Remnants

She sat rigid, clenching the frail handle of the teacup, her other hand wrapped tightly around its base. The large drawing room was full; a fire roared in the great, stone hearth. She lifted her eyes warily and looked around the room. They were all strangers and she felt out of place.

There were the Ghosthunters: a group of young men who sat together on the long sofa on her left. It was rumored that not only the predecessor of the house now haunted it, but also others in the family line before him. They hoped this was going to be their big break and they argued faintly over an odd contraption that sat on the couch between them.

Quietly staring into the fire sat the clairvoyant. She wore jeans and a beaded top. Her hair was thrown up in a haphazard bun that hung lopsided from the crown of her head. She held a glass of red wine that sparkled darkly before the fire. She smiled kindly at Solace and give her the first sense of comfort that she’d experienced since arriving.

Then there were the treasure seekers: a constantly bickering husband and wife in their late sixties. One was an ex-history professor at a community college and the other was a self-proclaimed mapmaker of ancient realms and curator of legend and lore: anything that spoke of treasure.

In a windowed nook in the far corner, sat their host, Greg Harlequin, the resident of the estate. He studied quietly, ignoring the very existence of everyone else in the room. He did not seem disturbed by them nor even to notice their presence. After his greetings and announcements, he had gone to his desk and seemingly dismissed them. His pinched face always seemed irritated and his dark eyes were always wary of others. He was the incarnate form of irritability and anger.

Greg had, in his eyes, essentially been raised by his uncle. Their parents had died when the boys were young, and they had gone to live with him at the family estate. Their uncle, though he was the younger brother, was Head of the estate and the Harlequin fortune and name. Their father, J.W. Harlequin had seceded this honor to his younger brother so that he could travel the world with his new wife and eventually, his two boys. Their uncle had taught Greg how to properly manage money and an estate and how to keep such a family name distinguished. His brother had taken after their father and namesake, and preferred exploring or walking out by the lake to listening to their uncle and his lessons. Their uncle had seemed to be such a perfect role model to Greg and the two had bonded, seeding a breach between the two boys that would prove to grow and become insurmountable. This breach eventually split the brothers apart for good and was the beginning of Greg’s life of disappointment and animosity.

Solace had found the black notebook at the recycling plant where she worked. She enjoyed looking through certain things such as books, notes, and journals. Sometimes she would find papers filled with doodles and sketches, that she felt gave her a glimpse into other people’s worlds. The black notebook had popped up in one of these stacks. When she opened it up, it was blank aside for a few dog-eared pages with strange, jotted notes and sketches. On several pages were written a string of random numbers, and on another was a funny looking picture of upside-down candlesticks. With each scribble, she became even more drawn in and felt the notebook was meant for her.

The soft moleskin cover of the notebook had been embossed with the name of J.W. Harlequin, II and on the inside of the cover was an address. Solace had researched Mr. J.W. Harlequin and found out that he had died about a year ago. He had owned the large estate at the address listed on the inside cover of the notebook of 90 Kippington Street and been a philanthropist and lifelong seeker of the world’s beauty: highly regarded by many.

He had left his fortune split between the various charities he’d supported, save for “a Treasure” he left somewhere on the Estate. The entire arrangement had completely enraged his brother Greg Harlequin, had bitterly bashed his brother publicly for being so fanciful and irresponsible with what could possibly be Harlequin Family items. He had assumed the great fortune would be willed to himself and hadn’t quite accepted that his dreamer of an older brother could be quite so cruel.

It was to find this treasure that all who now dwelt in the “Drawing Room” had been either invited or enticed. It was in Solace’s curiosity about the notebook that she had gotten in touch with Greg Harlequin, and that he had asked her to come to the estate for the weekend and to join in the Treasure Hunt, specifying several times that she bring the black notebook.

Upon her arrival he had hardly greeted her before he asked to see the notebook. He had asked her if he could take it his office and study it, more out of courtesy than seeking her actual consent; as he raced from the room, notebook gripped tightly in his hand before she’d finished nodding her agreement.

There were only a few rules, and everyone had their own strategy on how they planned to find the Treasure. It was understood that whoever found the Treasure was to touch nothing and to report instantly to Greg Harlequin. Once the Treasure was found, the prize would be given at Greg Harlequin’s own expense of $20, 000. There were many rumors of what the treasure was, from gold, jewels, money to ancient relics or priceless family heirlooms. Some even thought that the late Mr. J.W. Harlequin had written his own manuscript. With the knowledge and brilliance, he’d possessed, along with his genuine kindness and love for humanity, there were many of his fans who hoped that it was this or some kind of words of enlightenment that were left behind as the Treasure.

