Michael Devaney

The Elisha Pool

DEDICATION

To my daughter, Emaleigh — If only Elisha Pools were real.

Definition:

Elisha Pool — Naturally occurring regenerative waters containing magical properties capable of renewing health, slowing the aging process and, in rare instances, restoring life.

Prologue

Yesterday — Concord, Massachusetts

The date is September 1. Besides the significance of ushering in a new month on the calendar, it’s also Riley Stephenson’s birthday. After ninety trips around the sun, and quite literally living the proverbial “life of Riley,” he only wanted one thing — more time.

At 12:05 pm he was lounging in his favorite recliner dozing in and out of consciousness when the doorbell rang.

“Who could that be,” he mumbled. He wasn’t expecting company.

The doorbell rang once more before he could escape the confining clutches of the recliner. When he finally made it to the door a Federal Express delivery man, carrying a small package under this arm, was already halfway back to his truck.

When Mr. Stephenson opened the door the delivery man did an about-face and smiled. “Good afternoon,” Fed Ex said. “I have a package here for a Mr. Riley Stephenson.”

Mr. Stephenson furrowed his brow. “A package for me?” he said, as much a statement as a question.

“Yes, sir. If you’re Mr. Stephenson, that is. Just sign here, please.” The delivery man said, quickly closing the gap while holding out his clipboard.”

Mr. Stephenson adjusted his glasses and scribbled his name at the bottom of the page to accept the package.

“Whatever’s in there must be important,” The Fed Ex man said. “It was sent from overseas.”

Mr. Stephenson nodded, then turned and went back inside without a word.

He returned to his recliner where he retrieved a round magnifying glass from a drawer in the end table beside the chair. Carefully holding the glass above the label stuck to the corner of the package his eyes focused on the sender’s name and address:

Colonel George Brewer

Laburnam Villa, England

His eyes widened and his spirit lifted. Colonel Brewer was one of Mr. Stephenson’s long-time friends. They’d made acquaintance in India during one of Riley’s many adventurous travels and had kept in contact for many years via pen pal letters; a system they also used to engage in months long games of chess.

“Why, it’s a gift from my old friend Colonel Brewer!” Riley declared.

Without delay Mr. Stephenson exchanged the magnifying glass for a pair of scissors from the end table drawer and went to work opening the box. After considerable effort, he managed to break through the packing tape and open the package’s flaps. Buried underneath two layers of bubble wrap was a handwritten letter from the Colonel. When Mr. Stephenson picked up the letter he saw a small, three-inch long by three-inch wide object wrapped in newspaper.

Focusing his attention back at the letter he read:

Dear Friend,

Greetings from my beloved England.

Riley could almost hear the Colonel’s English accent as he read.

I hope this letter finds you well and happy. I’m writing you first of all to wish you a happy birthday. Attaining the age of Ninety years at the pace you ran the race of life is quite a feat. Congratulations my remarkable friend. And secondly to thank you for so many memories from the adventures we’ve shared over the years. As a token of my most sincere appreciation I offer you a gift that I picked up from an old Fakir I ran across during my last trip to India.

According to legend, this gift has had a spell cast on it that allows its owner three wishes. Now, before you wonder about my senility, let me assure you that I am still in full control of my faculties. Whether by coincidence or real magic I have seen first-hand that the legend is indeed true, for I have put it to the test. Perhaps you can find better use of your wishes than I, as my foolish use of them has brought me nothing but misery and misfortune.

Therefore my dear friend, I implore you to use your wishes carefully as I would be entirely distraught to find out later that my gift had transferred more bad luck onto you.

Your most esteemed friend and colleague,

Colonel George Brewer

Mr. Stephenson paused a few moments to let the details of the letter sink in then sat the letter on top of the end table beside him. Next, he reached down into the box to retrieve the small gift from the bottom of the Fed Ex box and carefully peeled away the newspaper wrapping.

When he removed the final sheet he discovered a tiny, mummified monkey’s paw. He was so taken aback by such a strange gift that he held the paw up to the light and turned it over several times wanting to inspect it from every angle. When he was done, he held the paw in front of him for several minutes and stared, only he wasn’t staring, he was thinking.

Finally, after an hour of quiet contemplation he raised the paw skyward and made a wish.

* * *

That same night, around midnight, a newly hired co-ed team of agents working for the clandestine organization known as, The Powers Group, received urgent messages ordering them to report to their Director’s office immediately.

Less than two hours later the agents were sitting alone in the office nervously waiting for information.

“Thank you both for responding so quickly,” the Director said, entering the room through the open behind them. “I apologize for the inconvenience without clarification, but once I explain our position I think you’ll understand the need for urgency.”

The agents exchanged quick, speculative glances then responded simultaneously. “No problem, sir.”

“Earlier today,” the Director continued, “I received a call, an assignment, of the utmost importance asking that we retrieve a dangerous artifact capable of manipulating fate. This well-known artifact is particularly popular within the literary community but is believed to be strictly fictional. The Powers Group knows otherwise. That said, I report to you that the Monkey’s Paw has finally resurfaced.”

Centuries ago:

In the middle of the Amazon jungle, a secluded pool of water glistens tranquilly in the afternoon sun.

Off in the distance, two weary tribal hunters, both dressed in loin cloths and equipped only with spears, are parched with thirst from hours of arduously roaming the jungle terrain in search of meat for their village. As the hunters pick their way through the jungle, they pass by the inviting oasis.

Upon reaching the pool, they drop their spears, bend on their knees and eagerly scoop double handfuls of water into their mouths. Within seconds of swallowing, their energy levels are miraculously rejuvenated.

The next day at dawn, the hunters lead their village chief, accompanied by a dozen fierce warriors, back to the site of the pool.

That same tribe has dutifully stood guard over those magical waters ever since.

Chapter 1

Present Day — Boston, Massachusetts

Finnegan Winters and Andria Walker — The Powers Group’s latest recruits — were each awakened in the middle of the night by a cell phone call summoning them to downtown Boston for an urgent meeting. They both arrived within the hour and now sat side by side staring in disbelief at their Director, Andrew Game.

Finnegan, or “Finn” as he is most commonly referred, broke the silence. “What do you mean the Monkey’s Paw has resurfaced?” he asked.

“Actually, I misspoke,” Andrew said. “We already have the original Monkey’s Paw in storage. What I should have said is the matching appendage to the infamous Monkey’s Paw has resurfaced.”

The hair on the back of Finn’s neck bristled.

“Matching appendage?”

“Yes, the other paw. It’s not common knowledge, but there are actually two Monkey’s Paws in existence. Both are the front paws from the same monkey and were tainted with the same spell during the same ritual by a powerful Fakir. One of them — the one we have in storage — the Fakir gave away as a test to prove a point about the dangers of interfering with fate, the other he kept hidden.”

Finn stared at Andrew with a befuddled expression. “But the Monkey’s Paw is not even real,” he said. “It was contrived over one-hundred years ago as part of a fictional, supernatural short story. I remember reading it in middle school.”

The corners of the director’s mouth eased upward to form a tolerant smile. It was the smile of someone that secretly knows more than his audience. He held the cheerful pose a few moments. “You might be surprised, Mr. Winters, to find out how many fictional stories, and their related artifacts, came from real-life experiences. Imagination is one thing, but inspiration is entirely another,” he replied.

Finn exhaled an exasperated breath and ran a hand through his dark hair. “And I suppose Thor’s hammer is also real, huh?” he quipped.

Andrew maintained his indulgent smile then turned up his palms as if innocent. “You never know,” he said. “In this business you’ll learn there’s a fine line between reality and fantasy and sometimes the two overlap. You’d do well to forget that line. As you’ve already seen with the Death Mask case, there can be more involved with your case than meets the eye.”

Boy, that’s for sure. I can only imagine the predicaments a bewitched artifact like the Monkey’s Paw could get Andria and I into.

“Fine,” Finn said. “I’ll give you that but, even after such a bizarre case as that, it’s still unrealistic to expect me to miraculously convert to being a believer of this supernatural “mumbo-jumbo” overnight. Believing that the Mighty God of Thunder and a Monkey’s Paw with the ability to grant its possessor three unconditional wishes really exists might take a while.”

A lingering pause afforded Andria the opportunity to speak. “So, Mr. Game, you were saying you already have an assignment for us?”

“Yes Ma’am, I do,” Andrew said, leaning forward to extend her a piece of paper. “Around lunchtime yesterday our satellite monitors picked up a huge paranormal surge in Concord, Massachusetts consistent with that of the original Monkey’s Paw. After detailed computations and analysis of the data, a Latitude/Longitude center point of the surge has been determined to be at, or within a two to three block radius, of the address I have listed here. I’d like the two of you to snoop around the proximity of that address to see if you find anything unusual.”

Andria extracted the paper from between Andrew’s fingers and gave it a quick look before folding it and sliding it into her pants pocket. “But we’ve only been officially recruited to The Powers Group less than a week ago,” she said. “What about training and gear?”

Andrew nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, immediate training would be the normal protocol before sending agents out into the field, but given the dire circumstance of having a dangerous object like a Monkey’s Paw out in the open combined with the organizations momentary shortage of agents, we don’t have the luxury of time,” Andrew said. “We need boots on the ground, now. And you’re available. Besides, after having read over your resumes and personally witnessing the way you two handled the Death Mask case without any training whatsoever, I have complete confidence in your abilities to carry out this task. You two may be rough around the edges from a Powers Group rules and compliance standpoint, but between Mr. Winter’s military experience, some of which is classified, and his detective training with the Atlanta police department and your curator background and Anthropological research knowledge and skills, I’d say you’re more than ready to handle the legwork.”

“Thank you for the confidence, sir. We’ll do our best,” Andria said.

“Good,” Andrew said, before turning his tone more serious. “Just let me caution you both again that this matter, just like the Death Mask and ALL matters pertaining to The Powers Group, is extremely delicate and confidential. Anything you do or learn must be held in the strictest of confidence. Forever.” He emphasized the last word with conviction.

“Understood,” Finn said, giving his head a quick nod. “But I do have one question I’d like answered to satisfy my curiosity.”

Apprehensive, Andrew clasped his hands together, then leaned forward. “What might that be?” he asked.

“If, The Powers Group, is a secret organization that collects clandestine, and sometimes powerful, artifacts but you reside in the open in this very public building, how do you explain yourselves to the world? What do people think we do here?”

“That’s a very good question,” Andrew said. “And again, I must apologize. It’s another of those questions that would normally have been answered more thoroughly during the training process had you received it. That said, the short answer is this. As far as the government or anyone else is concerned, we're an “old money” philanthropic organization created many hundreds of years ago in the name of preservation and protection to financially support historical collectors and treasure hunters of all kinds. Although we’re known mostly within the artifacts community for supporting odd, extravagant projects which no one else wants to commit to, we also fund dozens of mainstream historical, geological and underwater expeditions every year all over the world.”

“That’s amazing,” Finn said.

“Yes, it is. Especially since it’s only a Red Herring. Although we do provide a much needed assistance for those “legitimate” projects, it’s only a veil to cover our real purpose of locating and securing the surprisingly many numbers of haunted or cursed artifacts that lie hidden around the world.”

“A cover for a cover,” Finn said, giving him a thumbs up. “I love it.”

Andrew chuckled. “Yes. I suppose it is ironic that we hide to find the hidden.”

There was a brief pause, then Andrew continued. “Now that we have that settled, let’s get back to my original request. Do we have an accord for you two to look for the Monkey’s Paw?”

“Yes, sir,” Finn and Andria replied in unison.

“Very well then,” Andrew said. “Go find our artifact.”

* * *

Riley Stephenson’s first wish — and subsequent cause for the paranormal surge that was picked up by The Powers Group’s satellites — had been a simple one. Considering he’d already amassed an enormous fortune capable of lasting him many lifetimes, at ninety years old, he’d reasoned the most obvious, pressing issue facing him was his remaining time left on earth.

One of the many luxuries of Mr. Stephenson’s considerable wealth had been his ability to travel the world, partaking in the lifestyles and traditions of all the various cultures. Ironically, of the many cultural experiences he’d enjoyed throughout his life, the one that had beguiled him most had come during a weeklong journey through the jungles of the Amazon to a secluded, undiscovered village called “The Forever City.” However, it wasn’t the village itself that had made such an impression on him, it was a mysterious pool of water located on the outskirts of the village. Worshipped religiously by the villagers for exhibiting magical properties capable of regenerating health, this mysterious “Healing Pool” of water was fervently guarded, day and night, by its superstitious tribesmen.

While outsider access to the pool was considered taboo, and had been forbidden for centuries, which helped keep the pool’s existence a secret, as with everything else in this life, money has a way of finding things out and changing the rules.

After Stephenson and his regular travel companion, Colonel George Brewer, both still in their mid-thirties, had learned of the pool’s existence during a late night poker game with a drunken local guide, they had each paid $50,000, under the table, in exchange for a one-time visit allowing them to witness the pool in person. The experience had been the single most satisfying event of Stephenson’s many travels and, given the chance to re-do anything in his life, he’d always known visiting the pool for a second time would be his answer.

The only problem with a re-visit was that, as a precaution to keep the pool’s location a secret, both he and Colonel Brewer had been blindfolded by the village’s tribesmen during their journey into the jungle, thereby making a return trip to same location impossible.

But now, with this gift from Colonel Brewer, he held the answer to finding the pool in his hands. With one wish from the Monkey’s Paw, he could learn the pool’s exact location and, in so doing, be able to use and re-use the pool again and again to restore his life many times over effectively getting a many-for-one value for just one wish.

In addition to that, what made the idea of finding the pool even more appealing was that he could not only have immortal life for himself but also for whomever else he chose to bring along with him without having to waste a second or third wish.

With this exhilarating thought swirling around inside his head, Stephenson had glanced over at a picture frame, intentionally catty-cornered to face him, on the end table beside his recliner. Inside the frame was a picture of his late wife, Rachel. It was the last picture taken of her. She was smiling and happy. His eyes were filled with tears when he looked down at the paw he held in his hand.

On impulse, fueled mostly by emotion, Stephenson had held the Monkey’s Paw up in his right hand, drawn in a deep breath and spoken aloud. “I wish to know the location of the “Healing Pool” in the Amazon jungle that I visited many years ago,” he commanded.

As soon as the words left his lips he’d felt an instantaneous numbness seep into the top of his head as the secret location of the pool penetrated his cerebral cortex and lodged itself there forever embedded into his long-term memory. For good or for bad he was now down to two wishes.

Satisfied he’d made a good first choice, Mr. Stephenson had reached for the picture of his wife and drew it close. Smiling, he’d kissed the picture and declared a promise to the love of his life. “Soon, my darling.”

With the pool’s location fixed in his brain, Stephenson had shuffled to his study to inspect the location on an antique world globe that decorated the room. He’d gently spun the globe to pinpoint Brazil then placed his two index fingers over the spot. Once situated he’d carefully moved his fingers, one north and the other east, along the thin Latitude and Longitude lines etched into the sphere. As he read the final coordinates, a peace settled over him.

That done, he’d formulated an immediate plan to return to the village. Although ninety-years-old and slowed by time, Stephenson was still physically able to move about on his own without assistance, but negotiating the dangers of a jungle was another story. And while bringing an outsider with him could jeopardize his welcome back to the village, there was no doubt he could not return without a strong, trustworthy companion.

He’d carefully pondered the pros and cons trying to figure out who might be the best fit for such a task. After a few hours of serious deliberation, Stephenson reached for the phone on the end table beside him and sat it in his lap.

Looking down at the phone, he’d pushed his pair of horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and dialed the phone number of his most trusted partner in crime — his nineteen-year-old grandson, Owen.

The phone rang three times before it was picked up.

“Hello?” Owen answered.

“Owen, this is your Grandpa.”

“Hi, Grandpa. What a surprise. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Everything is wonderful. In fact, something rather interesting has come up and I need a sidekick.”

“Really? From the sound of your voice it sounds like fun. What is it?”

“How quickly can you make it here?”

“Within a couple of hours I guess. Why?”

“Good. Pack a bag for a few of days of vacation…and bring your passport.”

“Cool. Where are we going?”

“Just pack for hiking in warm, tropical weather, then come over and pick me up. I’ll explain everything else later. Right now, I’ve got more plans to make.”

Before the sun went down Stephenson had made all the necessary arrangements, some on faith through strangers, for the beginning leg of their trip.

* * *

The morning sun had just peeked over the horizon when Finn and Andria pulled up to the curb in front of the neighborhood’s first house on the right — a large but modest 1960’s style ranch. The name stenciled on the side of the mailbox read: STEPHENSON.

Finn switched off the ignition then shut down the headlights. They each sat quietly and monitored the surroundings for several minutes.

When nothing seemed amiss, Andria turned her hazel green eyes toward Finn and broke the silence. “So, you’ve got a classified background, huh?” she asked.

“More or less,” Finn said, as he turned to face her. “Why, is that a problem?”

“No way, José,” she replied, energetically. “If it’s anything, it’s awesome.”

“I also have some Engineering and SCUBA training in my background,” he said, then returned his attention to surveillance.

“Nice. I’m quickly adding infatuation to my list of emotions toward you,” she said, tongue-n-cheek.

Finn cut his eyes to acknowledge her sarcasm. “What about you?” he volleyed back. “What’s your story when you’re not digging up history?”

“I’m a classic bookworm and seasoned world traveler,” she said.

“No surprise there,” Finn said, while he continued to scan the terrain. “Since you’re an avid reader, what do you make of this “Monkey’s Paw” business?”

“I really don’t know. Not too long ago I’d have agreed with your cynicism, but after our recent dealings with that Death Mask, I’m more apt to believe that anything is possible where Andrew and The Powers Group are involved.”

Finn teetered his head side to side as though weighing evidence.

“But true or not,” she continued, “what scares me most about any Monkey’s Paws is the history. If you remember the story, nothing good ever comes from possessing the paw. As greedy humans, we’re constantly warned to be careful what we wish for because of the unforeseen consequences of altering fate, but no one ever listens. And now, Andrew wants us to track the troublesome thing down. What if we get axed by mere association with it?”

Finn rolled his eyes. “You’ve read too many books. Anyway, even if by some fluke we do happen to find it, I don’t plan on making any wishes of my own, so I wouldn’t fret about it just yet.”

He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth when he held up his finger to pause their conversation. There was movement to their right. His eyes shifted as he scrutinized a man at the bottom of the hill leisurely walking his dog. He remained quiet and kept watch until the two disappeared over the crest of the next hill. “It looks like the coast is clear. You ready to do this?” he asked.

“You bet,” Andria said.

“All right. Let’s sweep the perimeter of the house first. If all is clear, we’ll approach the front door…with caution, of course.”

