The Fallen Parler: Part One (A supernatural mystery thriller) (12 page)

‘I don’t care about Arthur Mannox’s instruction!’ barked Mr. Brown. ‘My concern is the safety of this town. If their powers are what Cato wants, that is what he’ll get…I’ll have no more bloodshed!’

‘You understand little of this matter, Nicholas!’ snapped the doctor. ‘If it is true that Cato is alive, then he will kill us all when he acquires whatever he wants.’

Mr. Brown circled the room, but somehow evaded the paths of the four invisible persons.

‘I never signed up for this when I took the job, Augustus!’ whispered Mr. Brown, ‘this is not my world…I am a mere!’

‘You are a mere who is well versed in matters of parlery, Mr. Brown!’

‘People are asking too many questions,’ spat the mayor, ‘they are speaking of taking back my seat!’

‘Is that all you think about, Nicholas?’ muttered Dr. Willow. The doctor managed a cynical chortle, ‘what about our dear friend, Percy, who worked all his life in this school, safeguarding its secrets?’

‘Till Cato got to him, of course!’ cried Mr. Brown, ‘we might as well just give him what he wants and be done with it.’

Mr. Brown’s terror-filled eyes appeared to gloss in a transient shaft of light from the headmaster’s office. ‘To think that Percy went down… protecting this!’

The mayor strode to the chamber wall and ran his fingers over it. On accepting Dr. Willow’s nod of approval, he knocked the wall twice, before pausing. After a moment, the mayor knocked once more. The following moment was filled with unadulterated silence. Suddenly, the chamber grounds trembled. The concrete wall parted sideways, revealing a shimmering vault.

‘See,’ said Mr. Brown, pointing at the vault, ‘nothing has changed, Cato has not gotten to it… it’s safe.’

‘Williamson did not die in vain,’ sighed Dr. Willow, ‘he died protecting whatever lies beneath that vault and, not even Cato, with all his power, can unseal it.’

‘But you know who can open it Augustus!’

‘For heaven sakes, Nicholas!’ exclaimed Dr. Willow, ‘they are only children…the boy is audacious and poorly mannered, the girl is obnoxious and a somewhat timid version of her brother – but they can be excused, for they are children!’

The mayor was suddenly resolute, ‘as you wish, Augustus,’ he muttered, ‘we will leave the
‘children’
ignorant as they are, but any more bloodshed is on your hands…don’t say that you weren’t warned!’

With that, the mayor knocked the wall three times, in the same pattern that he had used to open it. Like magic, the wall shifted to its original position. Two cloaked men tossed their hoods over their faces and started along the staircase, marching upwards, to the headmaster’s office.

‘What was that?’ shrieked Charlotte, once the shadows of the cloaked men could no longer be seen.

‘Felix, you have some explaining to do,’ said Sasha, turning on her heels, only to discover that Felix had vanished.

‘Where is he?’ shot Charlotte, ‘Felix was just behind me.’

‘He has a ‘state’ of invisibility that not even parlers can detect, remember?’ said Junior. ‘I have a feeling that Felix does not want to be found.’

‘He can’t just tell us that we are supernatural beings and then disappear!’ cried Charlotte, ‘we must find him.’

‘Finding Felix is the last of our concerns,’ gulped Sasha, ‘this person that the doctor mentioned, Cato. He must be the Shorebridge Ripper. He’s killing anyone who comes between himself and whatever lies beneath that vault.’

Sasha glanced at the wall which, only a moment ago, had enclosed a shimmering vault.

‘But he needs us to get it,’ said Junior, ‘why?’

‘Who knows,’ muttered Sasha, ‘one thing we do know is that Charlotte was right. Arthur Mannox is Allan Roterbee.’

Turning away in disgust, Junior cried, ‘how could he keep this from us! Our entire lives, all he ever did was lie …he couldn’t even tell us his real name.’

‘And with good reason!’ snapped Charlotte, ‘this whole parler thing – it sounds dangerous, people
are being killed. Our father
was probably only trying to protect us!’

‘Hey now!’ yelled Sasha, stepping between Junior and Charlotte, ‘we shouldn’t bicker amongst ourselves.’

Charlotte turned away from her brother, upset. She hated having to believe that Junior was right and that Allan Roterbee was a liar. The more she learned of her father’s secrets, the less she wished to know. After a few chilling moments, Junior muttered, ‘you’re right Sasha, we shouldn’t bicker amongst ourselves.’

‘It’s midnight!’ whispered Sasha, ‘you’d better get back to the Willow Lodge before the doctor realises that you’re missing!’