Anna, the clairvoyant had come and introduced herself to Solace that evening in the Drawing Room. The two had hit it off and the primary angst Solace had felt about “psychics” melted away with how kind and reasonable Anna was. Solace had shown her the notebook that Greg had tossed back at her earlier that evening, telling her it was “useless junk”. The two looked through it in Solace’s room, trying to make sense of it all. They didn’t decipher it, but Anna could sense that it was definitely important and something of a guide.

After breakfast, they all stood in the great 3-storied entrance of the Abbey, waiting for the go-ahead to begin the Hunt. With nothing more than a few words reiterating the rules and that nothing be touched once the Treasure was found, Greg Harlequin nodded his head, and the Hunt was on.

The two women had decided to start their hunt with the great Candelabra that stood there in the front entryway. An image in the black notebook looked like it and they had both felt a certain energy from the object. Anna walked toward it and pressed her hands upon the cold, metal frame of its stand, closing her eyes. The metal began to grow increasingly warm on her palms, and in her mind, she saw the area that she was touching it turn a glowing green. She focused on the color and saw that it was also reflected on the polished floor below. In her mind she could see the candelabra and its reversed reflection upon the floor, both now glowing vibrantly in green energy Anna flung her eyes open and broke the image. She stared at the floor and Solace did the same. The two women knelt and began rubbing their fingers across the soft marble floor.

On one tile, the two discovered slight indentations on its corners. They looked at the other tiles and found the same on some of them. They automatically opened the black notebook, as Solace recognized the etchings. There was a string of them on one of the pages. Each of the designs had a small three-part hole within it, and Anna recognized it immediately. She stood and pinged the 9 tiny trident embellishments from the candlesticks, they popped off obediently in her hand. They then located each design on the floor in the order that it was in the black notebook, and gently stuck a trident into each in succession. Nothing happened. They stared at the floor, riddled with tiny golden staffs sticking up from it.

They looked at each other sadly, they’d had such high hopes! They slumped to the floor and began to study the etchings again. Solace thought back to the string of numbers that was repeated in the black notebook. She flipped to one of the pages that it was listed and held her breath. Maybe, just maybe. They removed all the tiny tridents and started again, this time in the order of the number pattern: 9-4-3-6-1-8-5-7-2.

It was a small wooden box, not very well made. Some of the nails were crooked and the sides were not straight, gaps stared out from between the small pine slabs. Greg knew it at once as he rushed to the foyer and saw the two women, crouched next to a door that had appeared in the great candelabra. He let his fingers graze its surface and felt his heart wince and then beat faster. He opened the box and found pieces of material: remnants. He picked them up and let them caress his hands. His legs wavered and he lowered himself quickly to his knees, his eyes already welling with tears. Amidst the remnants was a single photo. Greg lifted the photo, trembling at the weight of the images it held. Tears now streamed freely down his face. He stared at the Treasure before him.

The box had been made by his father. J.W. Harlequin the First, who had never known what it was to work with his hands and create something. When he literally stumbled into the assistant to the seamstress who made all his mother’s most elegant gowns. He was instantly smitten. Ellie was a simple girl; she collected the remnants of the material from their clients and made her own creations in her free time. She had hoped to someday create her own fashion line. Greg now held some of those very remnants in his hand and remembered the kind smile she had and the way she stroked his hair at night while putting him to sleep. He lifted them to his nose and caught the faintest scent of her perfume. She was humble and modest, and J.W. the First had attempted to make the wooden box to show her that he was not above learning to do things for himself. The box had held the family wedding ring and an intricate emerald necklace and was presented by J.W. the First when he asked Ellie to marry him.

The photo was of two little boys on the side of a mountain slope, their backs to the camera. Their arms were outstretched in expressive poses; the taller of the two held a butterfly net. His face was tilted to the side and he looked at the other boy with pure joy, a smile beaming below his squinting eyes. The other boy sat crouched and reaching up toward the taller boy, his expression just as radiant with adoration in his eyes, mouth hung open in sheer wonder at all that surrounded him. Beyond the two boys were hundreds of butterflies caught in midflight through the lens of the camera-stilled forever in this one eternal moment.

The two new friends looked upon Greg and the Treasure that he had finally found, arms linked together, they cried along with him.