The Tears of Nero (The Halo Group Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter 8

They trudged along the beach, looking for anything suspicious, searching for that place on the map that might yield more clues.  They had seen too much not to be wary and took each step carefully as if fearful of stepping on a land mine.  As had quickly become custom, Edward led the way, making inroads through the sand.  Their journey was set to the mournful sound of a violin. 

Nero was nearby.  Watching them.  

“I have a feeling I will hate all classical music by the time we get off this island,” Franklin said. 

“Country music too,” Kelly added, trying to make light of the situation.  “Except in Nashville, they call ‘em fiddles.”

“Does anybody else know anything else about the Nero mentioned in history?” Edward asked. 

“The Great Fire of Rome began in the Circus Maximus,” Sadie said.   “Some accounts favor Nero as the arsonist.  The theory holds that Nero started the fire because he wanted to bypass the senate and rebuild Rome to his liking.  Fires in Rome weren’t all that uncommon, but this one burned for five days and was set to the accompaniment of Nero’s fiddle.  When the fires finally died down, ten of fourteen Roman districts lay in ruin.  In order to raise money to rebuild the city, Nero imposed tributes on the provinces of the empire.  Needless to say, this made Nero even more unpopular to the Romans.  Nero diffused the blame and flexed his governmental muscle by targeting Christians.  Some were thrown to the dogs.  Others were crucified or turned into human torches.  Nero burned Christians at night to illuminate his garden parties.”

“Whoa!  Back the truck up,” Franklin said.  “You rattled all that off too easily.  Where‘s the textbook?”

“What do you mean?”  

“That little book report about Nero sounds like something that has been memorized and recited.  I’ve learned never to trust women, and you, darling, are setting off my Spidey Sense.”

“As much as it pains me, I agree with Franklin,” Henry said.  “I was a history teacher, and I have to confess that your knowledge on the subject came a little too readily.  I couldn’t have done quite so well.  Why do you know so much about this subject again?”

“I’m a history buff,” Sadie said.  “It’s a hobby.”

“So it’s just coincidence that you happen to have a wealth of knowledge about Nero when we’re being held captive by a man who calls himself Nero?” Franklin said. 

“Did it ever occur to you that my knowledge of ancient Rome might be one of the reasons I was selected to be here?” Sadie asked.  “We still don’t know why any of us were chosen.  Maybe we each have some special expertise that makes us useful.  Remember the gauntlet theory?  We‘re all competing to become the rider of the pale horse.  Maybe my knowledge of ancient Rome will give me the advantage over the rest of you losers.”

Henry smiled.  There was something about his expression that temporarily disarmed Sadie. 

“What is it?” she said.  “You look like the cat who ate the canary.”

“You may be a wealth of knowledge, Ms. Gale, but there is something to be said for age and experience.  The student still has much to learn, it seems.”

“Meaning what?” 

“There’s something wrong about your version of events,” Henry said with a gleam in his eye.  “I’m surprised that you didn’t know this, but there’s no way Nero could have played the fiddle while Rome burned.”

“Why not?” she asked.  “That’s what I’ve always heard.”

“Not all of history supports this notion.  You see, the fiddle hadn’t been invented at the time.  In fact, it wouldn’t be invented for another thousand years.  Nero might have played a lyre, another type of stringed instrument, but definitely not a fiddle.  The historian, Suetonius, actually records that Nero sang the “Sack of Ilium” in stage costume while the city burned.  Tacitus said that Nero wasn’t even in Rome at the time but in Antium.  Also FYI, Nero was responsible for torturing and beheading the apostle Paul and killing the apostle Peter by inverted crucifixion.”

“Maybe I was selected to be the resident moron on this island,” Franklin said.  “I feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of college professors.  I‘ll take The Idiot‘s Guide to Roman History for $100, Alex.” 

Henry laughed.  “I retired as a science and calculus teacher, but I also taught history at one point in my career.  In that respect, I consider myself a sort of Renaissance man.”