She gave him a thumbs up.

As soon as he exited the car, Finn spied several newspapers haphazardly piled beside the Stephenson mailbox. He’d missed it before because his view was blocked by the hood of their car. The stack of newspapers gave him an idea.

Finn gently clicked the car door shut then turned and desperately waved a hand trying to catch Andria’s attention as she wiggled her voluptuous figure out of the car. When she finally looked his way he pointed anxiously toward the newspapers. Confused, she gave him a blank stare and shrugged her shoulders. Finn quickly pushed both hands out toward her, gesturing for her to stay put. She nodded and waited while he slipped around to her side of the car. Once there, he leaned in close and spoke softly into her ear. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been home for a few days. Instead of sweeping the perimeter, I think our best bet is the direct approach using my badge. If anyone is home, we can pose a few questions and possibly gain access inside the house for a look around.”

His warm breath in her ear caused an involuntary shiver, momentarily distracting her.

“And what if they say, no?” she asked.

“No harm done. We ask a few simple, non-probing questions then come back later with a Plan B.”

Andria shrugged her shoulders and motioned for him to take the lead.

They made their way down the driveway and up the front steps to the front door. Finn gave a quick couple of knocks, then waited. There was no answer.

Finn knocked again while motioning for Andria to peek through a side window.

She did his bidding, then looked back at him and shook her head NO.

“What now?” she whispered.

“We experiment,” he said, as he reached for the door handle.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a calculated risk.”

“What if you’re caught?”

“I have a badge, remember?”

Finn gently twisted the door handle to the right and pushed. No luck, it was locked.

“Drat!” he said, then reached for his back pocket. He pulled a thin, credit card sized piece of metal out of his wallet.

“For emergencies,” he said, then winked and inserted the metal card into the door jam beside the handle. He gave the card a firm push then turned the door handle. The door popped open.

“That’s impressive,” Andria said, then giggled. “That classified background is beginning to make a little more sense now.”

Finn grinned and gave her a curt nod, then pushed the door open a few inches.

“Hello?” he called out.

There was silence.

“Hello?” he said again. “This is the police.”

When no one answered a second time, Finn pushed the door open and moved forward into the foyer, then switched on the light.

They stood still and listened a few moments. Not a sound. They took the silence as an invitation to continue on. Finn, with Andria following close behind, moved straight ahead into a hallway leading toward the back of the house.

The hallway dead ended into a large family room furnished with matching La-Z-Boy recliners and leather sofa facing a sixty-five-inch large screen television. Andria turned her attention to the television while Finn scanned the rest of the room. Haphazardly lying on top of an end table beside one of the recliners was an opened Fed Ex box and handwritten letter that caught Finn’s attention.

Out of curiosity he checked the date on the Fed Ex box — it showed yesterday’s date — then leaned in and read the letter.

Incredible.

“We’re in the right place,” Finn announced.

Andria turned her head. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

Finn pointed at the objects on the end table. “Because this letter, and apparently the Monkey’s Paw, was delivered by priority mail to this address yesterday around the same time of day as the paranormal surge that Andrew and The Powers Group observed.”

Andria moved closer to inspect the objects.

“So what do we do now? And…where is Mr. Stephenson?” she asked.

“Enjoying his first wish, I suppose,” Finn said.

Chapter 2

Soon after their morning discovery at Mr. Stephenson’s house, Finn and Andria made a beeline back to The Powers Group’s headquarters hoping to gather more answers.

When they arrived, Finn, with Andria following only a few steps behind, high stepped into Andrew’s office barking commands. “We need to run a check on all movement and financial charges for a Mr. Riley Stephenson within the last twenty-four hours,” he said.

Andrew looked up from his desk with surprise written all over his face. They were moving quickly toward him.

“You were right,” Finn proclaimed, still halfway across the room. “We found proof that Mr. Stephenson received the Monkey’s Paw, as a gift, by mail at his home around noon yesterday.”

“What proof?” Andrew asked.

“Inside his residence, we found an opened Fed Ex package along with a letter from a friend. The letter included cautious instructions alluding to the possible dangers of the paw’s misuse.”

When he heard this, Andrew spun his chair to the right so that he was facing his personal computer and quickly tapped on the keyboard. When he finished typing he pressed enter and waited as the screen updated based on the information from his query.

The Fed Ex delivery Mr. Stephenson had signed for yesterday showed up first. A second hit showed a credit card charge — two, one-way plane tickets to the Eduardo Gomes International Airport (MAO) outside Manaus, Brazil. The ticket reservations were for later tonight.

“Yes, the Fed Ex delivery is confirmed right here,” Andrew said, tapping the computer screen. “So also, are two plane tickets to Manaus, Brazil.”

“TWO plane tickets?” Andria blurted out. “He’s got a crony?”

“Looks that way,” Andrew said.

“Hmm,” Finn uttered softly, then stood, brought a hand to his chin and slowly paced irregular circles around the room. Focused, his stare of deep concentration never left the floor. After his third lap, he looked up and snapped his fingers. “I think I may be onto something,” he said. “If I remember my geography correctly Manaus is considered the “Heart of the Amazon.”

Andrew acknowledged him by nodding is head, yes, then typed a few more buttons on the keyboard. Andrew waited patiently as the computer crunched the database from his input. Finally, the monitor’s screen updated with new information.

An awkward moment of silence passed before Andrew turned and capped one hand over the other. “I think he could be headed for an Elisha Pool,” he said, then dropped his head in his hands.

Finn and Andria cut their eyes in each other’s direction and exchanged confused glances.

“A what?” Andria asked.

“An Elisha Pool,” Andrew said, looking up at her.

“What’s an Elisha Pool?” Finn interjected.

Andrew paused a moment. “It’s a rare pool of water purported to be capable of regenerating health,” he offered.

Dumbfounded, Finn and Andria stared at Andrew for a full ten seconds, studying his face for signs of jest. There was none.

Is he serious?

When the ten seconds passed, although hesitant to speak for fear of sounding silly, Finn voiced a question. “You mean a pool of water like the mythological Fountain of Youth?”

Andrew’s stoic expression remained unchanged. “That’s exactly what I mean,” he said.

There was another long pause, then Andrew explained what he knew about an Elisha Pool.

“According to The Powers Group’s database, the Elisha Pool is the most prominent supernatural possibility for that region of the world, making it the most probable explanation for Stephenson’s abrupt interest and visit there.” Andrew pointed at the computer screen, then continued. “It says here that “Elisha Pools” are universal anomalies named for the biblical prophet, Elisha, whose bones demonstrated resurrecting properties as described in 2 Kings 13:21 of the Holy Bible. These pools are believed to be naturally occurring regenerative waters capable of renewing health, slowing the aging process and, in rare instances, restoring life. They normally converge at significant intersecting Ley Lines all over the world where strong magnetic force from inside the earth joins together to create a power source large enough to energize a specific mixture of elements into a mystical reviving fluid which then bubble from within the earth’s core to form these pools.”

Andrew stopped reading. He turned and eyeballed Finn first, then Andria to make sure they were still with him. Both were fully engaged.

Andrew leaned forward, cleared his throat and folded his hands. “Although still considered legend to many, because no pool has ever been discovered, there are a handful of speculated places around the world where perfect conditions for Elisha Pools are believed to exist — the Himalayas, the Sahara Desert, Australia’s Kakadu National Park, the Yucatán, the Grand Canyon, the Skellig Islands in Ireland and the Jungles of the Amazon River. Of course, there could also be others. With all the hot springs around Yellowstone National Park, for example, I’d peg it for a dead ringer location.”

Andrew’s words hung in the air like a slow falling balloon while Finn and Andria tried to process the fairytale idea.

Slowly, as the information sank in, Finn began to understand Andrew’s logic. “And you think this Stephenson fellow somehow knows about the Elisha Pool that’s speculated to be around the Amazon.”

“That’s right,” Andrew agreed. “Why else would someone who had just received unlimited wishing power be interested in booking an immediate trip to the jungle?”

“I’d have to concur,” Finn said.

“But wait. Why not just wish for eternal life and be done with it?” Andria asked. “I mean, doesn’t that seem the easiest, and most logical?”

Andrew smiled at Andria. “People are not always driven by logic Agent Walker,” he said. “If they were, the world would be a much different place.”

“What then, pray tell, are they driven by?” she asked.

“Greed,” Andrew said. “Instead of wishing for just one eternal life why not have access to as many as you’d like?”

“Wow,” she whispered. A smorgasbord of emotions played with the expressions on her face. “But how would he know an Elisha Pool even existed?” she asked.

“That’s a very good question,” Andrew said, “and one I’d sincerely like to know the answer to myself.”

There was another long pause while the loose ends of their questions percolated.

“There’s something else too,” Andrew interjected. “Down through history using anything supernatural almost always comes with a price, and it’s usually one most people aren’t prepared to pay.”

“Which is?” Finn asked.

“In this case, where we’re talking about possibly changing the body’s chemistry to renew cells, the least of them would probably be some kind of unnatural mutation or mental instability. Although sometimes temporary, there could be occasions where the mutation or insanity was permanent after tampering with things that ought not to be tampered with.”

“Just for the fun of playing the devil’s advocate, you could be wrong about Mr. Stephenson’s intentions,” Andria said. “Maybe he’s headed to the Amazon for some other reason.”

Andrew tilted his head and gave her a condescending smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s entirely possible that you’re right, but again, if you had three wishes and had knowledge of a regeneration pool filled with healing waters, wouldn’t it be the first thing on your to-do list?”

“Yes, I suppose it would be,” Andria said. “What a year I’m having. First, it was a Death Mask, next a Monkey’s Paw and now an Elisha Pool. What’s next, Tolkien’s One Ring?

“Don’t even joke about that,” Andrew said, pointing his finger.

“Why can’t anyone ever just wish for one of the virtues like charity, patience or temperance and be on their merry way?” Andria asked.

“What would be the fun in that?” Finn asked, rhetorically.

Chapter 3

Later that night, Mr. Stephenson, along with his grandson, Owen, boarded an American Airlines flight on the red-eye to Manaus, Brazil. They were comfortably dressed and intentionally packed to travel light.

Owen, a good looking, moderately rebellious young man, had brown, shoulder length hair and a frustratingly untapped intellect wasting away behind an innate lazy nature. He was clad in typical college student attire: faded blue jeans and a tee shirt. The tee shirt had Def Leppard printed across the front in the band’s famous triangular, red and yellow font. The old man was dressed in a short-sleeved golf shirt with a thin button up sweater and khaki pants. Aside from one checked bag and a pair of small carry-on sling bags, their only other important possession was Mr. Stephenson’s prized possession “Monkey’s Paw.” He had it attached to a key ring like a lucky rabbit’s foot and tucked safely away inside his front pants pocket for safe keeping. Whatever else they needed could be bought along the way.

“This way Mr. Stephenson,” the airline stewardess said, before leading them down the aisle to their seats in first-class.

“Thank you,” Stephenson said, shuffling his ninety years old feet slowly behind.

Owen patiently brought up the rear.

When they reached their assigned row, Owen took the window seat affording his grandpa the aisle seat for more comfort.

Once they were situated the stewardess returned with a smile. “Anything to drink while we wait for the other passengers to board?” she asked.

“Coffee would be great,” the old man said.

“Decaf?” she asked.

“No. I’ll take it leaded,” Stephenson said, grinning.

“A bottle of water for me,” Owen added.

“Coming right up.”

Owen had missed his grandpa more than he’d thought. When the stewardess was out of earshot, he leaned back in his seat, then turned to the man who had played an important part in his life. “So glad I was out for summer break from college, Grandpa. It’s been awhile since we’ve gotten to go on one of our famous adventures.”

“I’m glad too,” Stephenson said. “This should prove to be quite different than anything else we’ve ever done together.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Because where we’re going is probably one of the most secretive places on earth.”

His grandpa was famous for kidding him, and he assumed this was another one of those times. “That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” Owen said, half joking.

“No. Actually it’s not,” Stephenson said. “And neither will you when you’ve heard what I have to say.”

The two momentarily locked eyes. When Owen saw no sign of humor in the old man’s eyes he furrowed his brow. “What on earth are you talking about?” he asked.

“Many years ago, I, accompanied by my friend, Colonel Brewer, visited this same place where we’re headed on a thrill-seeking mission of the rarest kind — to see a mystical pool of healing water believed to only exist in legend.”

“Healing water.” Owen said. “Like Ponce de Leòn’s Fountain of Youth?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“And it was real?”

The old man lowered his chin to look over his glasses and smiled. “Yes,” he whispered.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious.”

“But how?” Owen prodded. “How can that be possible?”

“That I cannot answer, but we did witness its healing power in person, with our own eyes.”

Owen said nothing, only stared back at his grandpa in amazed skepticism.

Stephenson gave him a comforting grin then said, “Believe it or not there’s actually more to the story.”

“More than that?”

“Yes,” Stephenson said, grinning bigger, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was gleaning sadistic enjoyment from watching his grandson’s flabbergasted reactions. “But you need to hear it from the beginning. So here goes.”

Owen, still half dazed, swallowed hard. For the first time, he seriously wondered if his grandpa was turning senile.

“The original plan,” Stephenson began, “for observing this pool, as laid out by the village leader, which we paid a hefty sum of money to participate in, was for the two of us to be blindfolded during the foot travel to the entrance of the secret site, to view the pool briefly at a distance and then be led, blindfolded, back to the village. And that was all, which we did. And to be honest, the whole scene was rather unremarkable. The viewing only lasted a couple of minutes, and from what I could tell it looked like a small pothole filled with brackish water. I thought we’d been taken to the cleaners by a slick con artist, but luckily the story didn’t end there.”

“A hefty sum of money for a couple minutes viewing, I’d have thought the same thing,” Owen commented. “So, what happened next?”

“When we returned to the village we were treated as royalty by the villagers. After a huge feast, we spent time sharing strangely concocted tribal drinks and something comparable to a Native American peace pipe with the Chief Medicine Man. To show appreciation for the village’s hospitality, we entertained the Chief with a few “magic” tricks using a deck of playing cards the Colonel always kept handy. We also produced fire from a hand-held lighter and made shadow animals on the wall from the light from one of our flashlights.”

Owen laughed and patted his grandpa on the shoulder. “I don’t imagine they’d ever seen shadow animals on a wall before. Did you ever feel threatened by the natives?”

“No. They were all very hospitable. I think they were just as curious about us as we were about them. In fact, at breakfast the next morning, we learned that the Chief Medicine Man had been so thrilled with our company, and “magic,” from the night before that he had insisted for us to stay a second night to witness a special village ceremony involving the pool. Without hesitation we accepted and, just as before, when the time came we were blindfolded and led into the jungle, but this time we were accompanied by a host of would-be celebrating villagers. When we reached the staging area at dusk, our blindfolds were removed. We were surrounded by the jungle but standing at the edge of a heavily guarded, thick row of trees and brush. As if on cue, several villagers wearing black and white, zebra striped body paint parted dozens of gigantic, overlapping tropical leaves to reveal a cleverly hidden entrance that was naturally camouflaged by the jungle. Just past the entrance lay a huge concave depression, bare from any vegetation, roughly fifty yards in diameter and twenty-five yards deep containing a gleaming pool of water at the bottom. The lack of vegetation in and around the depression offered a perfect view of the night sky. Several large fire torches blazed around the circumference of the open cavity. Torches also circled the pool and lined both sides of a set of old wooden steps descending down from atop a small cliff leading to the edge of the water. While drums beat and village people chanted in the background my friend and I were escorted to a front row seat by four stoic spear-toting tribesmen. Thinking back on it now, it was extremely reminiscent of the sacrificial scene in the King Kong movies.”

“That sounds exciting!” Owen said, no longer seeming bothered by the story’s absurdity.

Stephenson held up his hand. “It was exciting,” he said. “But that’s not the half of it. For the ceremony portion of the evening they led a village elder; a frail and haggard looking woman down the steps to the edge of the pool.”

Owen leaned forward, his eyes were as big as saucers. “What happened next?” he asked.

“She jumped,” Stephenson said.

“What? Into the pool? Like a sacrifice?”

“Yes, into the pool. But not as a sacrifice, as a recipient. A recipient of revival. We found out later that the woman was dying from disease. The drums and torches and chanting were not performed as part of a run-of-the-mill show we had witnessed the first night but were part of the rejuvenation ceremony in celebration of her rebirth.”

Before Owen could respond the stewardess arrived with their beverages.

“Here you are gentlemen. Would you like cream or sugar, sir?”

“No thank you. This will do fine.”

“All right. I’ll be back to check on you shortly,” she said, disappearing down the aisle.

“Okay, Grandpa, continue your story. What happened to the woman?”

“When she jumped, it was scary to watch. One second she was there, the next she was gone. It seemed as if she stayed under the water for an eternity, but in reality it was probably only about thirty seconds or so. Anyway, while she was under, the Colonel and I exchanged glances like the one you gave me earlier wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. When she finally rose, or I should say when she “propelled”, out of the water and landed onto the platform beside the pool she looked like a thirty or forty-year younger version of herself.”

Owen gawked as though he couldn’t believe his ears. He just stared back at his grandpa, unable to close his mouth.

“The pool completely revived her youth,” Stephenson said.

“That’s unbelievable!” Owen said.

“Yes, it was. And if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it. But what happened next seemed just as strange, and it’s something I still don’t understand until this day.”

“What was that?” Owen asked, literally sitting on the edge of his seat.

“As soon as she landed onto the platform, two villagers grabbed hold of her, one on each arm, and shackled her to a wooden post beside the platform. For several minutes she stood, statue still, with her head down as though she were resting or asleep. Then, without warning, she began violently jerking her arms back and forth as if trying to escape from the shackles and shrieking at the top of her lungs. The fit didn’t last long. Soon after, she collapsed and we were lead away, again in blindfolds, and returned to the village. To this day I still don’t know what became of that woman, but I do know that the “healing pool” of water made her young again.”

“That’s incredible! I’m almost afraid to ask why we’re returning there now,” Owen said.

“That’s an even more interesting story for later. Right now, we need to get a little shut-eye. We both have a big day ahead of us.”

Owen gazed out the window admiring the moonlit clouds until he heard a gentle snore coming from his grandpa. How am I supposed to sleep after an outrageous story like that?

Chapter 4

Bright and early the next morning Finn pulled up in front of Andria’s rented townhouse and beeped the horn. A minute later Andria came rushing out the front door, bags in hand. She turned and used her foot to close the door behind her. When she reached the car, she opened the back door and tossed in her luggage then plopped down in the front seat.

“Let’s go,” she said, smiling wide.

“You’re awfully chipper this morning,” Finn said.

“That’s because I’ve never been to Brazil before.”

