SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Seventeen
Gary slapped repeatedly at the control panel in an attempt to stop the elevator. The car zipped on its merry way, oblivious to its occupant’s desire to disembark. The car eventually slowed and then stopped without any type of spring back or bounce. Gary moved to the rear of the car and readied himself for the hired muscle that may lay in wait for him on the other side of the doors. To his relief, there wasn’t anyone there. To his surprise, he wasn’t at the mouth of the tiled tunnel that led up from the boathouse, either. Instead, he was standing at the end of a long, dark hallway lined with recessed walnut panels. Every few instances a spotlight highlighted an alcove containing a different suit of armor and weaponry the wearer would carry. The only additional illumination came from an unseen light source that hung within the coffered ceiling above an intersection of hallways two dozen strides ahead. Gary decided he preferred taking his chances with the unknown at his current locale rather than dealing with the thugs in the grotto. He cocked his head, listened, and then sniffed at the air, checking for other mansion dwellers. He gave himself the “all clear” and relaxed somewhat. As far as he could tell the floor he was on was vacant.
He stepped quickly and instinctively on tip-toe toward the intersection and peered from side to side. To his left, there were two more intersections like the one in which he was standing. To his right was the landing to a staircase that continued upward. He moved to the staircase and looked up between railings at the moon framed by the skylight two floors up.
“Don’t go up,” the thought, “They can trap you if you go up.”
Gary backtracked and headed toward the next intersection. The alcove to his left housed a bronze bust of William Shakespeare. He couldn’t resist. He approached the statue in his best superhero posture, spread his feet shoulder-width apart, and positioned his fists on his hips. He placed one hand on the bard’s forehead and pushed back on it as he proclaimed in his best crusader voice, “To the Ba…”
To his surprise, the head yielded, revealing a blinking red button hidden in its throat.
“Holy Esophagus!” he gasped in disbelief.
Gary pushed the button without hesitation. It was flashing, that’s what you do. A hydraulic hiss sounded as the recessed panel in the wall to his left pivoted partially open. Lights flickered on beyond the door, sending a wedge of brightness into the darkness of the hall. Gary eased the door open and stepped inside.
The room was the size of an average bedroom. The gratuitous use of walnut panels continued, but the lower half of each panel consisted of flat file drawers. Each drawer had a polished silver label frame mounted at the center containing a handwritten notation referring to its contents. The far end of the room housed a floor-to-ceiling glass enclosure whose door chamfered across the corner. The glass room would have been large enough for two people to stand inside if it weren’t for a cluster of variegated stalactites that hung from its ceiling. The stalactites were shaped more along the lines of an elongated droplet ending with irregular bulbous blobs. Gary couldn’t quite focus on the contents of the humidor-like room, so he moved closer.
Metallic black and red mud daubers busied themselves adding layer upon layer of a clay-like slip to the surface of the stony icicles. Their continuous movement created a visual static that distorted the appearance of the stalactites, especially from across the room.
Gary zeroed in on one of the daubers that hung precariously from the base of one of the stone droplets. It worked feverishly at forming a bowl-shaped back and bottom by spewing ribbons of the slip on top of one another until three-quarters of a globe had been formed. At that point a larger, more beetle-like bug planted a glistening white egg into the opening. The dauber then returned to seal it in. Once sealed, the dauber flitted to the next spike and began the process again.
Gary shifted his attention to the sea of file drawers that lined the walls. Each column of drawers had an engraved plaque mounted above them. He tracked past columns labeled “Painting” and “Sculpture” and then stopped before a column labeled “Music”. He ran his finger down the drawer fronts.
“Bass, Brass, Drums,” he murmured the names of select tags as he scanned the drawer fronts. “Ah, guitars!”
Gary pulled open the drawer to view its contents. An antifreeze green glow uplit his face while a cloud of cold, smoky fog rolled down the front of the drawer and across his hands. The drawer was partitioned into smaller compartments. Each compartment contained an engraved case bearing a name. Gary searched for the first guitarist that popped into his head.
“My man,” he said as he withdrew the container. The cold metal box was adorned with an elaborate swirl of paisley.
“What could you be holding?”
He jiggled the lid loose and pulled it free. Upon viewing its contents, he slapped the lid back onto the box and quickly returned it to the drawer.
“That’s some sick shit!” he groaned.
“He couldn’t have gone far. The elevator only stops at the aviary and the second floor,” a gravel-filled voice sounded in the hallway.
Gary panicked. He wanted to slam the door shut but feared its closing would draw attention. Then again, the wedge of light spilling into the hallway would do the same. He darted toward the door. A flash of red and orange entered the room before he could shut the door.
“He couldn’t have gone far. The elevator only stops at the aviary and the second floor,” the crimson bird repeated as it fanned its lyre-like tail feathers. It looked up at Gary and cocked its head.
“Oh, thank God!” Gary sighed in relief.
“Oh, thank God!” the bird echoed back in Gary’s voice.
Wanting to double-check the hallway, Gary reached for the doorknob only to find that there wasn’t one. He slid his hand up and down the door jamb but didn’t find anything that remotely resembled a latch.
“I don’t suppose you know how to open this?” he said to the bird.
“I don’t suppose you know how to open this?” was its reply.
Gary leaned his back against the door and slid down to a seated position. “That’s two for two,” Gary thought. “At least it’s not a freezer this time.”
The lyrebird took another look at Gary and then toddled toward the glass cabinet that housed the busy beetles.
“Hello, Cleveland!” it proclaimed in a voice fitting a rock star.
The center door panel popped open and the bird entered. It jumped up and snapped off one of the bulbous ends of the stalactites, knocking it to the floor with a quick thrust of its beak. He recovered the bulb and immediately swallowed it. He exited the chamber and turned to face the door.
“Cleveland, Good Night!” he said as if just completing an encore. The door swung shut. The bird then ambled to a small square panel near the corner of the room, lowered its head, and pushed its way through the pet door.
Gary quickly crawled to the panel and pushed it inward. He watched the bird’s silhouette scurrying down a shaft toward a light in the distance. He checked to see if he could squeeze through the door, but his shoulders were too wide. He had a way out, it would just have to wait until he transformed in the morning.