Franklin grunted, unconvinced.  “Whatever.  I’ll think I’ll bow out of Final Jeopardy.”

“Let‘s think about this,” Edward said.  “If the Nero from history couldn’t have played a fiddle while Rome burned, our captor isn’t aware of that fact.  Either that or he doesn’t care.  Does anybody else know anything about Nero?”

Sadie spoke up.  “Isn’t it possible that we’re dealing with a guy whose name is Nero?”

“It’s possible,” Edward agreed.  “But improbable.  Remember the dinner party.  This guy fed a Christian to a bunch of hungry lions.  I don‘t think that‘s a coincidence.  There‘s something else…but it‘s probably nothing.”

“You obviously have some thoughts of your own,” Henry urged.  “What’s on your mind?”

Edward sighed.  “This is going to sound crazy but some religious scholars believe that the number 666 in Revelation is actually a code for Nero.  At the time Revelation was written, Christians were being heavily persecuted.  John used a type of code called
gematria
in which numbers are used to represent certain letters to call Nero out without writing down the emperor’s name.  The numerical values of Nero’s name in Hebrew are 666.”

“Which means what?” Franklin asked.

“Well, one theory holds that Nero is actually the Antichrist.”

“I think you’re grasping at straws,” Franklin said.

“I told you it was a crazy idea,” Edward said.  “I just think we shouldn't discount any theories at this point.  Not until we know what we're up against.” 

“I agree,” Henry said.  “While it’s impossible that we’re dealing with the Nero from ancient Rome, it’s not inconceivable that our captor is delusional enough to think that he might be the reincarnation of such a person.”

“So you think this Nero might truly believe he is an ancient Roman emperor?” Sadie asked.

“It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened.  The mystic, Aleister Crowley, proclaimed himself to be the Antichrist too.  Maybe our captor took that one step further and named himself after a person from history who some believe was the physical representation of the number of the beast.”

“This is all too much to swallow,” Franklin said.  “I need a drink…or a cigarette…or a drink and a cigarette.” 

“We’re just talking,” Henry assured him.  “Right now, these are just ideas.”

“Maybe we should hurry up and find that place on the map where we believe the next chest is buried,” Edward suggested. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s the right idea,” Kelly said.

“Of course,” Franklin said.  “I’m sure you sense it.”

Kelly smiled and winked.  “Of course.” 

The roar of the ocean sounded like white noise coming from the biggest TV in the world.  The group walked along the beach, leaving tracks in the wet sand.  The ocean, like a dutiful maid, came in behind them and swept up the footprints they’d left behind, leaving only miles and miles of smooth, unblemished beach.  

“Why us?” Sadie wondered as swirling water tickled their toes.  “What’s so special about us?”

“What do we really know about each other?” Franklin asked.

“We know that Kelly has some special intuitive gifts,” Henry said.

“Correction,” Franklin interjected.  “We know Kelly says she has some intuitive gifts.  I still think she’s in cahoots with Nero.”

“Let‘s not go there again,” Henry said, dismissing Franklin with a wave of his hand.

“We also know that Henry used to be a teacher,” Kelly said.  “What about you, Franklin?  What‘s special about you?”  

Franklin adjusted his Prada glasses and smoothed his hair.  He looked like a younger, heavier version of Bill Gates.  “I own a company that develops GPS tracking systems for the military.”

“Interesting,” Henry remarked.  “So we’ve got a seer, a teacher of math and science, and an entrepreneur with ties to the government.  Edward, what‘s your story?”

Edward kicked the sand with his loafer and shoved both hands in his pockets.  “I‘m pretty ordinary,” he sighed.  “Like I said before, I was a minister at one point, but I got off track spiritually after losing my family.  Nothing else about me is really remarkable.”

