The Serpent and the Crow

Book 2: Chapter Eleven

Douglas and Cortez arrived at the summit. Two ominous figures of lions greeted them on either side of the long stone steps leading up towards Redfern House. Cortez draws her gun.

Douglas said, "I thought we're just here to ask questions?"

"Ask away. S.W.A.T on standby, my brown ass, I ain't taking any chances, are you?"

Douglas drew his pistol. He took a single stride, and it gave way, and a loud crack resounded through the valley. The crows scattered in a deafening cacophony. Douglas' heart thumped. He prayed it would tick over just until he got back to Halonie.

Douglas said, "If anyone is here, they know we're coming."

The detectives climbed each step. Douglas glanced at the jarring juxtaposition. The pines looked as if they were worshipping the Redfern House. It reminded Douglas of an old painting he saw in Armadillo Museum by Christophe Wink.

"You ever go to the Dillo Museum?"

"I've been plenty of times as a kid. My father worked there as a curator."

"So, you know Christophe Wink's painting, The Sacrifice?"

"A Danish auxiliary who came to the New World with Hernán Cortés, the Conquistador. Of course, I do. My family are descendants of Cortés. We distanced ourselves from it by adding a letter Z to our name."

"Well, these steps remind me of that painting."

"How so?"

"Aztec's sacrificed to the sun god. Their victims' heart would be ripped out, still beat as the shaman held them in his hands. He would be decapitated, and the head would roll down the stairs."

"It appalled Christophe Wink and captured the brutality of it all to advocate to the Spanish court what needed to be done."

"How are we going to justify any of this? I mean, we're only questioning the occupants, right?"

"Heads must roll, Doug."

"Yeah, but the Aztec's were innocent people, most of them. Their customs seemed horrifying, but that was what they believed. Did your ancestor or Christophe Wink have the right?"

"I guess evil deeds are a matter of perspective, Nez. Maybe the question is whether you believe we're doing the right thing."

"So far, yes."

The detectives approached the top of the steps. A large plateau courtyard, adorned with ominous gothic statues, plagued by overgrowth. It maintained a sense of enormity to the already imposing structure. It was four floors, and the stone promenade was the precise work of talented artisans, engineers, and stonemasons. The yard had a fountain that was absent of clean water. It was a home to mosquitos and swamp slush.

The front facade of Redfern spotted pillars. It was palatial. Time and history had riddled its intentions with speculation that tainted the haunted house. The closer Douglas stepped towards the house, the longer and darker the shadows cast from the statues outside.

"Do you hear that? I heard whispers."

"What did it say?"

"They... I couldn't make it out, but I think we should inform Hank we've made it, now that we're up here."

Douglas fiddled with a few nobs on the walkie before static blared out. He turned down the volume.

"Hank, We've reached, Redfern. Over. "

Hank responded, "Proceed with caution, over and out."

It was an understatement of his life. Whatever awaited them was the killer, or something more supernatural, or both. It was an unshakeable feeling that they were walking into a trap. Douglas's heart was thumping against his chest wall. He imagined being the sacrifice, not knowing when his head would roll down the steps of Redfern House.