Charlotte nodded silently and started towards the spiralling staircase.

‘The tale of two twins’

Across the kitchen table, Junior shot the doctor a menacing glare, ‘pass me the milk,’ he muttered.

‘Where are your manners, young man!’ snapped Dr. Willow.

‘Pass me the milk…
please
,’ Junior’s request was slightly angrier than it had been the first time.

Dr. Willow tossed the milk across the kitchen table and exclaimed, ‘what has gotten into the both of you…you’ve not said a word all morning!’

Charlotte and Junior shrugged impassively.

‘…you youngsters should be pleased that it’s the weekend,’ harped the doctor, ‘what is the slang they use these days?’

‘
Stoked
…that’s it. I bet you are extremely stoked that it’s the weekend.’

Dr. Willow was answered, again, with silence.

‘Maybe Miz Charley and Mizter Junior do not want to talk today,’ said Luchia, breaking the awkward silence, ‘zat’s okay… silence can be good.’

‘You would do well to take your own advice, Luchia,’ the doctor retorted, ‘indeed, silence can be extremely awesome.’

Dr. Willow glanced at the Roterbee twins again, checking if they’d reacted to his unsuitable use of slang.

Charlotte cringed, ‘you don’t have to put
extremely
before every slang word you use, Dr. Willow, that isn’t cool at all.’

The doctor scratched his unkempt beard, ‘
cool
, I’ll remember that one.’

Junior sat, silent and still, as he’d been all morning. It angered him that Dr. Willow could be so calm after what he had discussed with Mr. Brown down in the chamber. Of course, the doctor did not know that Mr. Brown was not the only person engaged in his conversation, as the four other eavesdroppers were imperceptible! Even still, the doctor must’ve been quite the actor. He had managed to conceal his secrets from the twins for weeks, and had probably kept them for many years prior to the arrival of Charlotte and Junior Roterbee. Shorebridge was similar to a secret society, only mystical and more sinister. The doctor, Mr. Brown, Mr. Williamson and Arthur Mannox were all members. Junior was disgusted. These men had known about the murderer, Cato, for months, but had not done anything to impede him. As a result, Williamson, and possibly others, had paid with their own lives. What supreme power could
‘Cato’
possess that made even the doctor and the mayor tremble? Though the mayor was, undoubtedly, a disagreeable man, Junior found himself siding with Mr. Brown as opposed to the doctor. Dr. Willow’s strategy of sitting quietly and watching as the murderer silently massacred the town certainly would not suffice. No, they were to find the killer… at least before he found them. All night, Junior toiled relentlessly about his bed, envisioning himself capturing the killer and avenging his father’s death. From what he had learned the night before, it was only logical to assume that Cato had murdered Allan Roterbee. Charlotte was sceptical of the idea at first, but in light of the evidence, she had come to believe it as staunchly as Junior. The Roterbee twins had managed to digest every new piece of information that had been presented to them. However, one concept which neither Junior nor Charlotte had come to fathom was the idea that they possessed ‘magical’ powers. The mysterious invisible man, Felix Corneli, had merely informed them that they were parlers and disappeared before he had gone into any real depth of the word. Was it some type of sorcery? Were these powers conceived through blood or assigned randomly? It could not be a coincidence that both Charlotte and her brother were elected as parlers, whilst Sasha was branded a mere ‘mere’. Did Allan Roterbee, or Arthur Mannox, possess these powers as well? Finding answers to these questions were going to be just as important as tracking down Cato, and Junior could sense that the two goals had some indisputable link. Junior had heard that word
‘parler’
from the mouth of only one other person…Ma Joelle. He was certain that there was some veracity in the muddled utterings of Sasha’s elderly grandmother, and it was his mission to extract the truth by the end of the day.

‘Charlotte and I are going to visit our friend, Sasha,’ Junior announced.

‘Low and behold, he speaks!’ cried Dr. Willow, ‘what, exactly, is the purpose of your visit?’

‘History project,’ blurted Charlotte.

The doctor glared at Charlotte suspiciously, ‘you are getting extremely close to Miss Fling.’

‘She’s our friend!’ shot Junior.

‘Very well,’ muttered Dr. Willow, ‘as it is an
educational
visit, you have my permission.’

When breakfast was finished, Luchia cleared the table routinely. Charlotte and Junior disappeared upstairs and returned in thick winter coats, leather gloves and knitted scarfs. Luchia was pleased that they’d wrapped up.

‘Now remember, ze first rule of keeping zafe from danger -’ Luchia began.

