentlemen, welcome to Yemassee, South Carolina. Enjoy your stay.” announced the driver. We drove around a white plantation federal style manor with a double decker wrap around porch. The fog coming through the moss reminded me of a scene from “Fall of the House of Usher” rising from the ground and surrounding our every view. We drove for what seemed another mile until there was a clearing in the steamy clouds. Then I could see it. A Lancaster barn in red wash wood that had deteriorated and faded to dull brick. Muddy tractors lined the stalls, and the smell of freshly baled hay filled the air; then came the smell of tobacco and cow manure.

“She’s awake by the way.” declared Gavin. “She stopped snoring a few miles back. You know what you have to do.” I started not screaming but screeching in a high pitch. The man that was holding my head elbowed me in the jaw. I slid down and bit his stomach for good measure. The driver stopped the car. The man, whose man I still don’t know, slung open the car door and dragged me out by the hair to the opening of the barn.

Inside the barn was magnificent. Wooden beams still in tree form made the interior look like a cathedral. It was dusty, dirty, and eerily silent. The boards did not creak like they should have for a structure that old. A cleanroom was set up in the back. I could see the heavy plastic and hear the air filtration system and two women came through an opening in hazmat suits. They were taking their jobs seriously. The man still had me by the hair pulling me towards the women. Just inside the cleanroom was a straight back chair, brown, very common.

Those self defense classes were about to pay off, or so I thought. Gavin zip tied my hands while the ladies duct taped and handcuffed me to the chair all four limbs separately.

The other man that was in the back seat with us brought around a book covered in linen cloth. “We need you to identify this book,” he demanded.

“It looks like a copy of The Canterbury Tales as you so eloquently asked for in your note. If you already have it, why are you asking me what it is and bringing me here?”

“We require confirmation. And something is wrong with it. If it is as valuable as everyone says, destruction of such an artifact is not an option.”

“I cannot examine it if I cannot touch it.”

“I will turn the pages for you as you request. You will not touch anything. Am I clear?” Before I could answer or even nod, Gavin struck me on the right side of my head with a stainless steel spiked bikers glove. Hot blood and tears dripped down my face. If I got close enough to the book, I could bleed on it and render it worthless. DNA tests would prove that it would not be Chaucer’s and someone would find me.

The women carefully placed the book under a protective screen with a projecting camera. With the book enlarged, I saw a keyhole in the spine and combination points on top. This was a trap, and I had to move fast. There could be anything inside that book.

“Please open the cover carefully.” The ladies gently lifted the cover, and I searched for a code to unlock the treasures inside. Nothing.

“Please turn the page.” The beautiful words of Chaucer in Middle English stretched across the page. After seeing the manuscript so many times I almost missed the modern letters mixed in. I also noticed this book is too thick to be just the one writing based on penmanship.

“Please shine a light through the vellum.” The ladies looked at each other then to Gavin.

“That is not allowed.”

“How am I supposed to certify the vellum if I cannot examine its validity?”

“Light will deteriorate the vellum. You know that. I won’t have you destroying my leverage.”

“Leverage for what Gavin? You bring me here with this elaborate scheme; you have me verify an ancient book for you, but you won’t let me actually do my job. And I already know how this ends. What do you want from me?” He hit me again; my vision swam, blood filled my mouth.

“What book is that?” he shouted his lips so close to my face.

“It’s a photocopy on modern vellum. The pages move too smoothly. The ink smudges. It’s not an original.”

“Get her out of here!” I heard sirens in the distance coming up the drive. The ladies left the book on the table just out of my reach so they could untie me. As soon as the last string was cut, I grabbed the book and ran for the door. ATF agents swung the doors open and I ran through them using the book as a shield. Bullets flew past my head from both directions. Screams and shouts filled my ears with white noise. One of the medical aids they brought pulled me to their ambulance and tried to grab the book from my hands.

I screamed.

“Ma’am I need you to put the book down. I need to look at you.” he said over and over. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. “Ma’am I need you to calm down. I need to take you to the hospital.”

While in the ambulance, an IV drip was started. We drove to Beaufort Memorial Hospital as it was the closest thing to a medical facility open at the time. The emergency staff fluttered around me to care for my wounds. My face required stitches, and I was severely dehydrated. I looked like Frankenstein’s monster and felt even worse. My husband just tried to kill me.

My on-call nurse walked in with an ATF agent. “I’ll leave you two alone. If you need anything, please press your button.”

“Mrs. Sawyer? I am Nathaniel Hale with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and Explosives. We wanted to ask a few questions and offer protection details. Can you tell us what happened tonight?”

“My husband and I had dinner last night in New York; that’s where we live.” I explained the whole situation to the three men. They asked me questions about Gavin’s work, and I answered everything I could. They explained to me that he was involved in blackmarket antiquities and firearms dealings.

“Ma’am, I am sorry to inform you, but your husband, Gavin Sawyer is dead. Please accept your sincere apologies and condolences for your loss. If there is anything this agency can do for you please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“There is one thing Agent Hale; well actually two.” He nodded signaling me he was ready for my requests. “First, may I have my book. It was something my company was working on?”

“Well we have to get the bullet out of it first, but I don’t see why not. And the second?”

“I am curious, are you any relation to the Reverend John Hale?” I am obsessed with the Salem Witch Trials.

“Ma’am, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before? Why do you ask?” giving me a curiosity once over.

“I’m not sure. Just a feeling.” I grinned.

“I’ll see to it that you get your book and take care of yourself.” he tipped his hat.

“Yes sir, I will.”

I stayed in Beaufort for a few days after my release from the medical center waiting for the police to release my book. Hilton Head Island is beautiful and relaxing. I decided I needed a fresh start and called my mother. She is waiting for me in Texas after I get things settled in New York. I haven’t cracked the code to the book yet, but I will. Agent Hale, Nathaniel, took me out for dinner in Savannah and told me all about his family. I think we will see each other again. In the meantime, I am going to take care of myself.