“And you’ve got everything you’ll need, including your passport?” Finn asked.

“Yep. I’m a low maintenance kinda gal. I don’t require much.”

He smiled and gave her a thumbs up.

“Still not sure we’ll be able to accomplish much though,” she said. “Chasing Stephenson, and whomever else is tagging along with him, halfway around the world without a clue as to what they’re up to doesn’t make much sense to me. But hey, I’m going to Brazil, so what’s not to like?”

“I agree,” Finn said. “It could be like searching for a needle in a haystack, but I’m hoping with everything at his disposal, Andrew, will be able to come up with a good educated guess or two to help us out by the time we land. In the meantime, though, it doesn’t hurt for us to stay as close behind Stephenson as possible.”

“Well then,” Andria said, “let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

Mr. Stephenson and Owen’s flight landed in Manaus a few minutes ahead of schedule. They were met outside beside the steamy airport tarmac with a courtesy wheelchair by an apathetic limo driver dressed in traditional chauffer’s clothing. It was a reassuring sign for Stephenson that everything was going according to plan.

The three of them exchanged niceties then Stephenson took a seat in the wheelchair. Owen shouldered their bags and followed behind as the driver pushed the wheelchair to a shiny black limousine waiting in the curb service lane. After helping Stephenson from the wheelchair into the spacious backseat, Owen handed off the bags to the driver and went around the other side of the vehicle to join his grandpa. The driver loaded their bags into the trunk and sped off toward their destination; a rendezvous point with a liaison from one of only a few of South America’s restricted tour groups. The group’s main service comprises of private boat tours down the Amazon for privileged clientele. Because of the nature of their business, they also have knowledge, albeit limited, of the existence of the Curar tribe.

Unbeknownst to Owen, after his grandpa had talked with him and booked their red-eye flight to Manaus, he’d spent several hours on the phone putting a plan into motion to work out the many logistical issues involved with taking a trip to the Amazon. But even more important, he had puzzled to work around the inherent issues of dealing with the delicate secrecy of both the village and the pool.

First, he had sent word through his liaison to the Chief of the Curar tribe communicating his request to re-visit the pool. Even though he now knew the exact location of the pool and could find his way using a topo map and GPS unit, it was still a guarded site. To keep down a plethora of problems on that front he needed an arrangement, blessed by the Chief, to be led and accepted into the village as a peaceful visitor. He also needed a translator. With such a tight time constraint between his last phone call and boarding their late-night flight, answers to some of these requests had not yet been confirmed. He was instead relying heavily on trust. Even so, he did have an ace in the hole; one that had always served him well — his wealth. True to the saying — with wealth comes power — his money had always opened doors when there was no hope. It had also opened avenues to people in both high and low places who knew things; people who could get things done. In just a few short hours, his money had bought people halfway around the world who had “fixed” things for him.

When all else fails, money trumps everything; even the impossible.

The drive to the rendezvous point on the outer edge of the developed part of the city was like any other rush hour ride. Heavy traffic, tall buildings stacked shoulder-to-shoulder, car horns — controlled chaos. Once there, they would board a helicopter and be taken to a landing zone deep inside the Amazon forest supposedly within a few miles of the Curar village. From there he and Owen would join an experienced local fisherman looking to make an extra buck and float by canoe down the Amazon to reach the outskirts of the village.

Luckily, the same Chief Medicine Man that Stephenson and Colonel Brewer had entertained more than half century ago was still in the same role and eagerly awaiting the arrival of his friend from so many years ago. The only difference between the two men now was the ravaging effects of those years. While Stephenson had aged naturally, the Chief, with the luxury of access to the healing waters of the Elisha Pool, was as young today as the day they’d originally met.

Chapter 5

After a long, cramped flight in economy seating, Finn and Andria landed in Brazil jet lagged and at least half a day behind Stephenson and his companion. After gathering their bags, they flagged down a cab and gave him the name of their hotel. The driver gave a curt nod and started the meter.

Crowded streets added spice to an otherwise dull cab ride. When they finally arrived at the hotel a half hour later, Finn paid the cabby while Andria went inside to start the ball rolling with their reservations. After checking into adjoining rooms, they made a bee line upstairs to freshen up.

Before sliding the key into the door lock to his room Finn turned to Andria. “Let’s convene in my room in twenty minutes. We’ll contact Andrew to see if he has anything for us. That sound okay to you?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Classified,” Andria joked, giving him a salute. “I’ll see you in twenty. After that you’re taking me out for some famous Brazilian beef.”

Finn smirked and rolled his eyes. “All that attitude and a sense of humor too,” he said.

Precisely twenty minutes later Andria knocked on the adjourning door between their rooms.

Finn opened the door and bowed. “Come in my lady,” he said. “We’ve got a mystery to solve.”

Andria grinned. “Now who’s being funny?” she asked.

“You started it,” he joked. “Got any last-minute issues or thoughts we should discuss before I make the call to Andrew?”

“Nope. I just hope he’s got something for us.”

“Same here,” Finn said. He fidgeted with his phone to initiate the speaker function then tapped Andrew’s number on speed dial.

There was a short delay while the signal connected. They waited patiently for an answer. Andrew picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” he said.

“Hi Andrew, it’s Finn and Andria. I have you on speakerphone.”

“Hi guys. Hope everything is going well so far.”

“Yes, sir. No problems. Everything has been smooth sailing. All we need now is a good lead to follow.”

“That’s great because I believe I do have something. It turns out there’s record of a small isolated tribe known as the Curar people living in the Amazon not far from Manaus. Local myth claims that certain tribes have a track record of having an unusually long lifespan. As I’m sure you know, most scientist, regardless of region, have traditionally attributed long life to an active lifestyle and lean diet that is free from steroids and chemicals, but with Mr. Stephenson heading to Manaus, I’d be willing to bet my bottom dollar that this Curar tribe’s secret has nothing to do with diet and everything to do with the use of an Elisha Pool.”

Finn gave Andria a questioning glance. She pushed her lips out and raised her eyebrows. Finn knew the gesture well. It was her sign of approval.

“Thanks, Andrew,” he said. “I’d have to agree; it sounds like were sniffing along the right trail. Any ideas about where along the Amazon we should begin looking for this Curar tribe?”

“Can’t be a great help there other than to say they could be anywhere within a one-hundred-mile radius of Manaus, but I’ll keep digging. Although the tribe is mentioned sparingly in a few documents, every search I’ve done looking for records of their village has come back with “zilch.” The best advice I could give would be to start with some of the locals or tour guides and go from there.”

“All right. Anything else?” Finn asked.

“Yes, I do have some encouraging news for you.”

“Great, let’s hear it,” Finn said.

“I ran a background check on our Mr. Stephenson and found out that he just turned ninety-years-old.”

“Ninety-years-old? You’re kidding,” Finn said.

“Nope, not kidding,” Andrew replied. “And travel for a ninety-years-old man, especially through the jungle, can’t be easy…or fast, so maybe we’re not as far behind as we originally thought.”

“Well, I suppose that explains the reason for the second plane ticket,” Andria said.

“Right on,” Andrew said. “Mr. Stephenson also has a rather sizable bank account and has been widowed for several years.”

“We’ll find him, sir.”

“One more thing before I let you go,” Andrew said. “Remember to keep the satellite phone I gave you close at hand. You’ll need it if you decide to head into the jungle. Agent issued satellite phones come installed with a GPS tracker, so we’ll know where to find you if something goes wrong.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And no matter what, stick together. The last thing we need is a lost agent wandering around in the Amazon.”

“Will do, sir. We’ll check in daily to report our progress.”

“Please do. Hopefully by then I will have uncovered more information aid in with your search.”

* * *

The chartered canoe carrying Stephenson and Owen glided silently through the murky waters of the Amazon. The sun had reached its zenith, transforming the heat from tolerable to oppressive. With every bend of the river crocodiles lay motionless, lining the muddy banks. Vast, overhanging trees and animal vocalizations created a mesmerizing ambiance.

The three of them steadily drifted, mainly in silence, for a couple of hours. The captain steered using the river’s current to power the vessel.

* * *

The first arrow struck the front, left side of the canoe about midway down its hull. A hail of others immediately followed, but fell short and splashed into the water.

“What in the world?” Owen shouted, looking to the left.

A group of tribesmen equipped with bows materialized from out of the jungle no more than thirty yards away. With arrows nocked and their bow strings stretched tight, the tribesmen advanced to the edge of water and launched another volley of arrows high into the air toward the canoe. Suddenly, Stephenson and Owen’s tranquil boat ride down the Amazon had turned into a game of real-life target practice, with them as the prize.

Instantly, the captain began to shout something in Portuguese while desperately working to steer them out of harm’s way.

“Get down,” the old man yelled, ducking into the bottom of the canoe. Owen quickly followed suit.

The majority of the second wave of arrows pierced the water a few feet shy of the canoe and disappeared. One however, hit its mark and this time it drew blood. The arrow struck the captain in the left arm just above the elbow. He cried out in pain as the point entered his flesh and embedded itself into the bone causing it to shatter upon impact. The force of the contact knocked him off balance sending him over the side of the boat and into the water.

Owen jumped up and leaned over the side hoping to help but it was too late. The captain sank like a rock. The blood from his wound spread quickly, turning the murky water a dark crimson. Owen held his breath waiting for him to resurface. After several seconds the captain’s head shot up from underneath the water. He frantically flailed around with his good arm gasping for air.

Owen reached out to grab him but it was no use, he was too far away. Then the unthinkable happened. Owen watched in horror as the captain began to scream. Seconds later the water churned in a vigorous frenzy of blood. Hundreds of hand-sized fish attacked at once. He was being eaten alive by a school of starving Piranhas. It was as though someone had poured a glass of red wine into a Jacuzzi. The entire scene was over in less than five minutes. When it was over, Owen fell back against the side of the boat in shock.

The old man looked at Owen then raised his head to look over the side. They had drifted a couple of hundred feet downstream. For the moment, they appeared to be out of danger.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Stephenson said.

Owen didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead as if he were in another world.

“Owen!” the old man shouted, shaking his grandson’s leg. “Do you hear me? I said we’ve got to get out of here. Now!”

Owen blinked a couple of times then turned to look at his grandpa. “What?” he asked. “What did you say?”

“I said we’ve got to get out of here, right now! If those tribesmen catch us there’s no telling what they’ll do to us.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Sorry,” he said, scrambling to the back of the boat. “Oh, my God, Grandpa. Did you see the Piranha? Did you see what they did to him?” Owen asked.

“No, but I heard them.”

“It was horrendous,” Owen said. “There was nothing left of him.”

“I know, son. Try not to think about it.”

“Why would anyone shoot at us?”

“I don’t know,” Stephenson said. “My only guess would be that we drifted too close to their land and they felt threatened.”

“But we weren’t even close to coming ashore.”

“I know, but it’s evident they see us as intruders.”

Stephenson drew in a deep breath, paused, then glanced at Owen. “That said, try to keep us in the middle of the river until we’re well out of their sight.”

“Then what?” Owen asked.

“Then we don’t have much of a choice. We’ll have to continue our float down river and hope for some luck.”

* * *

They had floated another hour when a lone rickety, wooden dock appeared in the distance.

Owen perked up and craned his neck. “Is that a dock up ahead on the right?” he asked.

The old man put a hand over his eyebrows to shade the sun and squinted.

“Yes, I think so,” he said.

“Think it’s safe?”

The old man held his pose and thought a moment, weighing their options. They were floating blind, without spare food or water. Although he didn’t know exactly where the captain was supposed to drop them off, he did know that it was somewhere down river and no more than half a day’s float. Based on how long they’d been on the water there were fairly good odds that this dock was the intended drop off point. There was inherent danger in approaching the dock, but so was the danger of floating past the drop off point. If that happened they may never find their way back and could be lost forever.

“Yes,” Stephenson said. “Let’s give it a look. Just take it slow. Any sign of danger we’ll abort.”

Owen nodded then laboriously maneuvered the canoe out of the channel of the river and toward the dock. As they neared the shore Stephenson’s memory unconsciously flashed back to a snapshot of what his eyes saw.

“I know this place,” he said to Owen. “This is the same dock where the Colonel and I were brought during our visit long ago.”

“Are you sure?” Owen asked. “Isn’t someone from the village supposed to meet us here.”

“Yes,”

“There’s no one around.”

“There will be,” Stephenson said. “Just keep moving. The abandoned look of the dock is for effect to keep the curious away. If we approach, concealed guards will appear from out of the bushes.”

Owen worked the canoe to within a few feet of the dock before the old man’s words came true. As if on que, and without a sound, a tribesman dressed in warrior garb appeared like a ghost from out of the thick greenery lining the bank at the other end of the dock. Stephenson raised both hands high above his head and said the village Chief’s name. At the sound of Stephenson’s voice, the warrior turned toward the jungle and spoke in his own language. Immediately, several more tribal dressed people solidified along the bank, as if they’d been waiting in place with baited breath.

“Pull us up closer,” Stephenson said to Owen, “so I can tie us off. We’re in good hands now. They’re here to greet us.”

Relieved, Owen did his bidding and Stephenson threw the looped end of a rope around one of the dock’s post. Once secured, Owen hopped onto the dock then helped his grandpa out of the canoe. Stephenson caught his breath then took the lead and the two of them walked the length of the dock. The warrior standing guard bowed then stepped aside and pointed toward the small crowd that had gathered around the end of the dock. Stephenson winked at Owen then turned and bowed. Owen followed his grandpa’s lead and bowed also. He and Owen were greeted at the shoreline by an enthusiastic welcoming committee as though they were celebrities. From there they were ushered into the jungle for a short walk toward the village, and the Medicine Man’s hut.

The first sight they encountered on the periphery of the village was a section of trees decorated with hundreds of shrunken heads dangling haphazardly at various lengths from their supporting limbs. It was as creepy as it was bizarre. Moving past the shrunken heads they came upon a well-worn dirt path meandering off to the left where several young children stood lining either side. Each child held an array of multi-colored flowers that had been skillfully interweaved with vines and fashioned into Lei-like necklaces. As Stephenson and Owen approached, the children took turns cheerfully draping the necklaces around their necks. Stephenson and Owen graciously accepted the offerings then continued along the path toward the village. One-by-one the children fell in line until a mini parade trailed behind them.

The path weaved several hundred feet uphill to a small clearing where several enclosed dwellings populated the landscape on one end. On the other end stood a much larger circular thatched straw hut surrounded by torches and guards armed with spears. Stephenson veered toward the larger hut without hesitation.

When he and Owen got to within a few feet of the hut’s entrance, Owen was halted and instructed to stay outside while the old man was ushered inside to see the Chief Medicine Man.

The Medicine Man was seated upon a raised wooden throne slightly obscured by a thick, gray cloud of smoky incense. Lean and firm, he had the face and body of a young man. He was attired in full ceremonial dress including a full feathered headdress, several beaded necklaces, two huge, hoop styled gold earrings and a similarly designed nose ring.

Stephenson had scarcely entered the hut when the Medicine Man rose from his chair and rushed to greet him. The old man could hardly believe his eyes. The Medicine Man appeared to not have aged at all.

With the aid of a make-shift translator, brought in earlier from a friendly neighboring tribe, the two men stood for several minutes joyfully reminiscing about the past. When the initial excitement of their reunion had worn off the Medicine Man turned more serious and focused their conversion to the evening plans for Stephenson’s upcoming renewal ceremony.

“I am glad to have you back my friend,” the Medicine Man said. “I have thought of you and your companion often. Did he not also wish to return?”

“My friend lives far from me now,” Stephenson said. “He does not know that I have come, but I will be sure to tell him your kind words.”

“Very well,” the Medicine Man said, making a praying gesture with his hands. There was a short pause while he held his pose before he spoke again. “I am honored that you will be the first outsider to receive the benefit of our healing waters.”

Stephenson smiled then bowed and gave thanks to the Medicine Man, first for their long friendship then for approving his request. The Medicine Man returned the bow then said, “Before you go to prepare for our evening ahead, I have a surprise for you; a gift.”

Stephenson looked confused but didn’t respond. He watched as a couple of the Chief’s men approached a covered object and unveiled the gift — a makeshift Sedan Chair similar to that used to transport the Egyptian Pharaohs.

“I had it designed to transport you to the pool site.”

The gift brought tears to the old man’s eyes. It had been many years since he’d been the recipient of such a genuine gesture.

“It’s beautiful,” Stephenson said. “I don’t know what to say.”

Again the Medicine Man bowed. He then pointed toward the door and spoke in a commanding baritone voice. The Translator shared the Medicine Man’s words with Stephenson.

“Go rest my old friend,” he said. “For tonight you will be renewed the same as I. You will once again feel the strength and vibrancy of a young man.”

“Thank you my dear friend for your generous hospitality,” Stephenson said. “I can hardly wait to experience my new lease on life. Without your cooperation, none of this would be possible. I am forever in your debt and will do whatever I can to reward you and your village many times over for your life-saving kindness.”

* * *

Stephenson and Owen had scarcely settled into their hammocks for the night when Owen posed a question he’d been pondering since they’d been met at the tarmac.

“Grandpa, back many years ago when you first visited the regeneration pool and were blindfolded, they didn’t have GPS technology so there was no way for you to “mark” its location, but today they do.”

“Yes?” Stephenson said. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”

“Well, since it’s such a secretive place, it seems logical, given we now have an easy means to do so, that you’d want to document its location. So, did you bring a GPS unit with you to capture the healing pool’s coordinates?”

“Don’t need to,” Stephenson said, letting his words hang in the dark a few moments. Then he added, “I already know where the pool is.”

“What? But, how? Earlier you said…”

Stephenson interrupted him in mid-sentence. “How I know doesn’t matter.”

“Then why all this trouble and secrecy?” Owen asked, his tone conveyed frustration. “If you already know where it is, then why didn’t we go straight there on our own, without involving the village and the Chief?”

“Because I knew in my condition, my age, that we’d never make it there without being discovered or killed in one of the tribesmen’s traps around the forest. And that would have been the end of the pool for me. I also wanted to pay close attention, as a participant, to the ceremony process this time in case the pool has to be activated by a special ritual or magic incantation or something like that. I was so captivated by the experience the last time I was here that I fear I failed to notice some of the more specific, and necessary details.”

The old man’s answers didn’t help. They only served to fuel Owen’s mind to whirl with more questions.

“Everything you do not understand will be made perfectly clear tomorrow,” Stephenson added. “I promise.”

Over the years, Owen had learned that a summary statement like that from his grandpa was meant to end the conversation. Knowing that, he took the old man at his word without reply. Within minutes, the silence overtook them and they were both sound asleep.

