A Walk With the Past

Chapter Six

True to Antony’s prediction, Tom received a call from Doran the next morning telling him that something had come up and rehearsal was cancelled. The director barked that Tom should never-the-less spend the day going over his lines and working on getting into character before hanging up on him.

Tom sat back in bed and let out a sigh.

At least he would have one day of freedom without Mister High and Mighty’s cutting condemnation bearing down on him.

Like hell he was going to stay in and work on his lines.

Tom rubbed at his bare chest and collarbone as he rolled Elizabeth’s words over in his mind.

The key.

He had no clue where to begin looking for it, but the notion of a scavenger hunt excited him.

Tom pushed the blankets aside and put his feet down on the floor. Even through the rug he felt the cold, and Tom paused to regard his naked state.

Perhaps he should start wearing pajamas, considering an unexpected visitor might appear at any given moment….

Tom looked around the room with suspicion, and then tugged the sheet off of the bed to wrap around his body.

Electing to skip his run, Tom opted for a hot shower instead. He dressed and grabbed his coat before heading downstairs to meet Antony.

“Now as I told you, I don’t have much time,” Antony insisted as he hurried Tom to the door of the Arden Hotel. “But if you’re going to start looking for a key, there’s something you should see first.”

“I saw her again last night,” Tom said after Antony pushed him out into the chilly Autumn morning. “I spoke to her, Antony.”

The man halted his haste and gripped Tom’s elbow.

“Y, y, you,” Antony fumbled. “You spoke to her?!”

Tom nodded and smiled as he recalled the tender tone of Elizabeth’s voice.

“Wh, wh, what,” Antony stuttered again. “What did she say?”

“Well,” Tom continued as they walked down Southern Lane and passed Avonbank Garden to their left. “Not much. She told me that I had to help her; that I need to find that key.”

They veered onto Mill Lane, and Tom realized where they were going.

“The church, Antony?” he questioned.

Antony nodded. “I knew the key was a big clue,” he explained with enthusiasm. “And it’s a long shot, but I have an idea of what it might unlock.”

Holy Trinity Church dated back to 1210, and was built on the site of a Saxon monastery. Constructed in the form of a crucifix, its central spire loomed over them as if God Himself were up there looking down on the historical little town.

Tom had visited the parish multiple times before, of course to pay reverence to the Bard’s final resting place, but he also participated in Sunday services. He thoroughly enjoyed the church’s small troupe known as the Trinity Players, and he’d seen several performances in the past.

As he and Antony approached the building Tom noted the twelve lime trees that lined the pathway. Trivia learned from one of his previous holidays came to the forefront of his mind: the trees represented the twelve tribes of Israel, and the twelve Apostles.

It amazed Tom that everything in and around Holy Trinity Church possessed a duality of sorts; that which was its obvious intent and purpose, and that which it represented. From the great stained glass windows on the East and West ends showcasing English and Biblical saints, to the twenty-six carved misericord seats depicting angels, mythical beasts, and fighting men and women, Tom never ceased to marvel when he frequented the holy place.