“A minister?” Henry said, raising his eyebrows.  “I forgot you mentioned that.  Now that’s interesting.  We keep coming back to the religious angle.  So we’re stuck on an island that may or may not be Patmos.  Nero has assembled a team consisting of a man who is an expert on GPS technology and directional equipment, a man who made his living teaching logic and reason, a man of God who might be a compass for the rest of us, and a psychic.  Sadie, love, that leaves only you.  Where do you fit in?”

“I’m not really all that special,” Sadie admitted.  “I’m an accountant by day and an aspiring novelist by night.  And you already know I‘m a history buff.”             

“I’m not sure how any of those things might fit into Nero’s master plan.  Is there anything special or unusual about you?”

“I have a photographic memory,” Sadie said.  “It’s how I remember so much about everything.”

The revelation was enough to stop Henry in his tracks.  “This keeps getting better and better.  Is that how you were able to tell us so much about Nero?”

Sadie nodded. 

“I don‘t doubt you a bit, darling, but would you mind proving your gift to the group?” Henry asked. 

“What’s your favorite candy bar?” she asked.

“Snickers.” 

“Milk chocolate, sugar, cocoa butter, chocolate, skimmed milk,
lactose
, milkfat, soy
lecithin
, artificial flavor, peanuts,
corn syrup
, sugar, skim milk, butter,
partially hydrogenated soybean oil
, lactose, salt,
egg whites
and artificial flavor.  Those are the ingredients listed on the wrapper.”

“Nicely done,” Henry said, falling back into his old role of teacher and encourager.  

“I used to work in a convenience store,” she admitted.  “I can tell you what’s in every candy bar on the shelf if you want.  I used to get bored a lot.” 

“That’s amazing,” Edward admitted.  “I’m impressed.”

“It’s helpful at times,” Sadie said.  “I can list every element on the Periodic Table from least to greatest in terms of electron number.  I can tell you every name listed on the World War II monument in Washington D.C.”

“So you’re like a walking desk reference,” Edward said.  “That might be a huge benefit.”

“I can recite the entire Bible from beginning to end too,” Sadie said.  “My mother made me read it when I was twelve.”

“Good to know,” Henry said.  “Maybe the connection we all share will become clear in time.  Let’s continue to play Nero’s game and see where it takes us.” 

Edward consulted the map.  “I think we’re almost at the next location that’s marked.”

“I don’t see any treasure chest,” Franklin said.  “This can’t be it.”

“He’s right.  We’re here,” Kelly said.  “This is the spot.”

Edward turned the map to have a look at it from a different angle.  “According to this, there should be a boulder in the shape of a fist nearby.  Does anybody see it?”

“There,” Henry said.  “Behind that scrub.  If you look at it from the side, you can make out the knuckles and the thumb tucked to the side.”

“Sure enough,” Edward said.  “He’s right.”

“So how does that help us?  We’re at the exact place on the map where the delta is located, but there is no chest.”

“It’s here,” Kelly maintained.  “I know it.”

“Maybe it’s hidden,” Sadie said.  “It ain’t called buried treasure for nothing.”

“The first box was buried,” Franklin reminded them.

“So let’s dig,” Henry said.

Chapter 9

The scorching sun beat down on them like a merciless taskmaster.  Thankfully, it didn’t take much digging before Henry struck something hard.  “Here it is,” he said.  “Edward, be a gent and give me a hand.”

Like the other chest, this one was encrusted with barnacles and looked at least a hundred years old.  Only the latches and hinges were new.  Henry opened the box without hesitation, plunging his hand into the darkness. 

He screamed immediately and fell back into the sand, slapping at something on his arm.  Out of the shadows of the palm trees and into the sunlight the spiders scurried over his skin.  He managed to knock all of them off before any of them could bite, but the damage was done.  Henry reacted like a man who had been set on fire.  He flailed and yelled and violently threw himself backward, making every attempt to get away from the freshly dug hole in the sand.  

Hundreds of black widows scuttled across the outside of the box, their black bodies shining in the noonday sun like dark gems.  The red on their backs looked like drops of blood.  The old man crab-walked backward as fast as he could, groaning and trying to keep his balance in the wet sand.

