Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, the Office of Madame Petrakis, October 15, 2012, 11:00PM
"No! I strongly disagree with this request, with all due respect Madame Petrakis. It will undermine the case we are building against your former guard and her accomplices!" Detective Brenson said while trying to keep his voice level. He rubbed his tired eyes as he sat in a comfortable red leather high back chair in the fourth floor office of Madame Petrakis. As a personal favor to Cynthia Petrakis, the detective returned to the museum to give his full accounting of the arrest and booking of five individuals who attempted a daring but foolhardy robbery during the Gala. He gazed upon the woman who single handedly brought this museum back to life after a few years of abandonment. On the one hand, this woman struck him as a powerful, competent individual not to be taken lightly. On the other hand, she was a stubborn woman who will not concede her point. Yet, she was gorgeous and intelligent enough to make some of the qualities attractive, as was the case with the detective.
"I understand that you need to all of the evidence and testimony available to build your case. You will have my full cooperation, along with my staff and the footage sent of the video. I imagine with this level of cooperation, none of these individuals should see the light of day," Cynthia said as she sat up straight in a chair that was a bit more lavish than the seat occupied by her guest.
"True, but if we return the museum antiquities to you, the District Attorney will most likely down grade the charges from grand larceny to attempted larceny, criminal trespass, criminal mischief, disorderly conduct, assault, possession of a firearm and a slew of minor charges. These will warrant possible bail and a court appearance to be determined at a later date." He paused and shifted in his comfortable chair. "Their legal representative will then be able to fight to get more severe charges dropped and they will be able to go free with a slap on the wrist, if the judge does not set a high bail for them all."
Cynthia Petrakis reclined slightly in her chair and thought for a moment. Sitting on top her lavishly carved oak desk was the portfolio in a black satchel bag in which the would-be thieves used to steal the ancient Greek parchment from their exhibit cases earlier in the evening. The exhibit was titled "Records of Olympus" and the artifacts detailed some of the thoughts and actions of the high gods of Mount Olympus. Some scholars who had examined the ancient writings, were able to translate some of the characters and words, attributed the documents as folk lore or the stuff of legends. Secretly, Cynthia knew there were more to the documentation than what is written on the surface.
As scrolls and other writings from ancient times continued to surface in the modern world, scholars, linguists and scientists worked to translate languages not spoken in the world for thousands of years. Some chronicle events history failed to capture. Others have deeper meanings: incantations into the realm of magic. Cynthia herself was a practical woman and believed in what she could identify with her five senses. Yet, in all of her years of living, she has seen many strange occurrences and situations to make her believe there is another realm beside that of Earth. Her scientific teams partially translated the scrolls the thieves attempted to steal and she, with her extensive knowledge of the mystic arts, dead languages and history filled in what answers the scientists could not. Powerful incantations and spell lay hidden in these pages. Worse, it was incomplete as other pages exist somewhere in the world if they have not been destroyed. Cynthia Petrakis only had eleven pages in her possession. For now, she figured to display them on exhibit for the public to enjoy ancient Greek writings. When she can acquire additional pages of this manuscript, they will be removed to her personal storage facility in Canada. Another in series of mental notes Cynthia made to herself to continue the search for the additional pages.
A couple of questions came to her mind: Who else could be interested in these ancient writings? Who could translate and understand its true meaning? The thieves can serve a purpose of possibly exposing the person or persons interested in the material. Leaving the pages in the hands of the police was a risk she was not willing to take. If they managed to corrupt Lian Zhou Zhu, paying off police officers was not beyond their influence.
Cynthia leaned forward and placed her elbows across the desk. "I appreciate that you have come here personally to relay this news to me; good, bad and indifferent. I also realize the predicament I am placing you in." She smiled broadly and then continued. "These pieces belong to my personal collection in which I have chosen to display here in the Metropolitan. I can't bear to think if they left my possession and were damaged or even lost in police custody. What would be the ramifications of such an accident?"
