Fire Under the Mountain

Cell Bound:

Cell Bound:

Detective Doyle Longstreet leaned against the cool bars, and said, “I hope you understand holding a police officer against his will is a serious crime.” He felt his temperature rising in the damp, dark cell. Damn it, he thought, stretching out his right arm through the bars, he failed to grab the closest captor.

The two black-robed guards ignored his threat.

“Look, fellows, my arm is killing me. Can I get some water or something... it might get infected.” Doyle inspected the wrapping Helena had placed over his arrow wound, the blood had soaked the impromptu bandage and dripped down his fingertips.

While Doyle was distracted, a guard answered his request for water with a large wooden bucket full of freezing salt water, dousing his raggedy man disguise. The sudden shock soaking him, causing a deep gasp for breath, until the salt water soaked into his open wound at which time he screamed in excruciating pain.

“You bastards, if you’re going to kill me just do it wi—” his sentence, cut short. A blast of wind blew down the tunnel with sufficient force to heave Doyle back against the cell wall. Dazed, Doyle struggled to clear his vision; the single torch in the hall vanished along with the two hooded guards, plunging Longstreet in total darkness.

“Hell,” Doyle said to the universe struggling back to the cell door. Sticking his head between the bars as far as possible he tried to watch down the tunnel; his effort futile.

“Is anybody out there?”

No one answered his cry.

“Don’t leave me down here to starve!”

Again silence.

He rested his head against the bars, to mitigate his growing fever.

“I don’t think anyone is out there to hear you,” came a soft voice from deeper in the cell.

Doyle spun around, behind him sat an ancient Chinese man, flowing white mustache, and beard, it never occurred to him how he now saw him in the inky black cell.

Doyle shook his head. “Where did you come from?” Doyle’s vision blurred.

“I’ve been here the whole time, you might want to come sit down. The Naga’s venom is quick acting, the more you move, the sooner you will die,” he said, patting the seat for Doyle to sit next to him.

The detective felt his energy waning, stumbled to the bench to join the seated man. “Who are you?” Doyle asked slumping next to him.

“Always the detective. You may call me Mister Ao. Are you ready for your journey to the afterlife?”

“Afterlife? No! I am not ready to die. I must get out of here! Helena and Missy are in grave danger!”

“You are ready to give up your happy afterlife to help the women? Even if it is your time and you risk losing your place in the heavens to purely help two women?”

Doyle considered the strange man before answering, “I need to help my friends, isn’t that enough to stay behind?”

“Interesting, do you love one of the women by the pool?”

His mind swimming, the effects of the venom slowing is otherwise keen mind. “How do know about them, if you were locked up in here?” Doyle’s head slid onto the old man’s shoulder, he did his best to avoid the answer.

“I know a great many things; however, I am always eager to learn more. Helena will be interrogated in time. Now I am trying to determine what should happen to you.”

“Right now, I just want to sleep. Can I sleep? It is hotter than hell in here? I need to go help the ladies.”

“Funny you should use those words.”

Doyle slumped unconscious.

Mister Ao, gently laid the detective down on the bench, produced a small vial from his commoner robes, which he proceeded to pour the green contents into Doyle’s mouth, slipping the vial into his ragged uniform pocket.

“We will watch how this plays out. It might be most interesting,” the old man said before opening the cell door with a wave of his hand.

Still unconscious, Doyle perceived a voice echoing down the tunnel. His eyes fluttered enough to witness a light flash down the tunnel reflecting off the cell bars. He tried to call out at first but found his throat dry and only managed a weak croak. With all the effort he could muster he forced himself to his feet and stumbled towards the open cell door, stepping into the beam of light.

“I’ll be damned if it isn’t Detective Longstreet. How did you ever find your way down here?” Officer O’Bannon said.

Doyle thought to himself: Of all the beat coppers in San Francisco why did it have to be O’Bannon? Before saying, “You got any water? I’m dying of thirst over here, are the women safe? Did you find the women?”

O’Bannon and another copper ran to Doyle’s paleface reflecting in the lantern light. “You look like one of them vampires should look. You need to take it easy, you look like you’ve lost a lot of blood,” O’Bannon said.

Doyle collapsed into their arms before asking again, “What of the women?”

Half carrying the inspector the beat copper answered, “They’ve both been taken to the hospital. We need to take you to Doctor Carlyle so he can have a look at you, you don’t look very good inspector.”

Doyle relaxed a little hearing the two women had been taken to the hospital and not to the morgue. Being carried more than led, he did his best to walk on two feet, but his legs didn’t want to cooperate.

Once they reached the opening of the tunnel and the sundeck of the Sutter Baths, Doyle became blinded by the midmorning sun filling the glass room with bright light. However, he was able to see a small army of dark blue uniforms had converged on the baths. I guess our note made it to Mister Wizard.

“Doyle?” Doctor Carlyle the Coroner asked while inspecting the unnamed body lying next to a mobile Saint Andrew’s Cross. “You boys bring a stretcher over here we need to get Doyle off his feet,” The Coroner directed two stretcher bearers to assist him. “What happened to you man?”

“Would you believe it? I got shot with an arrow! There were two women here what happened to them?” Doyle said as they lowered him onto the stretcher.

“You’ll see them soon enough they were unconscious when we got here. They’ve already been transported to the hospital you need to follow them.”

“Make sure the tunnels are clear. When they took me away, there were hundreds of people surrounding this pool.” Doyle laid back as the two stretcher bearers carried him off.

Doyle felt the need to hang onto the stretcher for dear life. The trip up the cliff face terrified him, suspended over a set of stairs with only a low wooden rail separating him from oblivion. The shot of adrenaline from the fear of plummeting to his death kept him awake but also caused his arm to bleed more.

Several shouting reporters met Longstreet all trolling for a statement, once he finally reached the top safely. A handful of police officers kept the reporters at bay with nightsticks.

“Inspector, inspector you have any statement for the paper.”

Another shouted, “Inspector is it true some supernatural creatures were involved in a human sacrifice?” Doyle recognized the man from the alleyway a week ago.

“Just a moment I want to speak to him, let him through,” Doyle said to one of the uniform coppers standing near him.

A reporter approached and asked, “You got a statement for me?”

“You come find me in the hospital, I think you and I need to talk.” Doyle slumped back down onto the stretcher.

“Sure, thing inspector I’ll be there when you wake up.” The thin reporter headed back to his horse readying to follow the ambulance wagon back into town.