lie to me → s.d.

.11 | cracking foundation

The resounding pop! of the cork exploding off the champagne bottle seemed to echo for miles, across the entirety of Italy, and the chorus of laughter was probably what woke locals in their beds halfway across the land. The Saint Dismas cross stared upwards from the table it lay atop, surrounded by the odd-looking quartet that managed to steal it from a certain doom sitting in a display case and never being touched. They all grinned and raised their glasses, feeling like gods and that the world should have bowed at their feet in respect.

"What a hassle that turned out to be," said Sully and tipped the rim of his glass against Nathan's. "And which one of you was it that claimed that would be an in-and-out job?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Nathan, who waved a dismissive hand, because it really had been him that said that, "the important thing is we got the damned thing."

Theodora pulled the sweet-smelling glass of champagne from her mouth, freshly wiped of lipstick, and she made an exclamation from the back of her throat. "Hey, hey," she said. "Watch your mouth around the Good Thief. He knows Jesus, you know."

The moment she had stepped into her adjacent room connected to the boys' at their hotel, she had practically ripped her old dress off and stuffed it into the lined trash can in the bathroom. Her heels went in after it, as did the wedding ring stained with coagulated blood. Left in the panties that rose to her belly button and the matching black bra that was a cup or two too small for her, she has simply thrown on a thin robe and gone to join the men for their celebration. She could be bothered with real clothes in the morning. But tonight? Tonight was about kicking back and drinking and destroying an ancient, hundred year-old, valuable artifact of a biblical figure.

Yes, sir - they were good people.

As if they all telepathically decided they were ready to see just what they had about died in their Sunday best for, Sam picked up the second empty bottle and positioned the end of the cross on the rim of the table. He began to raise his hand, then stopped and grinned maliciously at them all. "I hope I don't go to hell for this," he said.

"Please," said Theodora and leaned back to get the last golden droplet from her glass, "after this, we're all going to hell."

With a triumphant wiggle of his head, he brought the bottom of the bottle down on the cross' stem once, twice, and the third time splintered it in two. He set the bottle down, after taking a swig for himself, of course, and lifted the hollow piece of wood to glance inside. They all waited patiently, expectantly. "T...there's nothin' in here," he breathed. "It's empty."

Nathan's chair scraped back against the freezing tile floor. "What?"

"Nah, I'm messin' with you guys." Sam cracked up at his own wicked sense of humor, accepting the smack Theodora delivered upside his head with as much dignity a snickering drunk could muster, and dumped a thin, rolled piece of paper out onto the table. They brushed away the few tiny splinters and delicately unfurled it.

On the inside was a mesmerizing sheet of dull red and black ink, curling illustrations and wavering ribbons capturing their gazes in a sort of trance. A large portrait of Henry Avery's crest was printed in the middle - a skull's head turned to the right with a pair of cross bones sitting beneath it - and beneath that resided a short string of numbers.

16591699.

The four all stared at it for what seemed the entirety of twenty minutes before they slowly sat back. They blinked at the paper, at one another, at the empty bedroom surrounding them. Theodora finally struck the silence and rippled the pond they were all terrified of breaking the surface of. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"