Detective Brenson frowned as he knew where Cynthia was going with her statement. And what a situation he found himself in. With the evidence, he had enough to put the five thieves away for at least 10-15 years in federal prison. Without it, they would get 2-5 years in a minimum security prison. That may change when the criminal backgrounds on all of the suspects were concluded. A judge may grant them bail or remand them to custody. All will depend on the judge's disposition and their legal representative. If the charges get reduced and bail is granted, all of them may take flight and never be seen again. Perhaps this is what Madame Petrakis wanted, he thought.
"Okay. The NYPD will return the museum property to you," Detective Brenson said pushing the satchel closer to Cynthia Petrakis. "We will do all we can to hold these people in custody while the case builds against them."
"What if two of my security guards that were injured pressed assault charges as well?"
Detective Brenson rubbed his lower lip. "They can come to my office and I will personally take their complaint. I understand they refused to go to the hospital. If they did, it would be documented and that will make the case against the suspects stronger."
"I will speak to them and see what they want to do. They are proud men. I think their egos are bruised more so than their persons." Cynthia and Detective Brenson laughed briefly but understood the severity of the situation.
"I think we should look into who hired those men ourselves. Let the police do what they need to for their case. We can resolve the rest. Besides, who can stand against us?" the voice inside Cynthia's mind urged. She agreed and would take care of the situation herself, ascertaining the identity of the person responsible for interfering with her evening gala. A plan began to form in the back of Cynthia's mind.
"Detective Brenson, thank you for bringing back the museum artifacts undamaged. I trust you and the police department will do all it can to exercise justice on the five individuals." Cynthia reached for the satchel and pulled it closer to her. As if they were playing a game of chess, she declared check and mate in her final move.
The detective relented and did not say another word about the pending case and stood up. Cynthia rose as well. "Then Madame Petrakis, we will keep you informed of the progress of the case." Detective Brenson walked over to her side of the desk came within two feet of her.
"You know you still owe me a drink one evening. Do you know how many traffic tickets I had to fix for you and your staff as you restored this museum? And now me giving back critical evidence of an ongoing investigation, which will warrant a dinner." He smiled broadly.
Cynthia could not help but to admire the detective. Indeed he is a handsome man, aging very well to the point his looks were debonair, a term not even used in the 21ST century. So damn young, she thought to herself.
"Agreed. I will call you-"
"No," Detective Brenson said cutting her off. "I will call you with the time, the place and the attire."
He reached for her hand he kissed the back side of it. Yet another tradition lost to time. Cynthia was flattered, but still held her reserve. "Ok, I will keep my calendar open for you. But I insist we go somewhere private and have a nice, quiet dinner."
She realized too late what she agreed to as Detective Brenson grinned. "Lucky for you I have a degree in making a good, private dinner. Until then." He turned away and left her office in a rather slow pace, almost walking in a triumphant shuffle.
Detective Brenson was escorted by museum guards from the inner office of the fourth floor to the garage level where his department issued vehicle was parked. Thoughts of the conversation with Cynthia Petrakis replayed in his mind. Whether he thought it was eventful was a matter of point of view: he returned a key piece of evidence, but he had gained a closer relationship with Cynthia Petrakis. No one would ever believe he was able to secure a date with the wealthy, partially reclusive, and philanthropic billionaire. No one would believe it so he won't tell anyone. Detective Brenson drove his police issued unmarked car back to the 19TH Precinct. At this late hour and the robbery attempt that occurred a few hours earlier, he hoped to be leaving before 1:00AM. One thing was certain, the night just became more and more interesting.
* * *
Cynthia thought about Detective Brenson since his departure from her office. Mixed feelings stirred within concerning the man with whom she has been taken with since they first met. She knew she was attractive and many men were attracted to her beauty. However, Detective Brenson, Dylan, was a man of some unique character and possibly worth exploring. Still, she would have to continue to practice reserve. Still the attention was nice.
