13 April 2012
PART 3
Forcing himself to step forward he heard the muffled voice again. It was coming from the inside. The lid occasionally bounced with each new thud, rattling the catch that held it shut. Sucking in a deep breath Stewart took the catch between his thumb and index finger when he felt something vibrate against his thigh. Then again, this time followed by the electronic beat of music. Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was, hot like me. Don’t cha! The ringtone on his cell phone; Stewart franticly fetched it from his pocket, looking down at the name flashing on the screen. Dad. Tapping the display he hit answer. “Dad! Are you ok?”
“Stewart son, where are you?” Professor David Wilson said through the earpiece.
“I’m in Kelvingrove getting the blueprint for you.” He whispered, “Where are you?” The thudding noises from the sarcophagus had stopped. “What the hell is going on?”
“Someone attacked us at the gallery. I think he was after the Blueprint. I led him away.”
Stewart looked at the sarcophagus.
“Listen, I think I managed to lose whoever it was following me. Can you get to-” a crackle came from the earpiece before it went dead.
“Dad?” No answer. Stewart called back twice. Nothing. This was getting serious.
Taking a deep breath Stewart forced his fingers onto the cold metal catch and released it. The lid flew up and over hitting the floor. Stewart’s reflexes caused him to jump back. The solid lid of the sarcophagus crashed at his feet revealing a man in a black suit. A name badge identified him as Director of Art. “Oh thank god!” he gasped for air, lunging forward. The side of the Directors face was red, swollen and crusted with blood. Stewart helped him out. Taking a minute to regain his balance and surroundings he turned to Stewart. “Who are you?”
“I’m Stewart Wilson. Professor Wilson is my dad. I think he is in trouble. He said you were attacked,” said Stewart.
“Yes, indeed. I was knocked unconscious and woke up inside this thing. Where is the Professor now?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m going to call the police.” Stewart said thumbing nine, nine, nine on his cell phone. About to hit dial when it vibrated with a message. The senders name read Dad. “Hold on, he just sent me a message.” Stewart said, pressing open on the cell phone menu screen.
GET OUT NOW STEWART! ART DIRECTOR IS AFTER BLUEPRINT.
Stewart frowned and lifted his gaze to meet the Director’s sea grey eyes. Tilting his head the Director stole a glance at the screen. “What did it say?”
Stewart flipped it shut and forced a smile. “Everything’s fine. He wants me to pick him up at the police station... I should go.”
“Does he have the blueprint?” The Director asked, taking a step forward.
Stewart shook his head. “He never mentioned a blueprint. I should get going.”
The Art Director nodded, “Would you help me with this first?” he asked pointing at the lid of the sarcophagus.
“Um… sure,” said Stewart, taking one end of the lid as the Art Director took the other.
“What were you doing here then?” The Art Director asked.
Stewart hesitated, “I was just… I got a phone call-”
Air was pushed from Stewart’s lungs before he could finish the sentence. The sarcophagus lid was forced hard into his gut leaving him winded and gasping for air. He dropped the end heavily on his feet. “Arrrrgh!” Stewart cried out.
“Where is it!” the Director spat through clenched teeth. Stewart couldn’t believe this was happening. The Director pushed him back, shoving him to the floor. With his feet still trapped underneath the sarcophagus lid Stewart struggled to get free. The Director furiously patted down Stewarts jacket pockets, searching the lining for the piece of paper. “Give it to me!”
Hitting the Directors hands away something erupted over his head. Stewart covered his face as tiny shards shot out in every direction and the Director suddenly fell forward on Stewart, unconscious. Again.
Stewart opened his eyes. Directly in front of him was a pair of bare feet and painted toenails. Looking up Mrs. Turnbell stood over him. Holding her high heels in one hand and the remains of a pot in the other.
The Merchant's Coin • Opuss № I