Chapter 6

Finn and Andria began their search for the Curar tribe by visiting the local Amazonian travel agencies. Each agency offered anywhere from a one day to a one week trip into the jungle. These trips also came with a variety of standard options to visit tourist attractions and popular destinations but none of them had any information pertaining to the Curar tribe.

“Looks like we’re going to have to dig a little deeper for answers,” Andria said.

“So it would seem,” Finn said. “Got any ideas?”

“Nope. But it is getting close to lunchtime. What do you say we think about it over a plate of Ceviche and or Coxinhas?”

“Sounds good to me,” Finn said, scanning the area. He spotted a cantina styled building ahead on the left. The buildings outside walls were painted in bright, vibrant yellows, blues and pinks. “There’s a place up ahead with an outdoor patio and umbrellas offering plenty of shade. That work for you?”

“Perfecto,” Andria said, gesturing a thumbs up.

They leisurely walked up the street a block and a half to the restaurant’s front entrance. The door was propped open with a brick. They took it as an invitation to enter. Once inside they were greeted by a hostess and seated with menus on the patio overlooking the busy street traffic. After a few minutes of perusing the menu choices a waitress appeared with bottled water and asked to take their orders. They each ordered, then sat back to brainstorm their options.

Andria had just opened with a discussion point when Finn interrupted her with a question. “Aside from all the myths and legends associated with humans living forever, do you buy this “Elisha Pool” version of the Fountain of Youth?” he asked.

“I’ll admit my head is still spinning from all that we’ve seen and heard over the past few days,” Andria said. “But unlike you, each piece of added information seems to strengthen my view instead of fueling my desire to disprove it.”

Finn nodded his agreement. “It’s true I enjoy playing the devil’s advocate, but…”

As if on queue a bus passed by in front of the restaurant. It had a Christian cross and the word Missionário painted on its side. The image sparked a memory from Andria’s childhood.

“Finn,” Andria said, in a high-pitched voice. “When I was younger, our church sent money every month to groups of foreign missionaries. A couple of times, when they were in town, I remember them visiting the church and showing us slideshows of what they had accomplished,” she said.

“And?” Finn questioned, not following her train of thought.

“And, many of those missionaries were located in Central and South America,” she said. “Which means…

“Which means…” Finn said, his eyes brightening as he interrupted her, “that there’s a fair chance a group of American missionaries has stumbled upon the Curar tribe and could help us. That’s brilliant!”

“Thanks,” Andria said, blowing on her nails. “It’s all in the wrist.”

Chapter 7

An hour before dusk the Translator and four tribesmen — covered in ceremonial white, red, black and yellow body paint and hoisting the Sedan Chair — announced their presence at the front of the straw hut where Stephenson and Owen had been sent to wait before their departure.

When Stephenson emerged from the hut he was sporting a traditional Curar thin linen robe and grass skirt. He’d been instructed to wear the outfit as part of the ceremony. It also conveyed a sign of respect for the tribe’s customs.

The Translator handed Stephenson a blindfold and led him to the Sedan Chair. Stephenson looked down at the blindfold and smiled. In his case, there was no need for a blindfold, but being asked to wear it was his own private joke. He stepped inside the chair then secured the blindfold over his eyes.

Owen was also given a blindfold. He was also handed the tail end of a rope; the other end was attached to the rear of the Sedan Chair. His instructions were simple. Remain silent and follow behind the chair on foot by keeping a hold on the rope. A few seconds later the Chief Medicine Man strode by authoritatively leading a procession of extravagantly dressed villagers carrying lighted torches followed by a small army of tribesmen carrying spears. When the villagers had passed, the four tribesmen responsible for the Sedan Chair lifted Stephenson into the air and inserted themselves into the procession between the torchbearers and spear-carriers. At the end of the line, two young boys, walking side by side, carried small pails filled with lighted incense. They waved the pails in a deliberate figure eight motion to expel the smoke in all directions to ward off evil spirits from sneaking up behind them. The superstitious procession continued its silent cadence until it was completely swallowed by the forest.

It was dark when they reached the secret entrance. When the procession stopped, the translator instructed Stephenson and Owen to remove their blindfolds. As before, the leaves were parted and the procession entered into the opening of the enormous depression where the mystical pool awaited at the bottom. As the torches were put into place around the edges of the depression, Stephenson’s memory of the layout was quickly verified. This was indeed the same place he remembered from his younger days. It was completely unchanged save for some of the participants in the audience.

Owen stood in awe behind his grandpa, absorbing the captivating experience with all his senses.

Off in the distance, the sounds of chants and drumbeats started low then incrementally increased. As if on que, a dozen extravagantly dressed villagers burst from the crowd twirling cane-sized wooden totems and began dancing about in tight figure-eight circles. Within minutes they were shouting and thrusting the handmade totems into the air encouraging the crowd into a frenzy. The excitement around the pool was rapidly gaining momentum.

Abruptly the procession stopped and Stephenson exited the Sedan Chair. He was led up a winding row of steps carved into the hillside. Hugging the backside of the small ridge he soon stood overlooking the torch-lit valley below.

Upon his exit, Owen was led in the opposite direction to a place of honor on the front row closest to the pool. Owen swallowed hard, then squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a long, deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, his grandpa stood ready to experience the most unbelievable occurrence of his life.

I’m about to witness the rebirth of my grandfather.

With assistance from a droopy rope hand-rail, Stephenson slowly took his rightful place atop the first downward facing step in preparation for his descent into the pool.

When Stephenson was ready, the Medicine Man stepped onto a wooden platform beside the pool. He was wearing a strange looking mask and straw headdress lined with a crown of feathers. With both hands gripped around the ends of a carved wooden staff, the Medicine Man raised his arms high into the air and gave a loud shout. The drums changed beat to a quicker tempo and Stephenson was signaled to begin his descent down into the water.

With a broad, giddy smile stretched across his face Stephenson carefully eased his way down the steps. “I will be alive evermore,” he whispered.

When he reached the water’s edge he noticed a brilliant purple hued sheen standing on the water’s surface. It wasn’t quite glowing, but almost. He turned to look at Owen, who was as wide-eyed as he’d ever seen him. Stephenson smiled at his grandson then gazed at the Medicine Man waiting for his cue. The Medicine Man mumbled some words while waving his staff then pointed toward the water. Without a moment’s hesitation, Stephenson discarded his glasses and sucked in a deep breath then jumped into the purple, bubbling water where he sank like a rock. The water was thick and warm and massaged his entire body as he sank deeper. He was under the water for what seemed an eternity before anything happened. Finally, a resurgence circuited through his system. He used the jolt of energy to kick his feet and arms back up toward the water’s surface. He was swimming so hard when he reached the top that he shot out of the water like a bullet fired from a rifle. Two tribesmen stood like bookends beside the Chief and immediately grabbed him under the arms and pulled him onto the platform.

He looked at least sixty years younger and was the spitting image of his grandson. Without hesitation the tribesmen shackled Stephenson to the same wooden post he’d seen used on the village woman so many years before.

Chapter 8

Finn and Andria spent the remainder of the day visiting with various missionary outfits in the area. The first two of these missionary groups had never ventured out into the Amazon. Instead, they focused all their efforts solely within the city or nearby developed areas adjacent to known safe zones. The third group, however, had two dedicated teams specifically tasked with trying to reach and serve all the isolated tribes along the river. According to their proud spokesperson, these two teams had found and established a cordial relationship with eight previously unknown tribes within the past year and a half.

Finn was careful not to mention anything about the Elisha Pool. For one, he didn’t want to run the risk of revealing classified information, for another he feared being perceived as an insincere, fanatical “whacko” on some self-serving wild goose chase. Instead, he used the only thing he had: the specific Curar name along with the desire to observe them as a case study for research purposes.

Although none of the eight tribes they’d been able to locate matched the Curar name, the spokesperson explained that each of the exploratory missionary teams searched new areas of the jungle every week. He further explained that to keep things simple from a communications standpoint, these teams were methodically airlifted supplies every Monday to a pre-determined central camp which allowed them to continue without interruption. This gave Finn an idea.

“How about we negotiate a deal?” Finn asked.

“What kind of deal?” the spokesperson asked, suspiciously.

“A generous offer to pay for a month’s worth of fuel for your missionary teams in exchange for a ride into the jungle, to your central camp, and letting us tag along with one of the teams for a week.”

The spokesperson mulled over the idea a moment. “A month’s worth of fuel for one week of guidance,” he said, rubbing his chin.

“Yes,” Finn said. “I imagine fuel is an important commodity in your line of work. If you accept, it’ll pay for one twelfth of your budget for the year. That’s not too shabby in my book.”

The spokesperson thought some more then looked Finn in the eyes and added an additional demand. “I’ll agree on one condition,” he said.

“What’s that?” Finn asked.

“That you also pay for a month’s worth of supplies and medicine.”

Based on having nothing to work with up to this point, the request was still a bargain in Finn’s eyes, but he didn’t want to seem to eager. He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck as though he were struggling to come to terms with the request. After ample time had passed to sell his act, Finn extended his hand and accepted. “You’ve got a deal,” Finn said. The spokesperson returned the gesture and the two shook hands.

“Meet me here at noon tomorrow and I’ll handle the rest,” the spokesperson said.

“Very good,” Finn said. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.

“No, sir,” the spokesperson said. “You are the lifesaver.”

* * *

When Finn and Andria got back to their hotel later that evening they used Finn’s cell phone to call Andrew with the good news.

“Hello, Agents,” Andrew said. “It’s good to hear from you. How is your search going?”

“Somewhat better today,” Finn said. “We may have hit a stroke of luck. On Andria’s suggestion we talked to a group of missionaries and secured an arrangement to tag along with one of their teams that systematically explores the Amazon looking for undiscovered villages of which to share the Gospel.”

“Missionaries? Huh. Not sure I would’ve thought of that angle. That’s excellent, improvised thinking, Miss Walker.”

“Thank you, sir,” Andria said.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow at noon.” Finn said.

“Good. The sooner the better. Just watch yourselves out there; the jungle can be a dangerous place.”

“Noted, sir.”

“And keep me abreast of your situation. I don’t like to wonder about what’s going on with my agents.”

“Will do, sir. Talk to you again tomorrow.”

Chapter 9

Stephenson slept all night in the standing position shackled to the post. Although his health and youth had been completely restored, the rejuvenation process for someone of his advanced age wasn’t a typical occurrence and had taken an extremely taxing toll on his inner constitution.

When he finally awoke it was morning and he was alone, save for one tribesman left as a guard to protect him against the many dangers of the jungle.

He looked around, groggy at first, trying to get his bearings. As awareness of his situation crept in, a creepy, uncontrolled smile spread across his face. Once his eyes focused, he spotted the guard.

“Where is everyone,” he shouted.

The guard couldn’t understand him. He only stared back with a look of confusion.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Stephenson said, holding up his shackled hands. “Unlock me from these infernal things,” he said, anxiously rattling the chains.

Stephenson’s actions obviously broke through the language barrier. The guard immediately understood what he wanted and pulled a key from a leather pouch he had strapped across his chest. He stepped forward then paused, observing Stephenson’s eyes. Again Stephenson held his locked hands out and shook them, expressing the universal request for freedom. The guard was cautious and kept his distance trying to monitor Stephenson.

“Here. Right here,” the old man said. “Do you understand? Unlock me, now.”

The guard reached down and picked up a rope he had coiled on the ground at his feet. He showed the rope to Stephenson and nodded. Stephenson nodded back in approval and held out his arms. The guard tied one end of the rope around Stephenson’s waist and left the other end loose on the ground.

Next, the guard pulled out a blindfold from the same leather pouch and it held up.

Stephenson’s demented smile returned. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “Blindfold first. It’s a deal.”

The guard looked uneasy but moved behind him and put the blindfold over the old man’s eyes. That done he unlocked the shackles and picked up the loose end of the rope and led him back to the village at spear point.

* * *

Owen was the first to see his grandpa emerge from the jungle and rushed to greet him with a bear hug.

“Grandpa, I was so worried about you. How do you feel?”

Stephenson removed the blindfold and flashed his weird, almost forced, smile. “I feel great, son. How do I look?”

Owen crinkled his eyebrows together wondering if he’d fully recovered from the ceremony. “You look amazing, Grandpa. You look almost as young as me.”

“I feel almost as young as you too.”

“What happens now?” Owen asked.

“How about we eat something?” Stephenson said. “I’m famished.”

“Sounds great,” Owen said. “The Chief has already made arrangements for a feast. He’ll be glad to see you. He’s sent someone by the hut asking about you every hour.”

“Then lead the way, son. Let’s not keep him, or the food, waiting.”

* * *

After a quick change of Stephenson’s clothes, he, Owen and the Translator, gathered in the Medicine Man’s hut to celebrate with a bountiful spread of food.

“I can never repay your graciousness,” Stephenson said, between gorging mouthfuls of fish and fruit. “But rest assured I’m going to try. You, nor your village, will have to want for anything ever again.”

After receiving the translation, the Medicine Man placed his hands together as if he were praying and bowed to show his appreciation.

“Although I won’t need to use the pool again on myself for some time, I plan to bring my wife back here very soon. And when I do, I can bring with me whatever you desire.”

The statement made Owen stop chewing his food. After a long pause, he swallowed hard. “Grandpa. Your wife is dead.”

“Ha!” Stephenson responded, then blurted out a sinister laugh. “Not for long, son. I plan on bringing her back, then I’ll bring her here. If the pool worked me, it’ll work on her.”

Owen was slow to speak. “Not sure it works that way, Grandpa,” he uttered. “Once people die they can’t—”

Stephenson didn’t give Owen a chance to finish his sentence. Before Owen could move, Stephenson leapt from his chair, spilling food in all directions, grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the ground. Stephenson had insane eyes and a death grip around his grandson’s neck. Owen fought hard to free himself, but he was no match for Stephenson’s newfound strength. If not for the intervention of the Translator and Medicine Man, Owen would have been unconscious, if not dead.

The whole scene was over in a matter of minutes. In the aftermath, they all sat hunched over staring at each other trying to catch their breath. Each of them looked genuinely shocked except for Stephenson. After an uncomfortable silence, Stephenson returned to his chair and began eating as if nothing had happened.

Owen turned a solemn, but probing, gaze toward the Translator. His wide-eyed fear begged for direction.

The Translator’s eyes quickly darted around the room, then locked on Owen. Reading the panic on the young man’s face, he discreetly pointed a thumb toward the door then mouthed the word — LATER.

It took nearly three hours before Stephenson’s excessive eating, drinking and odd behavior got the best of him. When his limits finally ran their course, he hit the wall and ended up passed out, face first, in a plate of stew.

* * *

With Stephenson sleeping it off in his hammock, the Translator and Owen met privately outside the hut to exchange their concerns.

“What is going on with my grandpa?” Owen whispered impatient to understand the warning signs he’d witnessed from his grandpa at dinner.

The Translator held his palms up in an attempt to calm him down.

“Although maybe a little excessive in his case, your grandpa’s strange behavior is normal for this type of ceremony. That’s why the Chief and his men didn’t overreact. You’ll just have to keep an eye on him for awhile.”

Owen shot the Translator a glimpse of unbelief. “What? How is what we saw normal? My grandpa would never attack me. Never. Something has gone horribly wrong.”

“Because he’s temporarily insane,” the Translator said, matter-of-factly. “It’s a normal side effect of using the pool. You should have been informed of the consequences beforehand. If I’d known you didn’t know, I would have told you. The un-aging process is extremely complex. Although the body’s physical aspects recover more quickly, the brain takes longer.”

“How long will he be this way?”

“It’s hard to say. Most folks snap out of it relatively quickly, maybe within a day or so, but with him coming back from such an advanced age it could take longer. Maybe as long as a week. Of course, I don’t want to alarm you, but there have been a few cases where the insanity was permanent.”

“What!” Owen blurted out.

“Shh. Someone will hear you,” the Translator warned.

“So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Owen asked.

“It would probably be best if you could keep him here in the village until he’s normal again. There’s not as much harm he can do around here compared to out there in the civilized world.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Owen said. “You don’t know my grandpa.”

* * *

After lunch the next afternoon the Medicine Man sent for Stephenson and the Translator.

“Greetings, my friend,” the Medicine Man said. “I have information I need to share with you; information I thought you understood.”

“Very well,” Stephenson said, smiling. “Hit me with it.”

“Earlier yesterday, you remarked about your desire to return to the pool again and again in the future in an attempt to live forever.”

“Yes, that’s right. There’s no need in knowing about a fountain of youth if you don’t put it to use.”

“The waters don’t work that way, my friend,” the Medicine Man said, his tone deep and serious. “The pool only works once for each person. It is the law of the jungle.

“That’s absurd,” Stephenson protested. “It’s a pool of regeneration. By definition it’s meant for regenerating things.”

The Medicine Man’s face turned somber. “Bad things happen when you upset the law,” he said.

Stephenson’s face contorted in an expression of raging non-compliance. “You’re just telling me that to scare me off,” he blurted back. “But I’m not falling for it.” Then, a manipulative light bulb went off in his head and his demeanor changed on a dime from rage to serene. “Okay, my friend,” he said, smiling. “Let’s not worry about that right now, shall we? We’re both young and healthy men again. Let’s be happy with that.”

The Medicine Man shot a concerned look at the Translator, then at Stephenson. “The law of the jungle must be strictly adhered to…otherwise there are serious consequences.”

Stephenson nodded without rebuttal. “I will want to bring my wife over soon though,” he said. “Now that I’m able, that is.”

The Translator turned his eyes to the Medicine Man with a look of alarm. When he translated Stephenson’s message, the Medicine Man wore the same alarmed expression.

“That is impossible,” the Medicine Man replied. “It is an unnatural act to use the pool on a dead person. It would not only corrupt her but also the pool, rendering its healing waters ineffective forever.”

Stephenson’s anger was building. He tried to control the rage, but his body language gave him away. He clasped his hands together and let the moment pass, then tried again. “She won’t be dead when I bring her here.” He made the statement as though he were negotiating to eat at his favorite restaurant for dinner.

“No,” the Medicine Man said, firmly. “It is forbidden. These pools occur naturally and must be respected. Anything that breaks the rules or is introduced artificially can cause grave consequences.”

“But…”

“You have been warned,” the Medicine Man said sternly.

Stephenson’s lips tightened. He rose abruptly, without speaking, and left the Medicine Man’s hut. He made the short walk to his own hut where Owen lay tossing and turning in his hammock. “Pack your things,” Stephenson said. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Why?” Owen asked, jumping from the hammock. A mild panic edged his voice.

“Just do it,” Stephenson commanded.

“But don’t you think we should stay here a few more days just in case?”

“In case of what?” Stephenson asked, more rhetorical than questioning.