"Now back to business," she said aloud as she sat back at her desk. She pressed an area on the top the desk. The oak finish surface faded out and was instantly replaced with a multi-faceted display showing several different areas of the museum. Four screens closest to her at the bottom revealed information from the internet and other media sources. Ten minutes elapsed as she checked social media on the reviews of the night's reopening gala. Many people had nothing but positive reviews about the evening, mostly from her guests. Other reviews were from the people who were outside and commenting on the excitement of the museum reopening, not to mention the invasion at the front door. Some people snapped images of the melee in the main hall of the Metropolitan. She frowned at that, but people will be people. Her main focus was on what the media outlets were reporting. The news reporters outside prior to the beginning of the gala reported the same thing: an electric buzz or spectacular showing of celebrities as they gathered for the reopening. Channel 6 caught her interest as she watched the entire footage of Samantha Reid's reporting. It was the final report of the evening that Cynthia paused and studied her face for signs of stress.
"See, you are photogenic! Many would be jealous of your supernatural, flawless beauty!" the voice teased.
"True, but who would put up with an annoying presence as a trade off," she whimsically replied.
After watching the reports and was satisfied, she turned her attention to an image of Jerimiah Clarke and wondered about this unassuming archaeologist. Unassuming yet vaguely familiar to her. Deep feelings emerged about him as he was instrumental in bringing to her attention the museum robberies and thwarting this latest one. She made a mental note to have further meetings with him and maybe, establishing a deeper role in the Foundation. Cynthia even considered introducing him to her true self. She wondered if he would be able to handle it. Deep down she believed he could.
A swipe of her hand on the desk display causes all of the windows to be swept off the main screen. She brought up a digital keyboard in which she type in a few commands at the prompt for the Security Office. A moment later, the guard named Winston answered the video call at the chief of security's desk.
"Yes Madame Petrakis."
"Winston, please have Daniela Harker bring all her security chiefs to my office so we can discuss tonight's events and lock down the museum for the night," she ordered.
"Yes ma'am, we will be right there." Winston terminated the video call. Cynthia sat in her office in silence for few minutes until the security officers came for a final meeting of the night.
* * *
Sitting quietly in the closed exhibit, Jerimiah slowly and cautiously extended his legs to relieve the cramp that developed in his left leg. He had been sitting behind the stone golem being protected by its "shadow" for nearly an hour since he bluffed his way past the security guard Tom Tiege. Several guards passed through the area, not looking for him but following their lock down procedures. For several minutes he listened to the footfalls of guards checking through the exhibits, radio transmissions between each other and their central command post, and conversations of events of the gala party. Anyone involved with event will have some stories to tell. None more interesting than Jerimiah's because he was experiencing a supernatural phenomenon. Twice guards have entered, scanned the room and moved on. The aura the golem projected was a blessing to be sure.
The golem was his best friend at the moment. He wondered about the other three golems; just as large as the guardian but not as gentle. The guardian had what appeared to be a staff in its grip dressed in a simple robe and his face is appeared to be Native American, of the Cherokee tribe he surmised. Another possessed two heads shaped like a snake; resembled an Egyptian deity as it had long arms and stood up like a man. The third golem looked as if it is an armored female knight. She carried a long sword and gothic shield at its side, and a helmet revealing determined eyes for battle. The last one appeared to resemble a giant werewolf. A big hulking presence and if he were alive he could smash through any barrier or army set against him. This would be best accomplished not only by his great size but its large hands or paws to be politically correct.
Jerimiah could not figure out significance of the stone giants before him. Each one's origins appear to have come from different corners of the world and the craftsmanship was unlike anything he had ever seen. But the real prize was examining the chest. He waited a few more minutes until he was certain no more guards patrolled the museum. Inwardly he questioned the sanity of this idea, but he told himself a thousand times before he had been in worse situations.
