My first impression upon slipping through the jagged hole was that the broken glass would be used as evidence in my trial. The second thing I noticed was the overwhelming odor of incense. The basement reeked of it. The sweet perfume of sandalwood, combining with the earthier notes of pine and cedar, revealed a cleansing had recently been performed.
Mr. Perez and his wife were devoted Catholics with family roots originating in the Castilian region of Spain. He once confided his ancestors were Spanish Jews who fled for their lives during the Inquisition. So, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that he might have sought the assistance of a priest or even a Rabbi.
“Jon!” I hissed, gazing up through a sliver of moonlight. “Where are you?”
“Here!” he hissed back, leaning down so I could see his head. “Did you find it?”
“No! But there is evidence of a cleansing! I can smell sandalwood and pine!”
“Is that bad?”
“Depends on what they’re used for.”
“Hurry!” he whispered urgently. “I can hear dogs.”
“Should I let you in through the front?”
“No! Locate the sari and hand it up to me. I’ll lift you out.”
“Lift me?” I mumbled, taking the small lantern he handed down. I held it up, quickly locating the darkened corner under the stairs where I’d stashed the trunk. I set the lantern down on the floor, noticing the trunk had been moved recently. It now faced the wall. When I set it down in its hiding place, I deliberately left it with the locks facing outward. Grabbing both sides, I slid it towards me, fearing it had been tampered with. My suspicions were confirmed when I tried to insert the key into one lock—I had two—and the lock refused to disengage. I ran back to Jon.
“We’ve got a problem!” I called in a panic. “One of the locks has been tampered with!”
He swore. “How bad?”
I thought this was ridiculous and knew I’d need his upper-arm strength to open the trunk. “Go around to the front!” I pleaded. “I’ll let you in!”
“Anne…”
“Just do it!”
I raced up the flood-rotted staircase, making my way through a darkened laundry now filled with shadowy figures and lifeless mannequins crowding me in on all sides. Someone once told me there was an attraction on Coney Island where you stepped into a tunnel where hands shot out and tried to grab you. I didn’t know if this was true. If it was, I wanted no part of it.
Dodging clawed shadows, they blocked my path, forcing me to sneak under tables and wind my way around the bleaching vats. I could barely breathe, nearly overcome by the fumes. One shadow grabbed my scarf and tried to strangle me with it.
Like a poisonous serpent, the fabric coiled around my windpipe, slowly tugging and squeezing until air was a commodity I’d gladly exchange my lifeblood for. “Jon!” I gasped, clawing at the fabric in desperation, feeling icy shreds of flesh and bone. Nails dug into my flesh, searing me with a pain I’d never experienced. “Help!”
“Anne…? Where are you?”
He sounded far away, as though we were separated by a wide chasm.
I could not answer him. The thing yanked on the scarf, leaning down to hiss its murderous intent. A rank, hissing breath stung my cheeks, snaked its way up my nostrils and seared my lungs. I could do nothing but flail about like a dying fish as I tried to suck in precious gulps of tainted air. “Jon!”
Those were my last words before I slipped from this world and into the next.
* * *
I floated above my body, feeling neither pain nor fear. I was apathetic to the events taking place below me. Jon had entered the laundry and was now desperately trying to blow air into my lungs. When I failed to respond, he slapped both cheeks until the pain forced me back into my body. I lay gasping in shock, coughing and choking as air traveled down my bruised windpipe. He helped me sit up and waved a hand in front of me.
“How many fingers am I holding?”
I squinted. “Nine,” I croaked, my throat sore. “What happened?”
“You were choking,” he said, holding up the tattered scarf. “It was wrapped tight, Anne. It was as though something wouldn’t let me remove it.”
“The… trunk,” I gasped, pointing. “We need—”
“Can you walk? The dogs are getting louder.”
“I think so. Help… me up.”
Jon helped me back through the laundry and down the basement stairs. He told me to stay where I was. “Where is it?”
“Under the stairs.”
Pulling it out so he could see by the light of the lantern, he tried the lock and let out a violent oath. “It looks like someone took a hammer and chisel to the thing.” He raised the crowbar, and with several loud blows, the lock exploded in a hail of shrapnel. “Is it wrapped in a sheet?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Thank God you decided to use two locks.”
“Anjuli told me to.”
I watched Jon carefully lift it out, and I held out my hands. Once it was back in my arms, I cradled it to me as if it were my firstborn. “Is there another way out of here?” he demanded. “I think someone saw me kick in the door.”
“There’s a door leading to the alley.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I turned, opened my shirt, and stuffed the sari down into the opening. Feeling it against me was a surreal experience. I felt both sad and exhilarated. “It only opens from the inside,” I told him, my voice weak. “Keeps out people like us.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing my hand. “Bloody hell! Your hand is like ice.”
