Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Rescue

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Rescue

We drove erratically for twenty minutes; the constant swerving, forced me to use muscles I rarely used to keep from slipping out of my hiding spot (fortunately my mystery man was too preoccupied to notice my presence).

After going in circles for a few minutes, the sounds of traffic and idle chit-chat slowly faded into nothingness. And the moment I started jostling around due to old gravel roads, I knew we’d left Rosswood at last.

Using my feet as braces, I rearranged myself to peek out the back windows. I could only catch glimpses of the passing landscape, but it was all I needed. Tall trees checkered by, the distance between them getting smaller with each mile; it seemed familiar and foreign at the same time.

It certainly wasn’t the vast cornfields leading up to the abandoned farmhouses where Carlo was found, or the lonely light-posts that decorated my usual trek to my grandmother’s camp ground. The final destination was still unclear to me, but it definitely wasn’t back into the city to meet with Matthew’s boss.

I didn’t have to wonder too long though; the car stopped abruptly, and it took all my ‘leg power’ to not slide out of my corner (plus some choice expletives for extra help). The sudden ruckus caused Matthews to hesitate and turn around. I’m not sure if he spotted me, but if he did…he chose to pretend otherwise.

Matthews rushed out of the car, but took his sweet time walking around. I could hear his slow and heavy foot-steps, as he carefully investigated his surroundings. He never strayed far from his car, compelling me to stay put as well.  

“Are you going to come out, or did I come all this way for nothing?” Matthews asked.

From my vantage point, it appeared as if he were speaking to himself. Despite having more wiggle room behind the driver’s seat (now that said driver was no longer in the car), I still couldn’t see more than tree-tops in the distance. But I had to assume that somewhere…someone was hiding.  

“About time, what the—“

“Not here, follow me,” said a deep voice.

I never heard him coming; the second man’s footsteps were eerily silent compared to the clanking of Matthews’s boots. His voice, like the location, felt strangely familiar; the soft twang masked within his words set off alarms in my head.

Waiting long enough to ascertain that the two had left the area (but not long enough that I’d miss everything), I slowly stretched upwards. The pair were nowhere in sight, but once again…it didn’t really matter.

We were parked in front of an opened gate, currently swinging in rhythm with the wind. Trees, flowers and beautiful gardens peaked through the iron-fence; hints of the paradise held within.

It was the entrance to the fancier of two cemeteries belonging to the Rosswood community; the Reynaldi family Mausoleum stood at the center, empty.

The lush greenery on the way should have been a warning, but it wasn’t a place I’d visited often. My grandfather--wanting to be respected by the people, insisted we all be buried in regular plots. So the construction of this crypt was a mystery to many.

Either way, knowledge was on my side. Taking a detour, to avoid being caught, I walked towards the back of the building. Knowing my grandfather, there’d be a secret entrance somewhere (clearly marked).

Using my hands to feel around the brick, I spotted a faded etching of a wolf head. With a smile, I concentrated on that area until I heard a click, and a small crack revealed a back door.