* * *
Seven security officers sat in Madame Petrakis' office giving their final reports on this evening's Gala and the security measures. Eight chairs sat opposite her desk, noticeably absent was former security guard Lian Zhou Zhu, who was now sitting in a cell at the 19TH Police Precinct. None of the other security officers made mention of her, or of the part she played in the robbery. For the most part, Madame Petrakis would most likely speak to that affair. The last officer reported on the status of the lock down and waited for their boss to speak.
"Ladies and gentleman, I will come right to the point. I am very upset at Miss Zhu for betraying her commitment to all of us. However, that is no reflection on all of you. I believe I have assembled a great staff, but as you know to err is human." Her words seem to relax her staff as they nodded their heads and agreed. "I will have to take the blame for the overall security measures. I did not foresee this level of difficulty when throwing this party for the reopening. I wanted our guests to feel secure but not under constant, strict surveillance. Such a hindrance would have tightened the flow of donations into the Foundation. Well, live and learn. From now on we will practice more visible security measures for all events, including normal operations. And we will have the central command center fully manned at all times."
Daniela Harker spoke up. "I think I can speak for all us here to say that we appreciate you having confidence in us. However, with the increased security measures and the absence of Lian, will you be sending more security officers to this location?"
"Yes, I have requests for some security officers to be transferred here because they live closer to the museum. This will work out for them as for everyone else," Madame Petrakis answered.
"Since they said they live close, let's put some cots in and let them sleep over night," Joanna said with a laugh. Everyone in the office joined in as well.
"I have considered that, but I would have to agree to provide cable TV, refrigerators and other comforts of home," Cynthia joined in on the joking. After a several moments of jovial delight, she turned her attention to Harker. "Harker, our system went down this evening. How did this happen?"
Harker leaned forward and placed a metallic bag carefully on the desk. She unwrapped the bag to reveal the sophisticated device Samsone Zee installed on the junction box. Everyone in the room expressed interest and fascination with this device.
"This is how they were able to scramble the surveillance systems in the command center. They connected the video and ethernet feeds to send alternating signals on both feeds. Sometimes the image would freeze, replay the last few seconds or go black." She picked up the device and turned it over for additional examination. "I have ordered newer security locks on the junction control boxes throughout the museum. When you approve the order, I will have it in place in less than twenty four hours."
Cynthia raised her right eyebrow in fascination. "Good. And how did they beat the alarms on the cases?"
"Similar to the device here, they managed to bypass the alarm by continuing the circuit through a specially fitted circuit board and two wire leads. Using a few lock picking tools we found discarded in a trash receptacle, they managed to gain access to display cases. Knowing how all of this was done, we can redo all of the cases and exhibit security systems in a few days to prevent this theft from ever happening again." Harker was about to take the device when Cynthia stopped her.
"Leave this with me. I want to take a closer at this device," Cynthia declared. She thought to bring it to Dylan but she had to determine if he was to be trusted completely in the matter of the robbery. Her inner instincts told her she could trust him.
Harker nodded and took her seat. "When we upgrade the security protocols, do you want to close the museum for a few days so we can test it?"
"Check the calendar, we can do it after Thanksgiving. Everyone will have returned by then and we can afford to be closed a few additional days." Harker and the other security officers made note on their digital tablets.
"All right everyone, if there is nothing to report, please place these artifacts back in to their display cases and we can retire for the evening."
Tom Tiege stood up and took the satchel from the desk Madame Petrakis pushed it toward him. The other security guards rose from their chairs and headed for the door. Madame Petrakis walked over to the guards before they left through the door and asked a final question. "Tom, did you or anyone else happened to see Mr. Clarke, the archaeologist, leave the museum?"
"The last time I saw him was earlier this evening. He said that he left something in one other exhibits and I allowed him to back for it when we started escorting the guests out." He turned to the other guards present and they shrugged their shoulders as to not confirming if they saw him.
