The Antique Page 11

  Maria picked up her Irish coffee and took a sip. “We haven’t had much luck lately with the antique shops. I should have bought that nice Smith Corona typewriter back at the Pioneer Square shop when I had the chance. I always wanted to write a novel on an old-fashioned typewriter.”

  Ansen cleared his throat, dabbed his mouth with napkin. “How’s work lately?”

  Maria looked up with a faint cringe across her face. “It’s the usual...working in the banking system, you know. What’s there to talk about? Sometimes I wonder why I work there. It gets boring sometimes.”

  “Hey, it’s the artery of our society. It’s vital.” Ansen, spreading a smile, was pretty proud of his analogy.

  “I guess it is. I never thought about it that way.” A hint of smile escaped from Maria’s drawn face.

  “You are the gatekeeper for a lot of the funds to go through, are you not?” Ansen continued with his effort to keep Maria out of this bout of depression.

  “Yes, but I can’t talk about it, and that’s the problem with my work. It’s so stressful, but I can’t talk to anyone about the work.” Maria suddenly said, “I’m thinking about taking a leave of absence. Take some time off and go travel for a year, and write my novel. That would be fun to do and a nice break from the constant daily grind.”

  “Wow, where did this come from?” Ansen leaned back in his chair and looked at Maria with a probing glance.

  Maria did not flinch. Her eyes stared down at her Irish drink.

  “You’re not joking?”

  Maria shook her head. “Lately, I can’t concentrate at work. I would think about why I was there. It is happening too often now, and it makes you think more about what you want to do with your life.”

  Ansen broke out a laugh, then leaned over and whispered, “Are you experiencing a mid-life crisis? You’re too young for that.”

  Maria shot a disapproving glance. “It’s not funny.”

  Ansen raised his hands up in defense. “Hey, that’s perfectly fine by me. I just never thought you wanted to slow down. I hope I’m not the one that is making you think twice about your job.”

  “Maybe a little,” Maria pinched her fingers. “You can’t say you don’t have an influence on me.”

  “Guilty, but my job is so unpredictable and ancillary to the society. If I disappear from Earth tomorrow, no one will notice.”

  “I would.” Maria feigned an angry glare. “Don’t say something like that. It’s bad luck.”

  “You, my dear, on the other hand, have the power to move billions of dollars through the cyberspace with a stroke of the key, benefiting mankind around the globe.” Ansen raised his hands in an exaggerated floral shape, then spread out his hands, palms down, around Maria as if covering her with magic dust.

  “You are a fun man to be with.” Maria smiled. “I couldn’t say all of the money goes to good use, but I try.”

  Ansen squinted. “If you ever have some juicy stories about the mobs doing money laundering, I would love to hear about them.”

  “Nice try, but that would get me fired.”

  “Fine, next time you need me to help fix your computer, better come with a good story.”

  “Speaking of the computer, the anti-virus program you helped me install on my machine freezes my screen sometimes. It actually slows down my typing. Can you take a look?”

  Ansen showed a haughty smirk. “Did I just hear you asking for help?”

  Maria gave him a look. “Come on, you know there are things I can’t share at work. Sometimes it involves police investigation, FBI, et cetera. Money laundering is no joke. You don’t want to be involved in that business.”

  Ansen put up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No need to lecture me again. Just want to get you to loosen up a little. You have been working too hard lately.”

  “Let’s get back to the antique shop. I think we are done here.” Maria wiped her mouth.

  “Sure—” Ansen signaled the waiter for the check.

  9

  The Antique

  After brunch, Maria and Ansen strolled their way back to the antique shop, expecting to see an empty alley, but when they turned the corner, they saw a small crowd lining up outside the shop’s staircase.

  “What the…” Ansen stopped in his track. “Where the hell did all these people come from?”

  Maria’s first reaction was surprise, followed by exasperation. “Well, we are not going to fight through that crowd just to go down there, are we?”

  “Wait, looks like the line is moving. Let’s just go in and see. Fifteen minutes tops. If there is nothing, we leave.”

  “Sure thing, hon, just lead the way.” Maria leaned against Ansen and nudged him forward. “You are the one with balls in this relationship; now act like one.”

  The crowd outside of the antique shop actually made the situation both hectic and exciting. Normally, neither Maria nor Ansen enjoyed crowded shopping experiences, but this time there was a different vibe. When Ansen and Maria approached the line, they felt like they were waiting outside of a famous nightclub; it was odd and exciting at the same time. They recognized some local familiar faces, and a few others they had met back at the coffee shop.

  “So, what is the deal here? Are we missing something? Why the buzz?” Ansen and Maria got into line.

  It was 1:35 p.m. and the door to the antique shop slowly opened with a loud creak. Maria and Ansen could not see the front of the line below the staircase, but they could hear the antique shop owner greeting the first few patrons.

  “Please come in, and be careful where you walk. It’s a bit of a mess. Everything must go.” Manfred repeated this phrase as people passed him, and nodded with a trained smile on his face.