“I don’t know,” Owen said. “In case we have more questions about the ceremony and what to expect if there are any side effects.”

“No,” Stephenson said. “I have all the answers I need. We’re leaving now. After we pack, I’ll call ahead for them to prepare the helicopter. I also—”

In the midst of his rant Stephenson had another light bulb moment cross his mind. He stopped talking in mid-sentence while the thought swirled around inside his head. Then a creepy smile stretched across his face.

I’ll use the Monkey’s Paw to create MY OWN Elisha Pool, he thought.

Owen watched his grandpa’s demeanor change in a matter of seconds. “Grandpa, are you okay?” he asked.

The question broke Stephenson out of his trance.

The creepy smile got wider. “Owen, my dear grandson, I’ve never been better.”

Chapter 10

Finn and Andria arrived a full hour early to the meet the missionary supply plane. Neither of them had bothered to ask their mode of transportation, but by the looks of things the missionary’s supplies were going to be flown in on a floatplane.

The aircraft was an older model floatplane with ample sized pontoons attached to its undercarriage serving as feet. Yellow cursive writing on each side of the fuselage read — PUDDLE HOPPER followed by EGOT 03201 in black, block script. If the plane actually made it off the water, the experience of riding in a floatplane would be a first for the both of them.

* * *

Their flight left a little after noon and landed just over an hour later.

When the propellers stopped they were hurried out of the plane to wait while the supplies were unloaded onto small wooden pallets then readied for transport. The air was steamy and thick with mosquitos but the process was efficient. By three o’clock they were introduced to the trail leader.

“So, I’m told you two will be tagging along with us for a few days,” the trail leader said.

“Yes, sir,” Finn said. “My name is Finn and this is Andria,” he said, motioning to Andria.

“It’s always good to have more bodies to lighten the load as long as they can carry their own weight,” the trail leader declared.

“We’re field agents,” Finn reassured him. “We can hold our own.”

“Fine. Just as long as you understand it’s not a joy hike out there and that we’re here to do a job.”

“Understood,” Finn said, nodding at Andria.

“Yes, understood,” Andria confirmed.

“All right then,” the trail leader said, summoning them to follow him with his index finger. “Successful travel in the jungle requires specific gear. Come with me and we’ll set you up with a backpack full of goodies. After that we’ll load those canoes and continue our journey.”

Chapter 11

Stephenson’s patience was wearing thin while he waited for Owen to finish packing. To expend some nervous energy, he paced circles inside the hut. He furiously wrung his hands and mentally recited his future plans for creating his own pool. When Owen finally appeared to have things in order, Stephenson stepped toward the hut’s door and slide his hands down into his pockets. Within seconds, a sudden look of alarm passed over his face. He anxiously began digging around inside both his pants pockets as if he were searching for something. When his search was complete he blurted out a question. “Where is my key ring?”

“What key ring?” Owen asked.

“The one I had my lucky charm attached to,” Stephenson said. “I had it with me yesterday and now it’s gone!”

“Calm down, Grandpa. It’s just a key ring,” Owen said. “We’ll find it.”

“You don’t understand,” Stephenson said, his eyes wild with panic. “I have to find that key ring.”

“Okay. Okay,” Owen said, holding his hands out in front of him. “If you had it yesterday, it’s still here somewhere, we just need to find it. What did it look like?”

“The key ring was a simple gold loop about an inch in diameter and it had an animal’s foot attached to it.”

“Like a Rabbit’s foot?” Owen asked.

“Something similar, yes.”

“What color was it.”

“Dark brown.”

“Okay. Now we’re talking. When do you last remember seeing it?”

“It was in my pants pocket. I remember checking when I changed clothes after returning from the jungle. I also distinctly remember having it when we went to take part in the Chief’s big feast.”

“How about this morning?” Owen asked.

“It was early when they woke us and I was hungover. That part’s still a little fuzzy.”

“So that means it was most likely lost sometime between the feast and now. Maybe we could get the Chief to—”

Stephenson interrupted him before he could finish.

“No!” Stephenson said, his face and eyes ablaze with fury. “I’ll tell you what happened. It wasn’t lost, it was stolen.”

“Grandpa. Why would anyone want to steal a key ring?”

“I don’t know, but someone took it from me while I slept last night. I had so much to drink, they could have crept in here and taken it and I wouldn’t have noticed a thing.”

The crazed anger was back in his voice again. “When I find out, I’m gonna kill whoever it was,” he said.

“Please Grandpa, just stay calm and we can figure this out,” Owen pleaded. “You keep looking around inside the hut and I’ll go get the translator. Maybe he can ask the Chief to find out if any of the villagers picked it up. Just don’t do anything rash until I return.”

Owen turned and pushed open the thatch door of the hut. As he stepped through the door he was nearly bowled over by someone moving fast. Amazingly it was the translator.

“Whoa there,” the Translator said. “Sorry about the collision, but I heard shouting and wanted to see what all the commotion was about.”

“Well speak of the devil,” Owen said. “You’re just the person I was looking for.”

“Is that so?” the Translator asked.

“Yes. My grandpa lost his lucky animal’s foot last night and is on a rant trying to find it. He’s convinced someone stole it from him last night while he was passed out.”

“He did have quite a bit to drink, but you were the only one in the hut with him last night, right?”

Just then something thudded against the inside wall of the hut. Stephenson was making no effort to hide his less than civilized pillaging tactics.

“Yes, but he could have lost it anywhere between here and the Chief’s hut. That’s the last time he remembers having it.”

“What did this animal’s foot look like?” the Translator asked.

“All I know is that it’s similar in size to a rabbit’s foot and is dark brown.”

Just then Stephenson poked his head through the door of the hut. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were wild. “Empty your satchel,” he growled at the Translator.

“What?”

“Empty your satchel,” he said with the authority of a marauding Viking. “You’ve been slinking around our hut ever since we arrived. I’m looking for something that was stolen from me and I’m betting there’s a good chance you have it.”

“What? I haven’t been slinking,” The Translator said, innocently. “I’ve been trying to help you.”

“Sure you have,” Stephenson replied, sarcastically. Then he squinted his eyes. “Either you empty your satchel, or I do it.”

The Translator didn’t respond. He just stood there in shock. Stephenson gave him a couple of seconds. When the Translator didn’t move, Stephenson made an advance toward him that forced him into a back pedal.

“No, wait!” the Translator pleaded, already in the throes of twisting his body to remove the leather satchel he had strapped over his shoulder. He pulled the satchel’s makeshift rope strap over his head then reluctantly shoved his hand down into the satchel’s mouth and fished around a few seconds. Withdrawing his hand from the bag, he presented Stephenson with a closed fist. For effect, he turned his fist over slowly and opened his fingers. In his open hand, he held a sling-shot, a few small, marble-sized rocks, presumptuously the ammunition for the sling-shot, a piece of fruit and some bread wrapped in leaves.

“That can’t be all!” Stephenson barked, jerking the satchel from the Translator’s hand. Stephenson grabbed the bottom of the satchel and, in one smooth motion, turned it upside down and gave it a shake.

Along with some feathers and nuts, Stephenson’s Monkey’s Paw fell out onto the ground at his feet.

“I knew it!” Stephenson yelled, discarding the bag. “Now I’m going to kill you,” he said lunging at the Translator.

Owen stepped between them and threw out his arms to intervene. He looked like a referee breaking up a prize fight. “Wait, Grandpa,” he said. “Just wait. Let him talk.”

Stephenson sneered then reached down and retrieved the paw from the ground. He quickly inspected it then blew it off and put it in his pocket. “Fine,” Stephenson said. “Let him talk. The only question I want answered before I kill him is this. Why did you steal from me?”

“I didn’t…at least I didn’t mean too. I found the key ring on the ground last night at the feast. We find things like that lying around our village all the time. I didn’t think it was anything special or know that it was yours. I just liked the way it looked, so I picked it up. Then, just now, before you came out of the hut as Owen was describing it to me I was about to return it. Then you appeared and started acting crazy. At that point, I was afraid to show it to you for fear you’d hurt me. I was going to come back later and give it to Owen when you weren’t around. Honest.”

There was a short pause.

“You’re a liar!” Stephenson said as he moved toward the Translator.

“No,” the Translator said, turning and running away. Within seconds he was out of sight.

With the Translator gone the two of them went back inside the hut where Owen tried talking sense to his grandpa. Motivated by the Translator’s early warning, Owen had, indeed, perceived something different — strange — about his grandpa’s behavior since the ceremony in the jungle. If he had only known what his grandpa was planning upon his return to the States, he may have done more make him stay.

“He’s lucky I let him live,” Stephenson said. “Now finish your packing.”

“Please, Grandpa,” Owen beseeched. “I’d feel much better if we stayed here in the village for a few more days.”

But Stephenson was having none of it. After Owen’s third try, he stopped responding. Owen had seen the same un-budging behavior from his grandpa before and knew from experience there was no need to argue, but felt obligated to make one last effort.

“Grandpa, I know you miss grandma, but no matter what you’re thinking you can’t bring her back. No one can.”

Stephenson smiled and put his hands on Owen’s shoulders. “I can, son. You’ll see. I know it’s hard for you to understand but I have an ace up my sleeve. I can’t talk about it now, but one day you’ll have the same ability.”

Owen’s eyes filled with tears and he dropped his head. “No, sir. You can’t,” he said. “The Translator warned me earlier that unclear thinking was a normal side effect of using the Elisha Pool for a rebirth ceremony. He warned me that you may act this way. That’s why you’re convinced you can bring her back. If you’ll just wait a few days, you’ll see that I’m right.”

Stephenson bear hugged his grandson then patted him on top of the head. “No, son. In time, I promise you’ll see that I’m the one that was right. You’re going to see your grandma again very soon. She’ll even be there to carve the Thanksgiving turkey and to sing Silent Night.”

Owen had nothing left to say. Dejected, he turned and fell into his hammock, leaving his grandpa standing alone in the middle of the hut.

“Can we at least wait until morning to leave?” Owen asked.

Stephenson contemplated the thought a few moments then said, “See how traveling at night could cause some unforeseen issues, that sounds like a perfectly reasonable request regarding our safety. If it makes you feel better I’ll agree to spend the night, but we leave at first light.”

“Thank you, Grandpa.”

Chapter 12

Stephenson had rarely been one to go back on his word, especially when it involved his grandson, but this time was different, this time he had never intended to keep it in the first place. Based on the classic Machiavellian approach where “the end justifies the means” Stephenson knew that Owen would appreciate his deceit in the end when he laid eyes on his live grandma again.

Sometime shortly after midnight Stephenson gathered his belongings and sneaked away into the night headed toward the river. He stumbled his way to the dirt path then followed its meanderings to the edge of the village. From there he carefully picked his way past the shrunken heads. When he arrived at the dock he found a small, hand-hewn canoe secured to its side, just as he’d hoped.

Stephenson paused just inside the vegetation and scanned the area for signs of a guard. Finding none, he quickly closed the gap to the dock and boarded the canoe. With impressive efficiency, he tossed his belongings onto the floor of the canoe, untied its lashings from the dock and shoved off. In a matter of seconds, he was away and moving upriver. Guided by the light of the moon and the silhouette of the tree lines along both banks, he paddled into the dark unknown. He kept a steady pace for nearly half an hour before veering left toward land. He had no idea where he was, but felt he was a safe distance away from the village to pull off the next trick up his sleeve.

With little effort he maneuvered closer to the edge of the bank. When the tip of the canoe contacted land, Stephenson lunged forward, grappling in the dark for something to grab onto. Luckily, the rainforest’s fertile vegetation provided multiple options. Working his way through vines and tree branches he toiled to locate the trunk of a tree. Once found, he held onto the trunk with his left hand while manipulating the canoe’s rope with his right. He wrapped the rope around the back of the tree, made a quick loop then tied a Bowline knot to secure it into place. That done he gathered his things, exited the canoe and scurried a short distance out of sight into the jungle.

Taking a seat at the base of a huge Kapok tree, Stephenson pulled a green LED pen light and a small black device from his backpack. He eyed the latter with optimism. Thumbing the pen light on for illumination, he turned the small device over in his hand, first one way then he other, examining it. Measuring roughly three inches square, the plain looking device’s only anomalies were a red circular button situated at its center and a recessed telescopic antenna on its top. When his inspection was complete he extended the device’s antenna and pressed down on the button with his thumb. He held it down and counted slowly to ten, “One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi…”

The device was part of a fail-safe plan he’d arranged in case anything went wrong while he and Owen were in the jungle with the villagers. A press of the button sent an inaudible SOS distress signal from the device, via satellite, to a receiver monitored around the clock by the same individuals that had arranged his visit into the village. The signal not only sent an SOS alarm, but, once received, also included his current coordinates for tracking purposes. After sending the initial alarm, he’d been instructed to keep a clear, vigilant view of the sky and to re-send the signal a minimum of every twelve hours until help arrived. All he had to do now was wait to be rescued. He hoped.

Shortly before lunchtime on the second day, Stephenson was lying in the shade to escape the unrelenting heat of the sun when he caught sight of something yellow far off in the distant sky. Whatever the object was appeared to be moving slow and approaching from the north. Stephenson perked up grabbed the small black device and soft jogged toward higher ground to gain a better vantage point. Once there he waited patiently for the object to move closer. Ten more minutes passed before a huge rainbow-colored canvas floated into view. When it cleared the obscurity of the tree canopy Stephenson saw it plainly for the first time — it was a hot air balloon coming to his rescue! Overjoyed with glee, he pressed the red button on the homing device and held it for ten seconds. When he released the button, the device began to vibrate and a small obscure green light illuminated beside the antenna.

“Yes,” Stephenson whispered, fist pumping with his free hand. “I’m rescued.”

When the balloon got within a couple of hundred yards it began its descent. Now that it was close he could see that two passengers occupied the balloon’s basket — one was navigating, the other held a rifle. The balloon’s slow, gradual landing offered him ample time to follow its trajectory toward a landing site.

Stephenson was relieved to finally be going home, that was, until he heard what sounded like several tribesmen shouting an undecipherable language in the distance behind him.

Oh, no!

It was clear the tribesmen had also seen the balloon and were coming to investigate. Within minutes he would have unwelcomed company. Stephenson picked up his pace hoping to get to the balloon before the tribesmen did.

The combination of his increased speed, and the balloon slowing down, meant the two should converge in less than five minutes. By the sounds of the mumbled voices closing in behind him in the forest, the tribesmen seemed to be closing the gap at a steady clip.

At last, after a strenuous uphill climb, Stephenson cleared a final rise in the landscape and saw the balloon hovering no more than fifty feet above the ground in a small clearing just up ahead. Behind him, the tribesmen, continuing their pursuit, sounded as though they could pop into view any moment.

Panicked, Stephenson broke into a dead run toward the balloon shouting for them to descend. Although his sprint was all downhill, he had close to the length of a football field to cover. Both balloon passengers heard his shouting and looked his way, but the balloon remained at the same altitude.

“Hurry!” he shouted, gasping for air. “Come down quickly,” he implored, waving his arms up and down. “There are others coming. We’ve got to get out of here, now.”

But all his warnings were to no avail, because no sooner had his words ceased than a crowd of tribesmen, like a herd of hyenas, broke the fringe of the trees in a mad dash toward them.

Seeing this, the two men in the basket instantly joined Stephenson in panic mode. The Navigator was the first to respond, urgently fussing with one of the ropes; soon after the Rifleman reacted and took aim.

Stephenson wasn’t sure what to make of the situation but did the only thing he could do — he kept running. When he’d gotten to within fifty yards or so Stephenson saw what the Navigator of the balloon was up to; he was unraveling a rope ladder.

He wants me to climb?

With that thought completed, Stephenson watched as the Navigator dropped the ladder off the side of the balloon, but kept his altitude. At the balloon’s current height, the ladder was long enough that the tail end reached the ground with extra length to spare.

“Grab hold of the ladder,” the Navigator yelled, pointing. “We’ll pull you up. It’s the only way.”

I’m going to die.

Meanwhile, the tribesmen were drawing closer. They moved much faster than Stephenson on their own turf, especially now that the objective was in sight.

Stephenson was within a few yards of the balloon when the first spear landed a few feet to his right.

“Dear Lord, have mercy,” Stephenson yelled, then lowered his head in a final sprint.

The words had barely left his mouth when a second spear plunged into the ground six inches from his right foot.

BANG! BANG!

The Rifleman, seeing how close the spears had come to Stephenson, popped off two quick rounds at the feet of the lead tribesmen as warning shots.

It was only a temporarily diversion but it was enough. It bought Stephenson the few extra seconds he needed to reach the ladder. With a huge, lunging final leap, Stephenson propelled himself headlong toward the ladder where both outstretched hands found the same rung. He clung to the ladder with a death grip as his weight and momentum turned the ladder into a swinging pendulum dangling beneath the balloon. The Navigator simultaneously pulled a lever to actuate the balloon’s blast valve. This sent a load of heated exhaust up into the mouth of the balloon triggering it to rise quickly. Their ascending altitude, combined with the sloping terrain of the jungle, helped to further separate them from the pursuing tribesmen. In a matter of seconds they were well out of harm’s way.

Though clearly futile, the undeterred tribesman continued chunking spears and rocks up at the floating intruders as Stephenson and the balloon climbed further and further out of reach.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The Rifleman fired three more times for good measure as the crowd of tribesmen stood shaking their fists and shouting at the sky. All three balloon riders watched in relief as the defeated tribesmen slowly disappeared below them.

Now that they were out of danger, it took the Navigator and Rifleman considerable effort to drag Stephenson up and into the balloon. Exhausted from the chase and barely able to hang on, he was little more than dead weight.

With Stephenson secured inside the basket, the balloon headed north toward the helicopter pad. From there Stephenson would be taken to a limousine that would, in turn, deliver him to the Manaus airport.

* * *

Stephenson was restless during his flight back to Boston. He only had two wishes left and his unpreparedness and lack of details pertaining to his first wish had betrayed him. But that wasn’t going to happen this time. For this next wish he knew exactly what he wanted and he was determined to do whatever it took to make it happen.

Now that he knew what to ask for, creating his own private healing pool would not be a problem, it was where to create it that would take some savvy thought. It would need to be in a place that was sure not to ever be disturbed. He spent the last portion of the flight dozing in and out of consciousness replaying the same thought over in his mind.

My private Healing Pool will be perfect, but it must be created in a safe, hidden place.

* * *

Immediately after landing in Boston, Stephenson caught a cab to go visit his wife, Rachel. He got a strange look from the cabby when he gave his desired destination — The Holy Cross cemetery in Concord.

“You know we’re in Boston, right?” the cabby asked.

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“Okay, then. You’re the boss.”

Forty-five minutes later the driver pulled up to the cemetery’s entrance and put the cab in park.