"I am sure he has gone home. Thank you ladies and gentleman. I will remain here and do some work. When I am done I will use the service elevator and have my driver take me home." Madame Petrakis made herself look busy as Harker led her officers from the office.
Looking at the displays on the top of her desk, two guards replaced the ancient Greek documents carefully and correctly in their display cases. Several minutes later, she saw the last of the security personnel take a service elevator to the parking garage and left the Metropolitan. At long last the museum was empty and Cynthia Petrakis was ready to get on with the work she mentioned. Only it would not be worked confining to her desk. And finally, after a long eventful as well as stressful evening, she can let herself go.
Cynthia Petrakis stood behind her oak desk with her fingertips caressing the surface and she concentrated. Or more to the precisely, she allowed her inner self to be released. Her skin went from a nice olive tone to a dark gray color. The tips of her fingernails grew from their original manicured length to an inch and a half hardened nails. These nails were not normal human female nails but composed of sharp bronze. She also began to breathe more freely as she opened her mouth partially as fangs protruded. These fangs were well taken care of, not jagged or broken, well-manicured for the type of being she was.
Cynthia then carefully reached into her eyes and pulled out the contact lenses. Everyone who has spoken to her looked into eyes would think they are the prettiest brown eyes ever seen. If the only knew what truly laid behind those fake eye lenses. She reached into her desk draw and placed the eye lenses into a shiny silver monogramed case. Blinking several times, the feeling in her true eyes calmed and then settled from being behind false lenses for so long. These new eyes are black as night, save a jagged, yellow slit in each eye. These eyes were considered the most ghastly weapons of destruction in the ancient days of Greece, sought after by many in a past life to stop armies in their tracks and could bring entire kingdoms to their knees.
Finally, the individual strands of her long black hair began to merge together and form tentacles. Not tentacles, snakes; a writhing mane of snakes! All of them had yellow glowing eyes and looked like black vipers, twisting and hissing in agitation of its wearer. One snake, white in its color and extending from behind the right ear, turned back toward the snakes to calm them down. The being known as Madame Cynthia Petrakis was gone. What stood there behind the desk was what history and mythology referred to as a Gorgon.
With her transformation complete, she walked out from behind her desk began to looking at the walls of her office. Her eyesight afforded the ability see in complete darkness or through any object; therefore making her the most dangerous hunter to walk the earth. Man, woman or beast would be stopped in their tracks by turning to stone if they gazed into those eyes. No one could hide from this creature of myth. Even her other senses were dozen times more powerful than an ordinary human being. She used these senses to peer into every corner of the museum and then to inspect the area in which the would-be thieves stole the incomplete manuscripts of Olympus. Afterwards she would inspect the chamber where the private collection of Cynthia Petrakis was temporarily stored. She did not have the time or the vision to determine how she wanted to present the artifacts for public display. She merely used the area as a storage area and instructed security to make the exhibit off limits. She was thankful nothing was taken as a terrible price would have to be paid if even one item was removed.
The Gorgon was about to leave her office when her senses picked up someone in the same area she was to investigate. Using her vision, she was able to look through superstructure of the museum to identify the person who managed to slip through all of her security.
"Jerimiah Clarke. I thought he left the Metropolitan earlier. What is he doing here?" she asked out loud. The reply came not from within her mind but from the mind of the white serpent in her living hair.
"Let's go and ask him. But you should be more diplomatic. He was instrumental in preventing the robbery this evening," the white serpent responded. Before when it was hidden, it spoke to the Gorgon as an internal voice. It is physical representation of the living being residing in the body of the person who called herself Cynthia Petrakis. It did not speak verbally but was a powerful mind merged with the Gorgon's. Only she could hear the entity voice an opinion.
"I intend to find out why he is here, diplomatic or no," she said with a bit of annoyance in her voice.