  By the time Maria and Ansen made it down the staircase, Manfred decided he had enough of greeting and sat down on a small stool next to the door. He nodded at Maria and Ansen as they walked by.

  Maria stopped and asked Manfred, “Do you have any old typewriters?”

  Manfred looked up at Maria, and his eyes widened a bit behind those bushy eyebrows.

  “You two were here earlier, weren’t you? I recognize your voice.” He smiled.

  “Yes, we were here earlier, but your shop was closed. How long has your shop been here?”

  “I have been around, but this place is new. We have been looking for our children.”

  “We?” Maria probed curiously.

  “My family––I have an aging mother and a sick wife. They wish to see her before they pass away.”

  Ansen leaned over and held out his hand. “My name is Ansen, and this is Maria. We love shopping for antiques and today she’s searching for a typewriter.”

  “Typewriter? Just your luck today because I have a personal typewriter I’m selling.” Manfred reached out his left hand and shook Ansen's hand at an awkward angle. “Name is Manfred; nice to make your acquaintance. Come, follow me. It’s in the back.”

  Ansen saw Maria’s face light up when the owner mentioned his typewriter for sale. He hoped the typewriter was still in working condition.

  They passed through the front of the store where most of visitors were rummaging and browsing, working their way to the back of the store. They were surprised by the size of the underground shop. The walls were bare and exposed the aged red bricks. There was a musky smell permeating the closed space. Maria felt a wave of nausea washing over her when Manfred came to them with something in his hand.

  “I normally will bring the thing out to you, but I’m getting old and have a bad knee…” Manfred knelt down from behind a counter and pulled out a small, dark suitcase. He carefully opened the lock on the case and removed the suitcase cover. Underneath, there was a gorgeous, black typewriter.

  “I typed my first love letter to my wife, Meredith, on this beauty,” said Manfred.

  “Oh, why are you selling something so precious?” Maria was surprised how eager Manfred was to sell the typewriter if it was so sentimental. It could only mean the story was ju
st a ploy, but the way he looked with such sincerity made her want to believe him.

  “It still types as well as the first day I got it.” He put his wrinkled hand over the typewriter, almost caressing it. “It just needs a new tape. I personally kept it clean and maintained it over the years. I’m ready to let go of all these things to good homes.”

  Maria and Ansen looked over the typewriter; everything seemed to be in good working order, but nothing beat a typing test. Before Maria could ask for a piece of paper, Manfred had already slid in a piece of white sheet of paper and stepped back. He urged Maria to give it a try.

  “When I was young like you, I could type over 100 words per minute on a good day. This typewriter never let me down.” He looked up at Maria and smiled, “Are you a writer? Can you type on these old things?”

  “Not really a professional, but I like them because they hold stories.” Maria smiled. She tested the typewriter using the standard phrase: The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. She then typed through the numbers and the punctuation marks. Everything came out buttery smooth.

  “Oh yes––” Manfred was surprised at how Maria was handling the typewriter. “I’m impressed––you are a good typist. The way you typed means you can bring a soul back to her.” Manfred greased a smile on his wrinkly face.

  “Wait, did you feel that?” Maria raised her hand to signal a quiet moment.

  “What?” Ansen was expecting Maria to deliver a punch line after her typing test. Since they had started dating, Maria often showed a wry sense of humor in the most unexpected time.

  “I heard an echo at the end––it was odd.” She typed again on the typewriter and then stopped. There it was, almost an identical sound like the typewriter, trailing off after Maria had stopped typing, but the source was not from the typewriter.

  Maria restarted her typing, but this time a single letter at a time: The quick brown f––

  Before Maria typed the “o,” and something replied. She felt it this time; it was like a breeze that danced over her forearm and up to her neck. Alarmed, Maria stepped back and exhaled. “Something just touched me.”

  Ansen walked closer to her and held her in his arm. “What touched you?”

  Maria shook her head, “I’m not sure. It was like something ran their fingers up my arms just now.” She looked around and saw a piece of antique furniture that looked like a sewing machine sitting a few feet away. It had intrinsic carving throughout its delicate framework. Maria felt her stomach fluttered as she approached the piece.

  “NO! That piece is staying with me!” Manfred’s voice rasped.

  The sudden change in Manfred’s tone surprised Maria and Ansen. They both turned to Manfred and saw him staring back at them angrily—visible sweat was forming on his forehead.

  “Sir, are you okay?” Ansen reached out to touch Manfred.

  Manfred didn’t reply, but his arms were stiff and trembling.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you, but I was just curious about this sewing machine.” Maria tried to break up the awkward situation.

  “I don’t feel too well; please leave.” With that, Manfred forced himself to walk away from them and locked himself inside the bathroom.

  Maria walked over to the bathroom and listened in with concern. “Sir, I think you need to go to a hospital. I think you may be experiencing a heart attack.”

  “No, I’m fine. It is just an old illness of mine. I have…arthritis and every once in a while it acts up. I’ll be fine after a few minutes. Please, just go––”

  “Maria, let it go. I think it’s time for us to leave,” whispered Ansen as he nudged her elbow.

