High Priestess - II

Novella from Tarot Blanco

Ergo listen if zounds appear before elsewise to hark

Bone innex glass light Etched yesterday.

Ohio State Penitentiary, 18 September 1907

The guard to the penitentiary looked up and saw a cleanly well-dressed man oiling on his toes the way up the well-trimmed path with a mission. But then, everyone on the inside was a convicted felon or their jailer, that’s why they were sent here. The guard noticed that the man was a trifle thin around all of the edges that mattered, and obviously, though he hid it well, the days of high living were behind him not in front. But still, there was a jacket and a vest, which were made of the same cloth, and trousers which were not His footsteps fell like glass - cautious and discrete. One had to notice such things when one was a guard. Especially if one was Sgt. Jack O’Flanagan who was only recently promoted to Sgt.

He decided that this was not a threat and opened the cavernous gates into his portion of hell, with all of the sinners contemplating their piece of the fall of man. The man stopped in front of the ponderous desk and presented credentials. From these Jack wrote down the name and it rang a bell. But Jack was recently transferred up to the pinnacle of prisons. The credential said that the name was “Emil Hoover” and that he was from across the border in Norwich up in north Ontario, the land of the little black flies that consumed anything they could light upon and skewer. The one thing that he remembered was that it was a place on the underground railroad that it Negro in safety. But what of it? Instead, he focused on the man that the credentials said was Emil. Then after Jack examined the face with the neatly trimmed hair and a small mustache that was meticulously groomed. He noted that the skin was pale and betrayed nothing of hard work out of doors. Only the eyes had something hypnotic about them and other than that he was exceedingly plain.

“Who are you here to see, if I might ask?” These days politeness was a given and cost nothing even to the damned and their progeny.

With a measured calm, Emil replied back: “I am taking a few trinkets to my mother, Cassie Chadwick.”

Jack looked at him and then asked: “What is your business if I may?”

“I sell decanters to well-off residents.” This was said without inflection.

It sent a bolt down Jack’s spine because she was one of the stars of the prison population. She had been convicted of embezzling huge amounts of money from Carnegie, yes that Carnegie: Andrew Carnegie one of the richest men in America, and apparently one of her swindles. He did not remember all the details but he knew that Cassie took enormous care to research down to the last nugget of information and often visited the house and asked a servant a variety of questions which implied that Cassie was in some illicit way involved in darker dealings. She had been sent down from Cleveland to spend 10 years gaining the trust of bankers and then swindling them for free pennies that could be had. In the millions. No wonder Emil took such pride in his leisure of way steps. Jack looked at him quite differently as an animal in the form of a human being.

He looked at Emil, then once more had the credentials, then one more time at the calm face. But there was nothing he could pin on either the face or the credential. And so he made him in but turned around to his subordinate and told him to man the desk while Jack became Sgt. O’Flanagan. He wanted to watch and observe and note down anything which was unusual.

Emil was let in by the regular guard and they exchanged brief nods because Emil was a regular. But then Cassie had persuaded the prison warden to leave some pictures and furniture so that she could manage a small bit of comfort. Because at her age 10 years was usually a life sentence in disguise, if the water did not get you then the food would. She looked up from her cell and saw Emil, and only then did she claw her way to an upright position.

“Emil, I hope you got everything that I asked for. You’re sure that the casket was made to my specifications?”

“Each and every gospel. You have been meticulous in choreographing your funeral. Are you sure that this is the appropriate time?”

She looked down at her left sleeve and then up at Emil. “I am certain that now is the time, the angel of death keeps on rapping at the bars for for his tribute.

Then Emil then handed over the small white letter filled to the brim. Then Emil said: “I have business to attend to, please do take extraordinary care.”

“All my plans are almost in place and the tombstone will arrive in two days with only the death date meeting to be etched.”

Over on the other side of the prison gate, Jack heard nothing which was unusual. If a person had even the slightest of means they wanted to prepare for their funeral. All was in order, or so it seemed.

Then on the next day, Cassie suffered what could only called shell shock and her site was taken from her and left her blind. Thereafter she deteriorated rapidly and was pronounced dead by an old physician who had attended her in her final months.

After that, there was a carriage to take her back to Woodstock, Ontario. It was driven by Emil, who seemed to be the only relevant that she had. And on the 16th of October, she was buried in the Episcopal church on the grounds. Emil disappeared after that without a trace.

But then one day in 1908, an inspector from the state walked up to the gate of the penitentiary. Jack realized that his face was extremely serious.

At the desk, the inspector showed him a photograph. “Did you check on the body before it was handed over?”

“Everything seemed in order. Why do you ask.”

“This photograph was taken only two weeks ago in Chicago, and it bears an uncomfortable similarity to Mrs. Cassie Chadwick.”

“That would be an extremely unusual twist because Cassie went blind just for she died.”

“And who determined this?”

“The doctor, of course.”

“Did she have any connection to the doctor?”

“He was taking care of her for the last few months of her life. Why?”

“We found the doctor, and his throat was slit but with a crude pane from out of a window. It seems that someone had entered into his back door.”

“Are you saying that Mrs Chadwick actually escaped?”

“Can I expect the grave site?”

“No, her son took her away to Ontario.”

It was only then that the inspector looked away, rolled his eyes, and then turned back to Sgt. O’Flannery. “You did not see me come here. The record of Mrs. Chadwick is to be sealed for 50 years, and no questions will be answered. To I make myself understood?”

Crystal as glass.