The white serpent replied, "Well, consider that the Guardian has been hiding him during the sweep of our security staff. You know he will protect truth and reveal lies. So why did he protect Jerimiah? This is what we need to know."
Without responding, the Gorgon removed her stylish sandals from her feet, which also possessed bronze nails, and walked swiftly to the Petrakis Exhibit. She arrived there in less than a minute.
* * *
"Amulets with crystal cores, scrolls, bound tomes, sealed wooden boxes and stone carvings. These are peculiar objects to place on display, but this assortment does not suggest a particular theme for an exhibit," Jerimiah summarized as he spoke quietly into his tablet documenting his findings. "There is also a kite in the shape of a bird. It looks ancient, based on the materials used to make it. I cannot determine if this was someone's keepsake chest or a storage container. The larger question is this: Does this truly belong to Cynthia Petrakis? Did she inherit these all of these items? Or did she simply acquire them for various sources?"
Jerimiah looked at the other crates in the dim light and decided to examine their contents. He stopped when a circular golden amulet with a clear crystal center caught his eye. Its core sparkled as if it was a beacon to attract his attention. His hand hovered over it and he felt a tingling sensation. Curiosity compelled him to touch it and that moment, a power like none he ever felt surged through him.
Within the span of seconds, Jerimiah's mind's eye absorbed thousands of images and sounds. From where they came he did not know. The rush of mental stimulus would be enough to place someone in a coma for months, even years; yet the archaeologist barely managed to breath during what appeared to be memories flooding into his mind. He saw images of mountains, fields, people, different moments in time. Some of which he could identify from his own memories and research, but most was unknown to him. However, it felt as if he knew them personally. He heard people talking in different languages, incoherent at first, but then was able understand each and every one of them. Finally, he saw an island in the Mediterranean; it looked to be deserted at first but then he saw people arriving in ships. Refugees of some sort, they made a life for themselves and thrived at doing so. But there was a mountain that rose from its shores, a large cave entrance. Someone or something lived there and it led a solitary life. Jerimiah, immersed in the vision, strove to see who or what was in the cave. Slowly the image brought him closer. He could swear he could hear the wind blowing, feel the ocean spray on his face, but it was the sound of snakes that caught his attention. Dozens of them hissed in alarm but still he could not see anything. And then he saw the origin of the snakes…
* * *
The Gorgon moved very swiftly through the Museum and within less than a minute she was standing at the entrance of the Petrakis Exhibit. She found Jerimiah was going through the contents of her bronze chest. Her sharp hearing overheard him recording his findings on his tablet. The Gorgon was about to enter but stopped short. Jerimiah's hand touched one of the amulets and a brief flash of light filled the dimly lit room. She knew what that meant.
"He could not be a descendant from the island of Ieró. I thought all of their descendants, have died through the ages. Is this possible?" She asked the white snake internally.
"It is indeed possible," it answered. "That would explain why the Guardian shrouded him. He was protecting the descendants, like you created him to do in the first place."
The Gorgon smiled. It was true, on an island hundreds of years ago, escapees from a young Roman Empire settled on an uncharted island in the Mediterranean Sea. For generations, the people were able to live a life happy free from tyranny. Unfortunately, these escaped souls could never return to the country of their origin for fear of being recaptured or put to death. The light from the amulet died down, as if it was completed its task when Jerimiah touched it. She moved directly behind him.
Jerimiah blinked a few times and shook his head to clear it. The rush of mental stimuli was almost too much for his brain to handle, yet he was glad he was still upright. He noticed he was now holding the amulet in his hand, clutching it intensely. As if his whole body had to restart every system one by one. He had no recollection of picking up and holding the mystical amulet but his hands slowly obeyed the command to place it back in its original position. Then his vision began to clear. His ears, unfortunately, kept hearing a ringing noise. No, more like a hissing noise. In the vision he heard the same noise, snakes hissing. He shook his head to clear it again, but the sound was still present in his mind. Or he thought it was. Perhaps it is a side effect of the shock to his brain.