“Should I leave the meter running?” the cabby asked.

“No,” Stephenson said, handing the man three, crisp one-hundred dollar bills. “Keep the change.”

“Wow! Thanks,” the cabby said.

Stephenson exited the car without hesitation. “No…thank you.” He turned and walked through the iron gates guarding the cemetery’s entrance with anticipation bombarding his mind.

Once inside he headed for the Northwest corner of the property to a secluded, full acre of land located at the back of the cemetery. He’d purchased it many years ago hoping to secure his family’s privacy. He’d made this same trip many times before, but was now making it, for the first time in a long time, on foot.

The well-manicured plot of ground’s only anomalies were a large, polished marble headstone and a matching mourner’s bench. Two cherubs sat atop the headstone, one on each side, in a classic protective pose. Rachel Stephenson was remembered forever in stone as a loving mother, wife and friend. Underneath the flourishing green grass laid the remains of his beloved wife, Rachel. She had preceded him in death nearly five years ago. Since her death, life had seemed more a journey of endurance than a gift. But now, thanks to his good friend, Colonel Brewer, he would once again see his beloved Rachel.

Stephenson reverently approached the foot of the gravesite and knelt on one knee. The ground beneath his feet was solid, unlike the fragile ache in his heart.

“Hello, dear,” he whispered. “You may not recognize me as I haven’t looked this young in many years, but fret not you can trust that it is me. I’ve come with some fantastic news. Within a very short time I am developing a plan to call you back from your rest and you, too, shall be young again. I am so overjoyed over the prospect that I could no longer contain my enthusiasm and had to share the news with you. Sleep well, my dear, for a few more nights. After that you shall be back in my arms…forever.”

Chapter 13

When Stephenson returned from the cemetery, he dropped a couple of ice cubes into an Old Fashioned glass and poured himself three jiggers worth of single malt Scotch. With the drink in hand, he went to his recliner, sat down and leaned back to relax. He needed quiet time to ponder the details of when and where to ask the Monkey’s Paw to create his Healing Pool.

As for the when, the obvious answer was the sooner the better, but the where was more complicated. The location he chose needed to be a place that would be safe for eternity but also easily accessible, at least to him. His first thought was his current backyard. He could build a super high, wooden fence along his property line to keep out the prying eyes of nosy neighbors then also enclose the area around the pool with a covered building sporting dark tinted glass such as those used for indoor pools. The dark tint would conceal the water’s glow in the daytime and make it appear as pool lights at night. With those props in place, it would easily create the façade of having an indoor pool. The idea seemed feasible in theory, but regardless of how careful he was, odds were, the pool would eventually be discovered.

What about a legally protected place? Like a state park or monument or a cemetery?

The last idea was so encouraging; it was as though he were being hit by a bolt of lightning. He sat straight up in his chair.

“The cemetery!” he exclaimed.

That’s it. I can create MY private Healing Pool in MY burial plot right across the street. Now that I’m going to live forever, it’s not like I’m going to need it anyway — EVER. That location, if handled properly, would virtually assure no visitors and would afford me the luxury of a number of cover-up options. It’s settled then. I just need to make some final logistical plans.

Excited, he reached down and pulled the Monkey’s paw from his pants pocket. It was still attached to his key ring. He put his index finger into the key ring’s loop and twirled the paw around in a circle. His mind was working one-hundred miles per hour.

“Soon Monkey Paw,” he said. “Soon, you are going to change my life for the better, forever.”

* * *

Even after a late night of strategic planning and an overindulgence of Scotch, Mr. Stephenson was up at the crack of dawn the next morning.

He made coffee, toast and scrambled eggs, then booted up his computer and browsed the internet for local flower shops. He was looking for a shop willing to craft an extra-large grave blanket of silk flowers. He’d lain awake most of the night developing the intricate details of his plan. He would build a raised, portable wood-framed bed over the top of his grave plot as a place for the blanket of flowers to sit, which in turn would lay over the top of his Healing Pool. The flowers would look completely natural to any passer-by; making them the perfect cover.

After securing an order for the grave blanket, which was scheduled to be ready the day after tomorrow at noon, Stephenson drove to the local hardware store for lumber supplies. If everything worked out as planned, he’d have four easily attachable sections of the frame built and dropped off in the woods outside his plot before dusk. Then under the cover of the night, he could return and snake his way up the cemetery’s unused original entrance; an oft forgotten, path leading into the backside of the property. This path, which he’d walked and jogged many times for exercise as a young man, now dead-ended at the cemetery’s tool shed. Although abandoned years ago, and left to overgrow with weeds after the cemetery expanded and built an expensive, more modern gated entrance on the opposite side of the property, the path should still be somewhat passable. Once inside the cemetery he would have all night to get the sections of frame assembled into one piece and in place above his burial plot in preparation for the artificial blanket of flowers and his big day ahead.

Chapter 14

Finn and Andria, accompanying the missionary group’s trail leader, had barely reached a newly built floating dock a mile down river when Finn’s satellite phone rang. Startled by the call, Finn snatched up his backpack from the bottom of the canoe and anxiously dug through its clutter to locate the phone. After a short search, he quickly extracted it from the bag as a magician would pull a rabbit from a hat, then put it to his ear.

“Hello,” he answered.

There was no reply, only static.

“Hello,” Finn said again, plugging his uncovered ear with the tip of his index finger. “Who’s there?”

It was no use. The line had gone dead.

Finn pulled the phone away from his ear to examine the power indicator. It had a full charge but complained of a weak signal.

“Is everything okay?” the trail leader asked.

Finn gave him a confused look. “I hope so,” he responded. “Only my boss has the number to this phone and I wasn’t expecting to hear from him.

“Can’t you try calling him back?”

“It appears the communication in this area is limited. At any rate, whatever it was will have to wait.”

“All right,” the trail leader said. “Then please step this way. We’ll find a place out of the way and let the crew get us unloaded. When they’re done we’ll be off to the next leg of our journey.”

The three of them disembarked the canoe in single file fashion then reconvened a safe distance from the dock. Almost immediately the trail leader slipped off to himself a few paces and motioned for Finn to join him.

Finn scrunched his eyebrows together and obliged the trail leader’s request.

“Is something wrong?” Finn asked, moving closer.

“No. But before we go any further, there’s something you need to know about the Curar people.”

Uh, oh. “What’s that?” he asked, playing coy.

The trail leader’s facial expression and tone waxed serious. “The Curar, should we happen to actually be lucky enough to find them, are a very secretive and untrusting people,” he said. “They can be extremely dangerous if provoked. In addition to maintaining constant surveillance around the perimeter of their village with round-the-clock posted tribesmen, they are also rumored to have created a plethora of strategically placed booby traps incorporating diverse environmental means such as quicksand, snares, pitfalls and poison darts. For this reason, outside contact from the civilized world has always been limited or nil. However…”

Just then the satellite phone rang again.

Finn jumped with a start and wrinkled his forehead. Again, he fumbled a hand down into his backpack to fish out the phone. Andria was standing only a few feet away and moved closer hoping to hear the call’s exchange.

“Hello,” Finn said, cupping his hand over his mouth while turning his body to further shield his voice from the trail leader.

“Finn, it’s Andrew. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Boss. I can hear you. Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but you and Andria must return home immediately.”

“What?” Finn said, turning a shocked gaze toward Andria. “We just got here. Is something wrong we should know about?” he asked.

“No, nothing is wrong, at least not yet,” Andrew said. “But we are behind the eight ball again, so to speak.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Stephenson flew home from Brazil yesterday.”

“What! That was fast.”

“I know. I’m just as surprised as you,” Andrew said. “I had set an alert on my computer to keep track of his electronic transactions, but I got so pre-occupied with researching the Curar people that I didn’t check my email until early this morning. I’ve been trying to contact you ever since.”

“What about the pool?” Finn asked.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s remained a secret this long; it can remain that way without our interference. Besides, whatever Stephenson went after is a done deal now. Finding him and securing the Monkey’s Paw is our main concern now.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. We’ll be back in the states as soon as we can.”

“Good. Hopefully by then we’ll have pinpointed Stephenson’s whereabouts and can put an end to this wild goose chase.”

Finn was visually frustrated. He lowered the phone from his cheek and pressed the END button to disconnect the call then turned to face the trail leader.

“It looks like we have a change of plans,” Finn said. “Andria and I need a lift back to Manaus as soon as possible. Don’t worry though, our offer to pay for fuel and supplies still stands. I wouldn’t dream of reneging on our deal.”

The trail leader’s posture changed, grew more aggressive.

“I’m sorry to tell you this my friend, but you’re not going anywhere,” the trail leader said, pulling a Bolo machete from the scabbard strapped to his leg. In one quick motion, he stepped forward and pointed the machete’s tip a few inches from Finn’s throat.

“Wait,” Finn said, holding up both hands. “Why would you…” The trail leader cut him off.

“Because you’re looking for the pool,” the trail leader said.

He knows about the pool?

“No,” Finn said quickly, his eyes wide as saucers. “What pool? I don’t know anything about a pool.”

“Don’t play me for a fool,” the trail leader said. “I just overheard you mention it to your boss. That’s why you two are here looking for the Curar, isn’t it?”

Finn was temporarily frozen. He needed to lie, but his mind was uncharacteristically blank. Fortunately for the both of them, Andria’s was not. Acting completely off instinct, she quickly spat out a plausible story.

“We’re here looking for the Curar because we believe they hold the key to solving many of the world’s foulest diseases,” she said. “If we’re right, talking with them could open up a whole new way of thinking about medicine that would exponentially further our stagnating research to this point.”

Wow! She’s good.

The trail leader turned his head toward Andria, but kept the machete pointed at Finn.

“Then how do you explain your partner here referring to the Pool?” the trail leader asked, smugly.

“He didn’t say Pool,” Andria said. “He said Louvre…as in the Louvre Museum in Paris. That’s the name of our research project. We picked the name as a reference to the renaissance with hopes that our discoveries would have a similar cumulative, reviving impact on today’s medical community.”

The trail leader eyed her hard for a few seconds. “I’m not buying it.”

Andria kept her cool. “Then maybe you’ll buy this,” she said, producing a small handgun from a concealed holster under her shirt.

“Andria!” Finn shouted.

“Lower the machete,” Andria ordered.

The trail leader didn’t move.

“Drop it I said!”

The trail leader hesitated at first then obliged. He slowly lowered the machete then let it fall to the ground before raising his hands to surrender.

“Good,” Andria said, surveying the rest of the group, most of which, including the boat driver, were still aboard the canoe. “Now,” she said waving the gun side to side. “Everyone except the canoe’s driver join the trail leader. My partner and I are going back. Once we’ve made it there safely the driver will return with the canoe to rescue you.”

When everyone except the driver had exited the canoe, Finn and Andria boarded one at a time. While Andria kept the gun trained on the group, Finn untied the canoe from the dock then shoved them off.

When they were a few feet away Finn focused his gaze on the trail leader. “I’ve changed my mind,” he yelled. “No supplies for you. The deal’s off.”

The trail leader made an ugly face then waved a good riddance hand gesture.

In under two minutes they were safely away and headed back up the river.

Finn took a seat at the front of the canoe. “That bit about the Louvre was genius,” he said. “How did you come up with that so quickly?”

“I was a museum curator in my former life, remember? Thinking on my feet was part of the job.”

“Ahh, yes,” Finn said, smiling. “How could I forget. What about the gun?” he asked. “I don’t recall you carrying one before.”

“I didn’t,” she replied. “But after the Death Mask incident I became paranoid. I’ve been carrying it ever since.”

Finn nodded. “Well, it certainly saved our hides today,” he said. “Maybe now we can catch up to Stephenson and put an end to this whole crazy mess.”

Chapter 15

Stephenson’s big day had finally come and he’d slept in to celebrate.

It had taken him most of the previous night to get the raised bed frame into the cemetery and set up, but finally everything as ready. Now all he needed was to bide his time for one more nightfall. With the ever-present possibility of visitors to the cemetery during the daytime and not knowing what kind of supernatural shenanigans to expect when he actually wished for the Pool to materialize into existence, Stephenson again was forced to wait for the cover of darkness to hide his immoral deed.

After a mid-morning breakfast Stephenson, still in his robe, did what he hadn’t had the energy or desire to do in many years — he began cleaning house. He wanted everything to be perfect when his beloved Rachel came home. He was roughly an hour and a half into the process when the doorbell rang.

Stephenson narrowed his eyes. Who could that be? I’m not expecting anyone.

He quietly tiptoed to the front of the house to peek through a side window beside the door. When he eased back the curtain he saw his grandson, Owen. He was unshaven and wringing his hands while anxiously waiting for the door to be answered.

Hmm. This is curious.

As if acting out a part, Stephenson put on a “happy face” and pulled open the door. “Owen,” he said. “It’s good to see you made it back from Brazil safe and sound. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Is everything okay?”

A rash of emotions crossed over Owen’s face. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say first. When he finally did muster the strength to speak, exasperation won out. “Is everything okay?” he repeated, in a snappy tone. “Are you kidding me! I should be asking you that same question. But actually, at his moment, I don’t care whether it is or not. I’d instead like an answer to another question.”

“And that is?” Stephenson said in an unnervingly tranquil tone.

“What have you been up to that was so urgent that you felt it necessary to leave me, your grandson, stranded in Brazil?”

“Everything is fine here,” Stephenson said, in the same calm voice. He paused a moment to tighten the belt of his robe then continued. “I left you there to spare you from boredom. I had some important business to take care of that you, quite frankly, would have found miserable to tolerate. Besides, you seemed so persistent about staying in the village a few more days that I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Owen was too stunned to speak. He studied his grandpa’s young face looking for hint of a lie or some residual signs of insanity. He got neither. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I only wanted to stay because YOU needed to stay. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through the last couple of days?”

There was a pause while Owen waited for his grandpa’s rebuttal. There was none, which frustrated Owen even more.

“Well, since you’ve got such important business to attend to that you’d strand me in a foreign county, what are you doing now?” Owen probed.

“Cleaning house,” Stephenson said. “You’re free to come in and visit if you’d like.”

“Cleaning house?” Owen asked, completely flabbergasted. “A few days ago, you were given a new lease on life and in the wake of that excitement you’re at home cleaning house?”

“I thought it would be a nice gesture to have the house clean for your grandma when she comes home.”

Owen didn’t immediately respond. He couldn’t. He was utterly dumbfounded. Instead, he stood motionless and gawked at his grandpa in a slack-jawed stupor. He’s insane. He really is insane.

“Grandpa…Grandma is NOT coming home. You need to stop with this nonsense right now.”

Stephenson tilted his head sideways like a puzzled puppy and smiled. It was a condescending smile. “I appreciate your concern, son, but she is coming home, and soon. And when she does, I want everything to be perfect.”

“Grandpa…” Owen started, but Stephenson held up his hand to stop him from speaking. “I have a lot of work to do and a short time to do it in, so I really need to get back to it. I’ll call you soon and we can plan a surprise family homecoming for your grandma. Okay?”

Owen tried to speak again, with no better luck. Concern for his grandpa was growing paramount.

“I really must go now. I’ll be in touch soon,” Stephenson said, gently pushing the door closed.

“Grandpa, wait!” was all Owen could manage before the door closed in his face.

Chapter 16

Stephenson watched the sunset from his bay kitchen window. When complete darkness finally came, he eagerly pulled the Monkey’s Paw from his pocket and plopped down in his recliner.

From the comfort and safety of his home he bowed his head and held the Monkey’s Paw up into the air with his right hand. It was a clear exhibition of both awe and reverence. His actions mimicked a religious rite as though he were presenting a sacrifice to a deity or offering a ransom for his soul. With his penance paid, he lifted his head and opened his eyes then uttered his unholy request, “I wish for a Healing Pool to be created in the location of my purchased burial plot in the cemetery across the street.”

There was a brief, eerie silence as if all the sounds of the world had suddenly been muted.

Then it began.

A brooding storm turned the firmament angry. The sky, slow at first, began to churn and writhe against itself. As the building tempest gained momentum, a fierce, howling wind gave way to violent lightning strikes in all directions. The jagged bolts networked across the sky’s landscape as if mimicking a frozen windshield doused with scalding water. When the strikes had run their course, the black sky glowed purple then quickly transitioned into a mixture of burnt orange and red; the color of an infected, festering sore. Then came the rain and the earth began to groan from deep within its belly. The vibrations caused the ground to rumble and shake. The natural world, it seemed, was at odds with Stephenson’s request. As the storm intensified, Stephenson grimaced and applied a death grip to both arms of his recliner. He then squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. His claw-like grip on the recliner turned his knuckles white.

Stephenson’s burial site and the immediate area inside the cemetery was even more menacing. A miniature tornado formed over the small plot of land and spun wildly down into the ground like a wobbling corkscrew. The formerly green grass covering the ground turned black, then died and evaporated away. The penetrating water spout flung debris in every direction until it had fully corrupted its target. The creeping bugs residing underneath fled to escape the cursed soil. The remaining dirt turned to a charcoal colored mud then gave way to a blood thick, sulfurous smelling liquid. The liquid gurgled and bubbled up from the bottom of the pit to overtake the hole before erupting into a small-scale volcano spewing black fluid high into the air.

The entire event was over just as quickly as it had begun.

When the grumbling sky stopped complaining, Stephenson opened his eyes and let go his grip on the recliner.

It’s done! I have to go and see!

Stephenson leapt from the chair and jerked open his front door. The sky was still a Kaleidoscope of colors, but the rain and wind had ceased entirely. He stepped out onto his driveway for a closer look at the neighborhood. It looked as though this latest storm had his neighbor’s reacting in their usual behavior: all huddled in their basements or bathtubs in duck-and-cover mode. Stephenson glanced across the street toward the cemetery then bolted in a dead out run. If he could get himself high enough up the cemetery’s front gate, he had designs on climbing over the top. When he got to within a few feet of the gate he extended his arms high above his head and jumped. He looked like an NBA Power Forward going up for a rebound. It was a perfectly timed leap. His skillful effort landed him three-quarters of the way up the iron gate. From there he grabbed the closest horizontal bar and started climbing. When he made it to the top of the gate, he swung his legs over the rail, one after the other, then held tight with his hands and, in one fluid motion, slid his upper body over the top. From there he lowered his weight and hung vertical a few moments to catch his breath. With the hard work done, he let go of his grip and dropped, rolling safely onto the ground.

When he reached his burial plot and saw the gleaming waters of his newly created pool rocking in the moonlight, he raised his face toward the heavens and raised both hands high above his head. His pose brought to mind a prizefighter just awarded a win. The water’s foul, black color was indiscernible in the darkness. Aside from the hideous smell, which he naively attributed to being a normal part of the process, Stephenson had no reason to suspect anything was amiss with his pool.