“I know.”
“Come on.”
I let him lead me to the door, where Mr. Perez received shipments of soap and lye. He pried it open with the crowbar and peered outside. “We’re going to have to make a run for it,” he said, turning to me. “I think the police have been summoned.”
“Oh, no!”
“We’ll split up. I’ll draw their attention while you make your way to that little dress shop we passed by earlier. Do you remember where it is?”
“I think so.” I gazed up at him fearfully. “What if you’re caught?”
“I’ll create a diversion while you make your way to the shop. There’s an area under the stairs in the back. Hide there until I come for you.”
“What if you—”
“I will,” he assured me, making me frown at his self-confidence. “But if I am detained, I want you to make your way to this address.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and tucked it into mine. “It’s my flat. Within walking distance.” He handed me the key. “Let yourself in and don’t open the door for anybody. I’ll make my way to you.”
“I don’t like this…”
“You don’t have to like it,” he scolded, opening the door on rusted hinges. “Run to the left and keep to the alley until you come to an opening. Then follow the cat.”
“What cat?”
“There’s a stray cat that comes by every night for dinner. I always give him a saucer of milk.”
“And how will I know this cat?”
Jon gazed down at me with a curious look. “He’s black and white. You can’t miss him.”
Still reluctant, I was about to say there could be any number of black and white cats in the vicinity. As if sensing my reluctance, he shoved me outside and barked at me to keep to the left. “Go!” he shouted, running in the opposite direction. “And don’t stop for anything!”
Something in his voice compelled me to obey.
I tore down the alley, keeping to the left as he said. Behind me, I could hear the wail of police sirens and the muffled sounds of people grumbling about the noise. The sickening stench of rotten garbage beckoned, luring me to a wall crowded with overflowing cans. I stopped upon hearing a woman’s piercing shrieks and forced myself to keep going.
The alley seemed to stretch for miles, leading me past Mr. Gadot’s shop and the antique store two doors down. I counted how many doors I needed to pass before I made it to the open street. A dark figure darted out, scaring me half to death. But he was only the Chinese man who lived above his restaurant. He dumped a bag of trash into the street, assailing my senses with rotten cabbage and sour duck sauce.
“The cat,” I muttered under my breath. “Where is the cat?” My fingers brushed the wall, seeking guidance within the narrow space. The sirens grew louder, accompanied by frantic police officers who would surely dare a glance at the alley. “Here, kitty,” I called softly, hoping the cat hadn’t been frightened away by the loud noises.
The cat was not in sight. I heard mice and rats scurrying all around me as they fled in the opposite direction of Mr. Perez’s laundry. I followed them, knowing they would eventually lead me to the street. With their frantic squeaking cries urging me on, I emerged in an open area, just like Jon said.
Perhaps my befuddled mind should have waited for the cat. Once on the street, I was exposed and garbed as a man. Fortunately, there were few people about. Some were the usual vagrants populating this area of the city. I could smell cheap beer and wine mingling with the odor of bodily fluids. My gorge rising that much higher, I sought a streetlamp and took out the piece of paper Jon had given me. Squinting to make sense of the address, I wished I hadn’t discarded my spectacles during the scuffle with the unknown entity. His flat was within walking distance.
Within walking distance of Grant’s Tomb.
I wasn’t anywhere near Morningside Heights.
Hanging my head in defeat, I began a slow march along unfamiliar streets, hoping I’d meet a good Samaritan. They were few and far between in Manhattan. Crime was rampant in some parts of the city, especially Mulberry Street. Even if Teddy Roosevelt was Police Commissioner, corruption could still be found in police officers on the take and Tammany Hall. I did not trust those wearing a blue uniform and steered clear of those making their rounds.
As a woman, I dreaded walking unescorted through these cobbled streets.
At night.
My clothing helped somewhat. My hair was scraped back in one of Anjuli’s severe buns and I had a sari stuffed down my shirt. I thought it lent the illusion of a middle-aged paunch but didn’t know what I’d do about my voice. Hopefully, it was hoarse enough from nearly being strangled to death.
I had a general idea of where Morningside Heights was located. Though still under construction, I’d visited Grant’s Tomb several times when I first arrived, thinking everyone should see the location where the Civil War hero and former president was laid to rest. I rather coveted the former general’s eternal rest, thinking if I held onto the sari long enough, I just might join him.
A horrific thought pierced my skull. I could rid myself of it. Since everyone wanted the thing with no consideration of the danger involved, I could fling it into the river. I could say I was robbed. Anjuli may not forgive me. Neither would Jon. But I was drained, both mentally and physically. I had nearly been strangled to death and knew the shadows wouldn’t stop there.
The sari had driven Colonel Havelock insane.
I turned around and headed for the Brooklyn Bridge.