  She looked back at the sewing machine one last time, wondering if she would feel the sensation again. The cabinet’s wooden frame had intricate carvings. It was a work of art, something she never seen before. The furniture was calling out to her, almost like a living thing. She couldn’t explain it, but something inside the furniture knew her.

  Once Maria and Ansen left the store, Manfred emerged slowly from the bathroom. He looked down and saw that his hands were shaking badly. In his mind, he felt his defensive instinct fighting something that was breaking through his subconsciousness. He could hear the queen’s voice calling to him, but that voice was getting weaker and weaker, like a nightmare dissipating from one’s mind. After the short relief, sharp pain came raging back and flooded his mind with boiling agony. He saw dark spots overwhelming his vision and images of the past flashed before him. It went by so fast that he could hardly make out what the images were. Some were familiar; others were not. Manfred wasn’t even sure that some of the images were his own memories. There were images of a little girl; moments later, the girl grew older, and her face was brimming with smile that was achingly familiar to Manfred. Soon the young girl’s face turned into an adult. It was the face of that girl he once treated like his own daughter––so many years ago. The face was as beautiful as he had remembered in his dreams, and now the face was staring back at him vividly. June––he called out to the girl. Why are you here now? He felt his mind connected to the girl before him, like it was before. Her gentle touch was so striking and yet so familiar with its warmth. The girl’s eyes were searching for Manfred’s voice, and soon her glance locked on his. Her smile directed at him intensely with both eagerness and sadness.

  “Dad, do you remember the words I told you in that mountain?” whispered June.

  It was an inscrutable question until the words appeared in Manfred’s head. The words looked ancient and were not recognizable, but somehow he was able to read them. The sound echoed back in time and dredged up an old string of memories that was buried long ago. The event that happened in 1982—in that mountain. There was no mercy; queen’s orders, and no one disobeyed her. All of the minute details were laid in front of him. He remembered the words that were given to him that night before she took her own life. Those words that he could not recall after the event; however, now he remembered them like his own name, letter-by-letter. It was a spell for his freedom, hidden inside the deepest roots of his mind, and now released by the girl he helped sacrificed so many dark nights ago.

  “This is your chance to avenge what happened to me that night, to avenge the slavery your queen has put us through. I want this to be the moment she knows who killed her.”

  “You don’t remember I was the one that was hunting you. I—was the reason you were killed.” Manfred broke into tears. The nightmares that he had endured for so long finally came face-to-face with him.

  “Yes, don’t you remember your oath to me? To always protect me from harm. You failed. You turned on me. But I forgive you because I know she had you under her control. No one could disobey her under her spell, but I planted that powerful counterspell in your mind until your next blood child was born. When the blood child got close to the queen, the spell was released in your mind, and it slowly seeped into her as well. With every breath he takes, the poison grows inside of her. Now––all you have to do is to insert a golden needle into the box and you can relieve her of her misery forever.”

  “But I can’t do that…Meredith is still here!” Manfred knelt down before the apparition, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

  June took several deep breaths. “Oh––you are still worried about Meredith? Love is blind, so true it is. Don’t you see that she has already turned? You will never bring her back again as before. Your spell is only making her body worse. Soon you will tip her over the edge and she will become something you fear entirely.”

  “I—I know, but I still—” Manfred stuttered. The room around him felt cold, and his joints were stiff. He leaned over and used one of his hands to prop himself from falling facedown.

  “You should all come with me. You will never have to be concerned with aging, loneliness, or abandonment. Remember that we used to dream about leaving this world together?”

  Manfred hesitated and then replied with steely resolve in his voice, “You are lying––I know that once she�
�s turned, she can’t cross over with me. She will go where my queen goes, and the queen will torture her soul endlessly. I––can’t abandon her.”

  June nodded and said, “I knew her once as well. Do you remember she was like a mother to me? Trust in me and I will not let the queen torture her.”

  “I just can’t abandon her. I made a promise to her when she died.” Manfred bit his lips and started shivering.

  “We don’t have much time. You have no idea what I have been through to reach you again, and if I didn’t plant this seed in your mind that night, we would not be talking now. Now kill the queen.”

  “You said a golden needle. Where can I find one?”

  “Check the window.”

  Manfred turned his head and saw a small shadow wavering outside his shop’s side window. The glass was glazed so he couldn’t make out the details of the shadow, but it was the size of a large cat.

  He opened the window and saw a large Maine Coon. Its eyes were amber in color. It looked up at Manfred and pulled a whisker out with its paws and dropped it next to Manfred. The whisker danced on the floor and hardened into a long needle.

  Manfred’s hands quivered as he bent down to pick up the long needle. Upon close inspection, the shaft had a rough contour and a bony sheen.

  “What is this? How can this kill my Queen?”

  “This is not just any bone; it is from her old nemesis. Recall the Monk that put her into this cage thousands of years ago? I spent all my time away hunting down this artifact. This bone can finish her.”