What his view from above ground didn’t show, however, was that some of the corrupt, black liquid had already begun leeching its way into the adjoining ground and into his wife’s coffin.

Chapter 17

Finn and Andria took the first stand-by flight available out of Manaus and suffered through another cramped plane ride home. It was a long flight and while Finn tossed and turned in his seat struggling to sleep, Andria entertained herself with a book of collected short stories she’d picked up at the airport, entitled, 20th Century Ghosts, by Joe Hill.

As soon as the plane touched down in Boston, Finn dialed Andrew’s number hoping for an update. No luck. He got voice mail.

“No answer,” Finn said, while he pressed the disconnect button.

“Well, that’s bothersome,” Andria said.

“Yes,” Finn said. “But no matter. We have no other choice but to get to the car and head for the office. I’ll try reaching him again when we’re on the road.”

* * *

They had just anchored their seatbelts and pulled away from the parking deck when Finn’s cell phone rang. His face lit up with relief when he saw Andrew’s name displayed across the top.

“Hello,” Finn said, anxiously.

“Finn, it’s Andrew. Is it safe to talk?”

“What? Yes, why?” Finn asked, sounding confused. “Andria and I are in the car. We’re heading to the office now.”

“So it’s just the two of you in the car?” Andrew asked to confirm.

“Yes.”

“Good, then put me on speakerphone. Andria needs to hear this too.”

Finn quickly swiped his finger across the phone’s screen then scrolled through his settings. When he found the speakerphone option, he tapped the button then held the phone so he and Andria both could hear clearly.

“Okay Boss, you’re on speaker now. Shoot.”

“There’s been another surge in Concord,” Andrew said.

“What?” they exclaimed, exchanging confused glances. “Are you sure they’re related to the first?” Andria asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it from the same location?” Finn asked.

“It’s definitely within close proximity, but there’s something else.”

Finn and Andria gave each other an uneasy look.

“What might that be?” Finn prompted, looking as though he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“I think Stephenson may have opened up a Judas Portal.”

“A what?” they both asked in unison.

“A Judas Portal.”

“And what, pray tell, is a Judas Portal?” Finn asked.

“It’s definitely not good,” Andrew said. “In layman’s terms, it’s the evil doppelgänger of an Elisha Pool. These evil portals are only mentioned in a few select ancient texts and are the result of the forbidden act of attempting to artificially create a Fountain of Youth. Or, in this case, an Elisha Pool. As punishment for the deceitful act, instead of creating a means to enjoy everlasting life, nature’s defense creates a portal into eternal damnation.”

Andrew’s explanation rendered them completely baffled. They both stared and gaped ahead with unhinged jaws while the outlandish news sank into their already scrambled cortex.

Andria came out of the stupor first.

“Are you serious?” she exclaimed.

“I’m afraid I am,” Andrew said. “I know all of this must seem like a surreal nightmare, but please hang with me on this. As concerned as I was earlier about the Elisha Pool and finding the Monkey’s Paw, the feasible danger of this thing just more than quadrupled those stakes. We must not rest until this Judas Portal is found and quarantined before any further harm can be done.”

“We’re on it, sir,” Finn said. “We’ll head over to Stephenson’s now. You can brief us while we drive.”

“No,” Andrew said. “Come by the office first. I’ve gathered several details, including a few precautions, we need to discuss before you locate this thing. As serious as finding this portal is, it’s even more imperative that it’s handled with proper care when it is found. Now, get here on the double.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll be right there,” Finn said, pressing the accelerator to the floor.

Chapter 18

Stephenson stood in the dark cemetery at the foot of his wife’s grave mentally celebrating. In his mind, he was on top of the world. He pulled the Monkey’s paw from his pocket and gave it a kiss then held it up high over his head with his right hand and pointed it toward the heavens. “My dear Monkey’s Paw,” he said, with unwavering confidence. “For my final wish, I request for my beloved wife, Rachel, to be brought back to me from the dead.”

As the words left his lips has stepped back a few paces anticipating a similar disturbance as before would originate from under Rachel’s grave. But nothing happened. He stood waiting in the moonlight for over a minute. Then five. Still nothing happened. No flash of light, no howling wind, no earth grumblings…nothing.

His enthusiasm soon gave way to panic as his unstable mind began racing with negative possibilities. Then he latched onto one of them and dread took hold. In his haste to get her back, he imagined he’d done something critically wrong with the wish.

Oh dear, Lord! What have I done? I’ve brought her back to life, but now she’s trapped alive underground.

Images of her screaming and clawing at her coffin ate away at what sanity he had left.

She must be trying to escape.

Horrified, Stephenson dropped down on all fours and put his ear to the ground. He frantically maneuvered the side of his head around in all directions for several minutes listening for the slightest sound. There was only dead silence. His paranoia confirmed, he rolled over onto his back, exhausted. As he gazed up at the stars, reality hit him. His wife was not coming back. Raging tears gushed down both sides of his face.

He laid there and listened for nearly an hour before mustering the energy to stand. He returned home in a state of utter despair and collapsed into his recliner. He fell asleep crying and wondered if he could live, forever, without her.

* * *

While Stephenson slept, the earth below the Judas Portal churned like a witch’s cauldron. And, as a result of his final wish, so did the mostly decayed body of his undead wife which lay directly adjacent to the evil Portal.

Steadily the Portal’s foul water began to spread in all directions, softening the dirt around Rachel’s coffin. The evil water eventually found its way through the long ago deteriorated seams in the coffin, infecting her undead remains on contact. Gradually, her revitalized corpse began a steady assault to free itself from its underground tomb.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Went the side of her fists against the inside of the coffin’s lid. Amid the unrelenting tempo, she also began to speak.

“Together forever, my love,” she mumbled, in tune with her kicking and banging.

Little by little, each pounding blow loosened the coffin’s rusty latches until finally they snapped. With only the weight of the soil left for resistance, Rachel continued to inch the lid upward until she had established a sizeable gap. Using her bony claws as excavating instruments, she began to dig. Her escape from the muddy grave would only be a matter of time.

Chapter 19

The next morning Stephenson fumbled in the back of his sock drawer and pulled out a loaded revolver. It was a snub-nosed .38 Special and had been a birthday gift from Rachel during their sophomore year of marriage.

He sat on the edge of his bed for over an hour spinning the pistol’s cylinder and staring at his reflection in the bedroom’s dresser mirror. When his mind was made up, he sat the pistol down on the bed then stood and dressed himself. That done he inserted the pistol into his right, front pants pocket and walked downstairs and out the front door toward the cemetery.

He wanted to talk to his beloved Rachel one last time.

When he got to the plot of ground where his wife was buried he saw for the first time, in the light of day, the black, cursed water that made up the Judas Portal. He also detected the sulfurous, rotting smell. Ten feet to the right of the portal, he saw a huge gaping hole dug into the center of his wife’s soupy grave plot. The extra dirt from inside the hole was mounded high around the outside of the opening. Deep claw marks littered the muddy mound.

Stephenson’s heart jumped. She’s alive! My Rachel is alive!

He hurried forward and bent over on one knee to look down into the dim, odious hole. He saw all the way to the bottom. More embedded claw marks lined the inside of the hole. An open, coffin stared back up at him. It was empty.

Where is my Rachel? Where did she go?

He spun his head around on a swivel several times. There was no sign of her. Frantic to find her, he leapt to his feet and ran the entire length and breadth of the cemetery calling her name. She was nowhere to be found.

Exhausted, he returned home hoping to find her waiting for him. There was no trace of her. Although frustrated by not finding her, Stephenson had regained confidence in the Monkey’s Paw. Since his wish had obviously worked, he was confident it was only a matter of time before his revived wife returned home to greet him.

After all, where else would she go?

Encouraged, he removed the revolver from his pants pocket and placed it on the end table beside his recliner, then took a seat. He would simply wait there for her for as long as it took.

An hour later, there was a knock at the door.

Stephenson, motivated by anticipation, made a beeline down the hallway and flung the door open. Like a homing pigeon returning to roost, Stephenson’s beloved wife, Rachel, had found her way home.

Only she wasn’t what he was expecting.

She’d been underground for several years and other than the clothes she’d been buried in, was nearly devoid of recognizable features to tell him she was his wife. Her hair and nails had continued to grow and what little skin she had left was soft and droopy. It hung from her bones like wrinkled fabric from a curtain rod. And she stunk to high heavens. Her face still had most of its skin; it was puffy around the cheeks and sunken in around the eyes and mouth, even showing a few teeth, but her midsection had none. The dress she wore was badly deteriorated and made it easy to see all the way through her via the empty spaces between her ribs.

The initial shock of seeing her ghastly form froze Stephenson in his tracks. She looked like she belonged in a horror flick. He stared at her in disbelief, unable to muster a sound.

Oh, my dear Lord. What have I done?

As he stood paralyzed, gaping at her emaciated body, she raised her arms out in front of her as if gesturing for a hug.

“Together forever, my love,” she said, in a low raspy voice.

Before he could respond she took a clumsy step toward him.

“Together forever, my love,” she repeated.

Horrified, Stephenson back peddled into the wall behind him then turned and stumbled down the hall screaming. “No, please. Get away from me!”

When he reached the den, his eye caught his revolver lying on the end table. Breathing heavily, he turned to see his undead wife making a labored and jerky, almost robotic, advance toward him. Her arms were still extended outward. Her outstretched arms and awkward gait gave her an eerie resemblance to Frankenstein’s monster.

“Together forever, my love,” she crooned.

Acting out of instinct, he raced to retrieve the revolver from the end table. As soon as he turned his back, Rachel shuffled forward following after him. He had only taken a couple of strides when his haste got the better of him and he fell face first onto the floor. With her steady gait, the undead corpse advanced upon him. Panicked and sweaty, Stephenson jumped to his feet and scrambled like a wild man toward the gun. Undeterred, the half-dressed corpse pursued him with her love.

“Together forever, my love,” she garbled.

Finally, he reached the end table and grabbed for the gun. He gripped it firmly in his right hand, quickly pulled back the pistol’s hammer, then spun to face his wife straight on. She was surprisingly fast for a corpse and had already made it to within only a few feet of him. With tears streaming down his face he pointed the gun at her head. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Then he pulled the trigger.

Chapter 20

Like a jet airplane, Finn and Andria’s car screeched into The Powers Group’s parking lot. Any faster around the curves and the momentum would have tipped them over onto two wheels. Straight ahead, Finn spotted a few open parking spaces up front and made a bee-line for them. When the nose of the car was within a few feet of the first space, he slammed on the brakes and slung the rear-end around perfectly mimicking an Ace Ventura park job. When the vehicle came to a jolting stop, they both swung the doors open and leapt onto the paved ground. Without a word, they bolted toward the building’s entrance on their way to Andrew’s office.

“Boy, you two have no idea how glad I am to see you,” Andrew shouted, anxiously waving them into his office.

“Glad to hear it, sir,” Finn said, clutching the door frame and laboring for breath.

“But I’m sorry to say that I’ve got more news.”

“What’s that?” Andria inquired.

“In the short time, it took you to drive over here, there’s been another, third, surge in Concord.”

“The same as the others?”

“Don’t know yet, but my guess would be, yes.” He paused a moment then continued, “I’m not sure what else Stephenson’s up to, but if that was his third wish, it can’t be good. We need to put a stop to this craziness, and fast! Give me five minutes of your undivided attention to explain a few things then be off like a flash to stop this maniac. Agreed?”

“Agreed, sir,” they both said, nodding and attentive.

“Good. Now each of you take a pair of these protective gloves and listen carefully.”

* * *

The latest paranormal surge led Finn and Andria to the entrance of an expansive cemetery situated across the street from the suburban neighborhood they’d investigated early on the first day of the case.

This time it was already past dark when they arrived. With no street lights around the cemetery, their vehicle’s headlights provided the only light. The halogen beams clearly revealed a padlocked iron gate blocking their ingress into the property.

“Now what?” Andria asked, looking at Finn from the passenger’s seat.

“Without the key to that lock, not much,” Finn said. “Unless, of course, we search for another, less conspicuous way in.”

He said this last bit playfully, dancing his eyebrows up and down.

A mischievous grin spread across Andria’s face. “You know I’m always game for that,” she said. “I just wish we knew exactly what we’re supposed to be looking for.”

“I have a feeling we’ll know it when we see it.” Finn said.

After retrieving flashlights and a map of the cemetery from the car they approached the gate and tried the lock. It didn’t budge. A quick scan along both sides of the road revealed a six-foot, black, wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery’s perimeter. Based on terrain, the side which ran along the highway they’d driven in on, looked to offer the path of least resistance.

“This way,” Finn said, pointing his finger to indicate a parallel route along the road.

Even using flashlights, it was slow-go. It was close to half an hour before they came across a breach in the fence that showed promise. With flashlights in hand, they contorted their bodies and sneaked through the narrow separation in the fence one at a time. Once inside, they paused to look around and gather their bearings. Their flashlight beams revealed well-kept, manicured cemetery grounds with concrete walkways conveniently traversing the graves. To their surprise, they also discovered a grandiose stone mausoleum standing in the distance atop a gradually ascending slope in the center of the property.

“Bingo!” Finn said, pointing with his flashlight toward the mausoleum. “That seems to be the most obvious place to start our search.”

“Agreed,” Andria said. “If I had caused a paranormal surge, that’s where I’d be hiding.”

“We’re in the middle of a dark cemetery and you want to make jokes about the paranormal?”

“It’s a coping mechanism,” she said. “Think how boring I’d be without it.”

Finn dropped his head and smiled. “You’re too much,” he said. “And as much as I’d love to continue our playful banter, right now our car is blocking the entrance to the cemetery, so let’s go see what secrets that building has to give up before the gatekeeper comes to unlock the gate.”

“Touché,” Andria said, giving him a wink. “I’m a business before pleasure gal myself.”

After a considerable climb, they reached the steps of the mausoleum. The masonry was at least one-hundred years old and although, weather worn with tinged, green streaks running down its corners, was in generally good shape. The name, JACOBS, was etched in the stone above the columns that protected the door. After catching their breath, they split up, Andria took the North side of the building and Finn took the South, to scour the outside of the building for clues.

They met back up at the front of the mausoleum ten minutes later.

“You find anything?” Finn asked.

“Nothing,” Andria replied. “You?”

“No.”

Finn looked at his watch to check the time. “It’s getting close to daybreak,” he said. “We should probably head back to the car. We can return after the gatekeeper leaves and hopefully have more luck in the daylight.”

Still using their flashlights for guidance, they followed the same path back to the opening in the fence and skirted along the wall toward the car when Andria noticed streaks of disrupted dirt that looked like drag marks headed toward the road and the neighborhood across the street.

“Finn look,” she said, motioning toward the disturbance. “Were those marks there when we passed by earlier?”

Finn turned his light beam to overlap hers. “Hmm, that’s interesting,” he said. “I don’t know. It was so dark and we were in such a hurry it’s hard to say.”

He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

“Here,” he said. Get back to the car and pull it across to the street while I investigate. I’ll contact you there.”

* * *

It was just breaking dawn when Andria pulled up to the curb in front of Stephenson’s house. From the road, the inside of the house appeared to be completely dark.

She put the car in PARK and sat anxiously monitoring her surroundings waiting to hear from Finn.

The quiet stillness of the neighborhood made minutes seem like an eternity.

Abruptly her cell phone rang, scaring the bejesus out of her and causing her to jump. When her heart slowed to a NASCAR’s pace she looked at the phone’s screen. It was Finn.

“Finn, where are you?” she asked, answering the call.

“Just down the street, heading in your direction. You won’t believe it but the mud streaks are headed for Stephenson’s house.”

“What? You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I wish I were. Meet me in front of the driveway in five minutes and I’ll show you.”

Andria wasted no time exiting the car. She quickly clicked the car door shut behind her and speed walked to Stephenson’s mailbox. Within three minutes Finn appeared. He was breathing heavily.

“Follow me,” he said, waving her on.

Halfway down the driveway they branched off onto a narrow, stone walkway. When they reached the front stoop they discovered a single pair of dried, muddy footprints ascending the three steps leading up to the front door. Instinctively, their heads turned on a swivel to follow the approaching direction of the footprints. More footprints backtracked across the dew-covered lawn toward the cemetery.

Finn gave Andria a quick glance, then topped the stairs where he noticed the door standing open a few inches. He paused and held up a hand to halt their progress.

“The front door is open,” he whispered. “Stay here.” He crept closer and craned his neck toward the narrow slit. A peek inside revealed a dark, empty foyer.

“Hello?” he inquired.

Silence.

He tried again. “Is anyone home?”

When no one answered, Finn waved Andria forward then drew his service pistol — a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson — thumbed off the safety and eased open the door. The door creaked in rebellion as it slid backward.

With all eyes trained ahead, Finn took a couple of baby steps forward then stopped to listen. The house remained silent. He ran his hand along the wall searching for a light switch. Once found, he flicked it upward to dispel the darkness. More footprints were visible. Again, he called out to make their presence known. “This is the police. Is anyone home?”

No one answered.

Finn nodded at Andria, then turned and motioned for them to continue their search. A few more steps brought them to a short hallway leading to what looked like an open area up ahead. Following the footprints, they advanced down the hall to the next light switch. Finn pushed up on the light switch and flooded the large den with light.

“Oh my heavens!” Andria cried out from behind him. “Is that blood?”

Finn jerked his head to the side. A starburst of red, like something left behind by an exploded paint ball, was splattered on the opposite wall.

Within a few feet of the starburst was Mr. Stephenson’s lifeless body lying limp in a blood-soaked recliner. There was a gaping hole in the side of his head just above the top of the ear. Lying on the floor at his feet was a revolver, most likely the one used to create the gory wall art, and a deteriorated, half mummified skeleton dressed in tattered woman’s clothes. The top half of the mummy’s head was missing. The outer rim of the skull was jagged and uneven as though it had received a massive blow of force.

Finn holstered his Smith & Wesson and moved closer to the bodies. “Unless I’m entirely wrong about the identity of the man in the recliner, it looks as if our infamous Mr. Stephenson died a young man after all.”

Most of the blood had either congealed or already dried, but it seemed evident that whatever happened had occurred within the last couple of days. Finn scanned the rest of the area before turning his interest to the end table beside Mr. Stephenson’s recliner where the same Fed Ex box and handwritten letter he’d found earlier still resided. But now, on top of the letter, was a brown, shriveled up animal claw—The other Monkey’s Paw. Being careful not to disturb the rest of the potential crime scene, Finn leaned over and gently retrieved the paw, then stuck it in his pocket for safe keeping.