“Get them away from me,” Henry said, slapping at his arms and legs.  “I’m afraid of spiders.”

“Look at the old fool go,” Franklin said, taking some enjoyment from Henry’s fear.  “That’s priceless.” 

“They’re poisonous spiders, you moron,” Henry said.  “Anyone with half a brain knows that.  It makes sense for me to be afraid.”

Kelly and Sadie tended to Henry while Edward tried to figure out a way to get at whatever was inside the treasure chest.  After some thought, he pulled off one of the dress loafers he’d been wearing, ran down to the beach, and filled the shoe with ocean water.  By the time he got back, many of the spiders had already made their way onto the sand. 

“Make yourself useful and step on them, Franklin,” he said as he used the water in his shoe to wash them off of the outside of the antiquated box.  “You’re used to throwing your weight around.  You should be good at this.” 

“I don‘t take orders from you,” Franklin huffed.  

“I’ll do it,” Kelly sighed, leaving Henry’s side to help Edward with the task at hand.  While Edward made another trip down to the water’s edge, Kelly stomped the spiders with her pumps, twisting her heels to grind them into the dirt. 

It took a few more trips down to the ocean to get enough water to wash the spiders off of the box.  After Kelly stepped on all the ones that had fallen to the ground, she took off her shoe and used it to smash those spiders that were still scurrying around the inside of the chest. 

“I think that’s all of them,” she said at last.

“Please be certain,” Henry gasped, clutching his chest. 

“We got ‘em all, Henry,” Edward said, trying to be reassuring. 

Henry’s face was a pasty white that would have looked at home in an infectious disease ward or a mortuary.  By degrees, the color returned to his cheeks, and his breathing slowed down to its regular, monotonous rhythm. 

“Nero did that on purpose,” Henry said.  “He knows about me.  He knows my history.  He’s done his homework.  I’ll give him credit for that.  First Margaret.  Now this.”

“Why do you think he was targeting you?” Sadie asked, wiping the old man’s forehead with a wet handkerchief. 

“Because I have a certain history with the black widow spider,” Henry said.  “My baby brother was killed by one when I was eight.”

“How old was your brother?” Edward asked.

“Two and a half,” Henry said.  “I was supposed to be watching him.  We were playing out in the yard, and I got thirsty.  I went to get a drink of water.  When I came back Jack was trying to get his hands on something in the woodpile.  It was a black widow.  He died three days after the spider bit him.  I’ve never forgiven myself for that, and I still think about what kind of life Jack would have today if I hadn’t gone in for that drink of water.”

Traumatized by the reopening of old wounds, Henry’s eyes filled with tears, forcing him to bury his face in his hands.  He was still affected by the accident even though it had happened more than fifty years ago.

“There’s no way to be sure that Nero was targeting you by placing those spiders inside the box,” Franklin argued. 

“What did your brother look like?” Edward asked. 

Henry stopped crying long enough to look up.  “Blonde curly hair.  Thin lips.  Ice blue eyes.  Dimples.”

“This surprise was definitely meant for you,” Edward said, pulling an old photograph out of the chest. 

Henry’s eyes widened and he gasped at the sight of the picture.  “Jack,” he said.  “Oh, Jack.”

A phrase they had all become familiar with was written across the bottom of the photograph in permanent marker:  “Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?”

Sadie and Kelly put their arms around Henry, consoling him.  Franklin stood there like a peacock, puffed up and too proud to do anything other than ignore the rest of the group.  Edward, meanwhile, studied the picture.  “There’s something else written on the back,” he said.

Henry wiped the tears from his eyes and walked over to Edward.  Edward handed the old man the photograph.  Henry studied the picture of his long-dead brother for a moment and then reluctantly flipped the picture over.

“Be sure your sins will find you out,” the message read.  “Remember.  Omission is a sin too!”