‘Is – sticking – together – at – all – times,’ Junior and Charlotte recited the words in sync, as if they had heard them one thousand times.

‘Be back before 5,’ ordered Dr. Willow, his fuzzy moustache popping over his newspaper.

‘We are 17 years of age, you know!’ snapped Junior.

‘6pm at ze latest!’ bargained Luchia, ‘it’s been getting dark very early lately.’

‘Deal.’

It took ten minutes to walk to Sasha’s home, and on the way there, Charlotte made note of the remarkably bare streets. Though Shorebridge was not ever a busy town, it was never shy of a few cyclists or roadside commuters. As it was a Saturday, Charlotte would’ve expected to see more of the Shorebridge locals out and about, running errands. However, the number of living souls outside was dismal. They were passed by a single, miserable vehicle during the entire ten-minute walk. Mr. Brown’s new regulations were not to be held accountable for the empty streets, as the curfew (which applied to only St. Andrew’s students) was many hours away. It must’ve been by their own wills that the Shorebridge citizens had locked themselves inside their homes and closed all the curtains. Mr. Brown had warned the school that the new protocols were nothing more than a preventative measure. It was clear that the people of Shorebridge had interpreted this message as ‘danger is imminent’, for they had taken matters of safety into their own, vigilant hands. When they arrived at Sasha’s house, after a miserable walk, she was already waiting by the door. They trudged down the familiar walkway, along Sasha’s shabby lawn.

‘Did you get my text?’ said Junior, shrugging out of his jacket as he entered the house.

‘Yes… but I don’t know what we’ll get out of this,’ muttered Sasha, ‘you know as well as I do that my grandma’s wits are…’

‘Her wits are perfectly fine,’ said Junior, ‘she was right about these murders, and she even knew about parlers…that’s more than we know.’

‘Okay,’ said Sasha, ushering the twins to the living room.

Ma Joelle was perched in her wheelchair, gazing out by the window. As Sasha cleared a space on the small cushioned couch, the old woman appeared to detect the presence of her visitors. Ma Joelle curled her neck from the window and began squinting sporadically.

In her now-familiar, thick Haitian accent, Ma Joelle whispered, ‘Sasha, who are dese strangers?’

‘Ma, you’ve met Charlotte and Junior before,’ sighed Sasha, ‘remember?’

The baffled old woman uttered, ‘I neva see dem before.’

Great.
Junior wondered how the frail old woman (who could barely recollect their last meeting) could give them any valuable information. Ma Joelle would likely be no help at all. Sasha wheeled her grandmother’s push chair from the window, ‘they’re here to ask you a few questions, Ma,’ she muttered.

This was the first time that Junior had seen Ma Joelle’s face in broad daylight. The old woman’s chocolate-coloured skin glistened; swollen veins protruded at the back of her hands, revealing Ma Joelle’s true age.

‘The last time we were here, you used a word,’ whispered Junior, ‘you said
parler.’

The old woman trembled in her push chair, ‘huuuush!’ hissed Ma Joelle, her eyes filling with silent terror.

‘De walls have ears,’ croaked the old woman, ordering Sasha to shut the blinds in broken English.

‘You don’t say dat word aloud,’ scowled Ma Joelle.

‘So you do know about parlers?’ whispered Junior.

‘Dat depends on who wants to know!’

‘Do you trust me, Ma Joelle?’ said Junior, searching the old woman’s greying eyes.

Ma Joelle glanced at Sasha for reassurance; when Sasha nodded eagerly, the old woman pointed at a bronze-coloured chest. ‘Get it,’ croaked Ma Joelle.

Junior spotted the large bronze trunk by the fire place; on receiving Ma Joelle’s nod of approval, he bolted to it eagerly. He dragged the large bronze chest to Ma Joelle’s feet and waited, again, for the old woman’s command.

‘Bring out de book called ‘The Secrets of a Fallen-’

‘Parler! ’cried Junior, finishing the old woman’s sentence.

He stroked the ornamented hardcover, marvelling at its beauty. The thick, bronze-coloured book smelt like it had never been read.

‘Every-ting you need to know, in dere,’ croaked Ma Joelle, nodding at the book.

‘I want to know what a parler is,’ gulped Charlotte, nervously, ‘and how they get their powers, of course.’

‘Well den, u must read from de first page, dear,’ replied the old woman, adjusting her push-chair comfortably, ‘go on.’

Junior passed the hardcover to his sister, who opened the first page and sniffed the tea-coloured paper admirably.