Without a word, he looked again at Mr. Stephenson then shifted his eyes down to the decayed woman’s body.

“I can’t believe this,” he said.

“What? What can’t you believe?” Andria pleaded.

“It’s just like in the original Monkey’s Paw story,” Finn said.

“What is?” Andria pleaded again.

“In the original story someone was unnaturally “wished” back to life from the grave. And now, it looks as though the same thing has happened again.”

Andria’s eyes darted quickly from Stephenson’s crumpled body to the woman’s skeleton. “Oh, my heavens. I think you’re right.”

Finn continued, pointing toward the skeleton, “Based on the aged style of that dress, my bet is that decayed woman was Mr. Stephenson’s wife. When his plans related to the Elisha Pool went sour, he must have used one of his remaining wishes to call her back from the dead; only he wasn’t expecting her to be a Zombie. When she showed up here as an undead corpse, instead of his sweet, living and breathing wife, the shock must have been more than he could bear. After seeing her in such a badly deteriorated state, one can only imagine the thoughts that went through his head. He must have been horrified at bringing her back and, realizing the error of his way, did the only thing left at his disposal to make things right — he put her out of misery and sent her back to where she belonged. Then, grief stricken I’m sure, I imagine he turned the gun on himself.”

There was lengthy silence while the two of them looked around letting the impact of the moment sink in.

Finally, Andria spoke. “Dear Lord,” she said, her voice trembling as she covered her mouth. “What a horrible twist of fate. It’s a truly awful example of life mimicking art.”

Chapter 21

After making a call to Andrew requesting him to send backups to discreetly secure Stephenson’s house, Finn and Andria scurried back across the street to the cemetery to backtrack the muddy footprints to their origin point. Like birddogs on the hunt, they followed each print, step for step, leading toward Stephenson’s ill created Judas Portal. But even without the footprints, they’d have eventually had little problem finding the cursed portal; only needing to follow their noses.

Once they topped the hill leading toward the back half of the cemetery they encountered an invisible barrier of disgusting odor that turned their stomachs. The foul smell from the portal had steadily reeked up from the malignant waters to cast a wide net of stench hundreds of feet in all directions.

Instinctively, Finn and Andria cupped tight seals over their noses and mouths to fend off the God-awful smell to keep from vomiting. After struggling through several bouts of the dry heaves their nausea subsided enough for them to push on.

With noses tightly pinched and eyes down on the ground, they tracked the meandering footprints another ten minutes to the portal’s location. Once there Finn again contacted Andrew who, in turn, ordered the two of them to stand guard over the cemetery’s entrance until a second Powers Group security team could arrive. Before hanging up Andrew made it abundantly clear that all human contact with the portal’s malevolent liquid must be avoided at all cost.

Finn and Andria had no problem doing as they were told. Anything was better than standing amid such a foul stench. They made it to the entrance gate of the cemetery in record time and stood guard until help arrived.

* * *

Because of the sensitivity of both the Monkey’s Paw and the Judas Portal, The Powers Group not only took immediate action to secure the crime scene and the cemetery, but they also began concocting a believable, although untrue, cover story.

As for Mr. Stephenson, even if the gunshot wound to Stephenson’s head could have been tastefully covered by a mortician, an open casket funeral for him would have been impossible considering his sudden, unexplainable young appearance. He would have looked so good and youthful, in fact, that there’s no doubt the embalming and mortuary teams that prepared his body for viewing could have secured the next decade’s worth of work from his nonagenarian friends on the spot.

Thankfully though for The Powers Group, it was Owen Stephenson, the grandson, that had responded as the next of kin. He’d had enough of his grandpa’s antics and wanted no part of the possible problems stemming from an open casket viewing. By the time Owen got to Stephenson’s house his grandma’s decayed body (DNA test later confirmed her identity) had been removed and Stephenson’s death was sold to him as a suicide.

“I was afraid something like this might happen,” Owen had remarked through tear filled eyes. “The old man had started acting crazy. I guess he finally lost his marbles.”

What remained now for The Powers Group was to figure out how best to discreetly dispose of Mr. Stephenson’s body without raising alarm from any of the relatives or local townspeople and how best to secure the Judas Portal he had opened beside his wife’s gravesite.

In the end, to avoid explanations about his grandpa’s appearance, Owen agreed to have his grandpa’s body flown out-of-state and cremated, easily solving the first issue. But securing the Judas Portal, with so many intangibles, would not be so easy.

Since there was no known method of un-creating a Judas Portal, the only remaining option left to The Powers Group was to somehow cover and contain it so that no access was ever allowed to the site. But with Grandma Stephenson, supposedly already dead and buried on the site, any future visitation from family or friends could pose a potential danger. But Andrew was already one step ahead of the issue.

“The area must be deemed a governmental environmental hazard area with a strict no access policy,” Andrew said. “We’ll pay to have Grandma Rachel’s remains (now a gooey skeleton missing the top half of its head) moved to wherever the family agrees along with whatever expense it takes to accommodate Mr. Stephenson’s ashes to be buried beside her. Maybe a fancy, free-of-charge family mausoleum would suit them.”

* * *

As a precaution to keep visitors from the cemetery, The Powers Group stationed a bogus, but official looking, hazmat crew around the outside fence on a constant twenty-four-hour watch. The production was complete with hazmat suits, signs and marking tape.

Immediately following the “phantom” exhumation of Rachel Stephenson’s remains; The Powers Group went to work concealing the Judas Portal. To permanently secure the site, a six-foot wide ditch was dug twenty feet deep to fully encase the top and sides of the portal in poured concrete walls. They then concreted six feet high on top of the ground and double slated over the top of the entire Stephenson burial plot. Beyond that they caged the entire one-acre perimeter with a ten feet high fence, including fencing across the top. Huge DANGER TOXIC HAZARD and KEEP OUT UNDER PENALTY OF LAW placards decorated the fence on all sides warning visitors to stay away. They would maintain twenty-four-hour surveillance of the site through continuous running video cameras as well as alarms triggered by motion detection devices.

Chapter 22

Finn stood by the window in his newly assigned office with his back to the open door examining the vexed Monkey’s Paw when a familiar scent wafted into the room. It was a soft, balanced mixture of Jasmine, Lavender and Sandalwood.

“Come in, Andria,” he said.

“Wow! That’s impressive. How did you know it was me?” she asked, passing over the room’s threshold.

“Mere deduction, my dear,” Finn joked. “Now that we’ve worked so closely together, I’d recognize your fragrance anywhere.”

Andria rolled her eyes. “I have the storage container Andrew suggested we use for the Paw artifact,” she said.

“Great,” Finn said. “Bring it over. The sooner we get this thing under wraps and out of our custody the better. Its history for wreaking havoc on the lives of its possessors makes me nervous.”

Andria laughed as she approached him.

“A couple of months ago, I’d have scolded you for being so superstitious,” she said. “But after having first-hand experience with that hideous thing on the heels of our recent dealings with the Death Mask, I’m totally onboard. These supernatural artifacts are “next-level” stuff; well beyond anything I curated at the Atlanta Museum of Curiosities.”

“For sure,” Finn agreed. “They’re definitely James Bond — Indiana Jones material. By the way, did Mr. Game mention code names to you?”

“Code names?”

“Yes. Andrew said that as new agents dealing with so much secrecy, code names may serve us well on future assignments. I thought the names might be randomly assigned to us, but he suggested to me yesterday that we should choose our own so it relates to our personalities or hobbies or whatever we fancy the most.

“You mean like 007?”

Finn nodded his head yes.

“Neat!” Andria squealed.

“No doubt,” Finn said, smiling. “The only guideline he gave me was that each name should not be more than three syllables, preferably two.”

“So, does Mr. Game have a code name?” Andria asked.

“Yes,” Finn said. “He’s called the Warden…I also thought that, other than individual code names, we should have a team code name; even if it’s just for kicks.”

“We totally should,” Andria said, her face aglow with excitement.

Finn gave her a thumbs up, delighting in her enthusiasm.

“Did he mention a time frame for coming up with the names?” Andria asked.

“No. Just wanted us to be thinking about it for now.”

“Noted,” Andria said.

Finn took the container from Andria — a circular glass container about the size of a paperback novel — and deposited the paw into an open slot at its top.

“Did Andrew say what we’re to do with this now that it has the Paw artifact locked inside?” Finn asked, closing the slot and holding up the container.

“Yes. He’s coming down in a few minutes to take us to the “Crypt.”

“The Crypt?” Finn questioned.

“Yes. According to Andrew there’s a highly secure, on site, underground labyrinth system designed to store and protect all the artifacts collected by The Powers Group’s agents.”

Finn snapped his head around. “Whoa. Really? Sounds cool.”

Andria nodded in agreement. “That it does,” she said. “And scary. If the artifacts are anything like the two we’ve come across so far, it could prove to be an interesting afternoon.”

Finn stared down at the container holding the Monkey’s Paw, as a curious expression settled on his face. “I can only imagine.”

* * *

An hour later, Andrew stuck his head through the doorway. “You two ready to see the Crypt so we can log the matching Monkey’s Paw into our catalog next to the other one?”

“You bet,” Finn said, speaking for the both of them.

“Then follow me.”

Andrew turned and led them to an elevator at the end of the hall then turned to face them.

“Before we go any further,” he said. “I want to tell you both how impressed I was with your work on this case.”

“Thank you, sir,” they said in unison.

“In addition to that,” Andrew continued, “I was also instructed to pass along the sincere gratitude of “the Boss” for your diligence and out-of-the-box thinking. He was exceedingly pleased with your performance. For him, the all-powerful, but never seen Wizard of Oz of The Powers Group, to mention you personally is significant. It’s a considerable feather to be placed in both of your caps.”

“Wow!” Andria said, exchanging a stunned glance with Finn. “That’s flattering.”

“Just doing our jobs, sir,” Finn said, modestly. “But please express our appreciation. It’s always great to receive recognition.”

Andrew bowed his head. “I’ll return your sentiment to him,” he said. “Now, back to our task at hand.”

He turned to face the elevator and pulled a magnetic badge from his shirt pocket. He swiped the badge across the front of the elevator, then leaned down and centered his right eye in front of an optical scanner. After a brief delay, the elevator opened with a “whoosh” inviting them to enter.

“Open, Sesame!” Andria announced, grinning to herself. Neither Andrew of Finn acknowledged her.

They each followed elevator custom and entered the open door single file. After a few seconds the door “whooshed” closed. Andrew pressed his right palm against a clear glass surface and waited. A backlight illuminated the area behind the glass followed by a thin, green horizontal light which scrolled from top to bottom capturing a scanned contour on his hand. A few seconds later, a hidden metal cover beside the backlit glass slid away to reveal a number pad. Andrew momentarily studied the number pad then punched in a four-digit code. When he tapped the last digit, the elevator started its decent.

When the elevator reached its destination, it stopped and all three exited into a small, cave-like room. Craggy bedrock was exposed across the entire area. A dozen overhead lights revealed metal shelves along each wall, each contained several items on display.

“One moment, please,” Andrew said, stepping sideways a few paces to the left.

Next, he did an about face, turning his body one hundred and eighty degrees, walked forward and inserted some sort of key into a hidden hole in the rock. Instantly, the elevator door re-opened and he motioned for Finn and Andria to follow him back onto the elevator. “This way,” he said.

Finn and Andria exchanged a confused look then re-entered the elevator behind him.

“That is a “dummy” room,” Andrew said, pointing toward the elevator door. “And those were “dummy” artifacts. It’s a decoy intended to make someone think they’ve reached the vault room in case there’s ever a security breech.”

He punched in a different code into the keypad and a second hidden panel revealed itself inside the elevator.

“This is a DNA reader,” Andrew said, pointing to the panel. “It’s accurate to one-millionth of a percent.”

He licked his finger then swiped the saliva across the center of reader. Within seconds a faint BEEP sounded and the elevator doors closed prompting a deeper ride into the earth.

“Almost there,” Andrew said.

“That’s gross!” Andria exclaimed. “You don’t know whose spit you just touched.”

Andrew smiled.

“She’s a germaphobe,” Finn joked, tilting his head toward Andria.

“Not to worry my dear,” Andrew said. “That reader is automatically sanitized after each use. As soon as these doors open and we step off the elevator an internal cleaning mechanism goes to work. The entire process only takes about ten seconds. Aside from being sanitary, it’s also a safeguard against someone getting back up to the top floor without the proper clearance. For instance, if someone were to find a way to stow away inside the elevator shaft and hitch a ride down on top of the elevator, they wouldn’t be able to return to the surface and would therefore be trapped.”

Andria created a circle with her thumb and forefinger. “Thanks. That makes me feel loads better,” she said.

The elevator descended for several seconds before bumping to a stop. When the doors parted the group stepped out into a large, cavernous room. Rows of tall metal shelving, between twenty and thirty feet in height, were incased in thick glass. Each row was situated back-to-back so that they faced each side of multiple corridors. The shelves formed an elaborate maze as far as the eye could see. Above the main entrance into the room, a large screen displayed the temperature, humidity and barometric pressure in red, two-foot-high digital characters.

Andrew looked up to acknowledge the screen. “A safety measure to protect the integrity of the artifacts,” he revealed.

Finn and Andria remained silent, taking in the vastness of the room. “This is mind-boggling,” Andria said.

“It is impressive,” Andrew replied. “Especially the first time you lay eyes on it. I’m not sure how many artifacts are stored down here, or can be stored, but it’s a colossal number. Everything is cataloged and filed for quick, easy access. To run this kind of operation and keep it secret is quite a trick, but that’s what we do. Now, you two are also included in that mission.”

“Who exactly pays for all of this?”

“The Powers Group is one of the world’s oldest and most powerful clandestine organizations in the world. As you might imagine, that title also comes with unlimited access to resources.”

“I’m speechless,” Finn said.

“It’s understandable,” Andrew said. “It still amazes me and I’ve been down here dozens of times. Now, if you’ll please hand over the container, we can continue.”

“So the same process we are following now will accompany every artifact we find?” Finn asked.

“Precisely,” Andrew confirmed. “And, for security and quality control purposes, it always requires at least two members of The Powers Group to log each artifact. It also takes at least two members to research and retrieve an artifact for study or any other reason with one caveat.

“What’s that?” Finn asked.

“No artifact is ever allowed to be removed from this premise. Ever. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh,” they both replied in harmony.

“Good. Now come with me and we’ll go through the entire process.”

Epilogue

It was just after dusk when Thomas Marvel IV boarded a small canoe and poled his way across a narrow slough surrounding his antebellum home. Situated in the middle of a private, sixty-acre island off the coast of Savannah, Georgia the former rice plantation was surrounded on all sides by tangled mats of Spanish moss suspending down from mammoth-sized Live Oak trees like Marionette strings from a Puppeteer’s fingers.

Aided only by a single oil lantern, the dark hooded figure carefully navigated an already thick evening fog to reach a virtually hidden wooden dock attached to the mainland. This solo ferrying ritual occurs every evening. It is the beginning leg of Mr. Marvel’s nightly travels to reach the city where he entertains Savannah’s more adventurous visiting tourists for his livelihood.

It was completely dark when he reached the opposite bank. After exiting the canoe, he quickly tied the canoe’s bow rope to the dock’s end post then extinguished the lantern. Before leaving the dock, he reached behind his head to snug the shoelace knot attached to a black, homemade mask held in place by leather straps draped over both ears. Next, he produced a pair of round, blue-tinted eyeglasses and pushed them onto his face. He carefully adjusted the front of the mask so that it completely covered his face. That done, he tugged on a pair of black, fitted gloves and secured his full-length robe at the waist then pulled the hood all the way forward to further obscure his face. His visage resembled a cross between Gandalf and Doctor Doom.

From the dock, he had a half mile, uphill hike along a narrow trail that snaked its way through a heavily wooded area on the outskirts of town. The trail dead ended only a few blocks from the city streets.

A look at his business card reads—Thom Marvel’s Paranormal Ghost Tours—printed in creepy blood-red horror script letters. As sole proprietor, Thom (pronounced Tom), is literally a one-man show. Playing the role of both host and ghost, he first tickles the tourist’s ears with chilling tales of the macabre then brings the tales to life by acting out the part of the ghost to the unsuspecting audience. Other than being a gifted storyteller, Mr. Marvel has two unique talents; he is completely invisible and he can move objects with his mind, both of which comes in handy as a convincing ghost tour guide.

* * *

Finn was eating lunch at Boston’s world famous Gizmo’s deli — a Pastrami on rye with chips and a dill pickle spear — and watching the news when a special interest segment caught his attention. According to numerous reports from locals and visiting patrons dating back more than a year, the city of Savannah, Georgia had seen a drastic increase in ghost activity involving several of its prominent, historically documented haunted locations. Whether to add fluff to the story or not it was also noted as an added coincidence that bodies from the city morgue had also began going missing during the same time frame.

That’s weird. His police background sent bells off in his head to remind him there was no such thing as coincidence.

Just then Andria slid into the seat across from him, grabbed a chip and grinned. “How’s it going, partner?”

“Have you seen this?” Finn asked, pointing up to the television screen.

“Seen what?” she said, turning toward the television.

“There’s a hot story coming out of Savannah claiming a recent uptick in paranormal activity around the city coinciding with missing bodies from the morgue.”

“Savannah, Georgia?”

“Yes.”

“Really,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Like Ghostbusters stuff?”

“No, like real stuff. People don’t just go missing from a morgue for no reason.”

“True.”

There was a short pause while they watched the end of the segment. When it was over they locked eyes.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Finn asked.

“If you’re thinking about a Powers Group sponsored field trip to Savannah, then yes.”

Finn nodded his head. “And here I was hoping for at least a week’s break to rest after sewing up the Elisha Pool case.”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s no rest for the weary,” Andria said. “Especially for agents. There’s always another case to solve. And this one looks like it might be a double dose of Hide and Seek.”

About the Author

Michael Devaney was born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1967. Educated at Mercer University, he earned a Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration. Later studies at Kennesaw State University garnered him a Creative Writing certificate. His previous novels include, The Inheritance: Chain Letter of the Arts and Death Mask. An outdoor enthusiast, his articles have been published in North American Whitetail magazine and Great Deer Tales and as Staff Writer for the Dark Knight News he’s published numerous reviews for Batman related comics. When not writing, Michael enjoys reading, movies and leisure travel with his family. He and wife, Beverly, have two children; son, Owen, here on earth and daughter, Emaleigh, up in heaven.

Please help cure childhood cancer.

Michael can be found online at:

Facebook — https://www.facebook.com/MichaelDevaneyAuthor

Twitter — https://twitter.com/MLDevaney23

Tumblr — http://mldevaney23.tumblr.com/

Content

Michael Devaney
The Elisha Pool

DEDICATION

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

About the Author