Looking at other amulets, he decided best not to touch them. The other items in the chest, the armaments and even the golems took his new focus. He would have to make an opportunity to examine them when he would get Madame Petrakis' permission. Coming up with a plausible explanation would have to be ingenious. Jerimiah made sure all of the items were back in its original place when a feeling of dread came over him. The sound of snakes was louder than before. He soon realized that the sound was not in his mind, but coming from behind him and growing louder. A feeling that someone else was in room made him freeze. It was not coming from the golem but right behind him. Another guard he thought. He was about to close the lid of the chest when he looked into the reflective surface of the lid and saw something that could literally turn him to stone.
The Gorgon approached slowly. Her face was expressionless as she moved into view of her reflection and stopped arm's length from the trespasser. Jerimiah was horrified and fascinated at the same time. Could it be that when he touched the amulet he unleashed a defensive curse? Why didn't golem protect him? Was this an illusion, a side effect of the amulet's power?
"Why did I let my curiosity get the best of me," Jerimiah groaned. He looked at the reflection again. Something that was considered a myth was less than five feet away. If he could move a muscle, he would run as fast as he could to get out. However, running through the museum would only set off alarms, bringing the police back to the museum. Circumstances of Jerimiah's actions would lead to escalation in which he would not be able to explain. Additionally, this creature would either try to hide and wait to strike or just destroy any who would look into her eyes.
Her eyes, he thought. He looked at her reflection and strangely enough, there were no eyes in the reflection. Jerimiah remembered the myth about Gorgons, how if anyone looked into their horrible eyes, they would be turned to stone. But the reflection of a Gorgon would not that person.
"Thank God that part of the myth was right," he said to himself.
Not sure if the creature behind him heard what he said, its facial expression changed from an expressionless face to a common feminine face of disappointment. She stepped a bit closer.
"I thought you went home Mr. Clarke. It disturbs me that you would hide here in the dark like a possible thief. I hope you are not planning on stealing from me," the Gorgon spoke in a deep, throaty voice.
"How do you know who I am," he responded in a barely masculine voice. He could not believe he was panicking so much, but then again meeting a monster was not an everyday occurrence.
"Really, you don't recognize me? You greeted me earlier this evening. You made me aware of the other museum robberies. And you sent me the video evidence that led to the capture of the five people who attempted to steal museum property, my property!"
Jerimiah looked hard at the reflection. The face, although grayish in color and the snakes are about her head, looked familiar. His eyes widened even more in astonishment.
"Cynthia Petrakis?" he asked.
In a voice he was accustomed to hearing she responded, "Madame Cynthia Petrakis." She smiled and her face took on a more human look, blank eyes and snakes notwithstanding.
Jerimiah could not believe the creature behind him was Madame Cynthia Petrakis! She was mingling with people, talking, smiling and enjoyed being center of attention; now she stood behind him as a Gorgon.
"I think it be best if we continue this conversation in my office on the fourth floor, room 400A. Come there in five minutes and we can make sense of this whole situation," the Gorgon urged. She turned and started to walk away.
Jerimiah watched in the smooth reflective surface the Gorgon walking away. Still in imminent danger, he decided not turn around to watch her walk away. The best move for him was to keep staring into the reflection.
"Why five minutes? Can I not walk behind you?"
"One, I have to turn off the security system and provide you with a safe passage to the fourth floor. Two, you need to get calm and pack up my bronze storage chest the way you found it. Three, I need to put on a fresh pot of coffee so we can talk." She stopped and turned her head slightly but not to reveal her eyes. "Besides, you won't be able to keep up."
Then she disappeared, running fast through the museum, fast enough not to trip the motion sensors and other monitoring devices. Soon the Gorgon was back in the office and at her desk. Looking at the display on her desktop, she brought up the museum security protocol and a floor plan of the Metropolitan exhibit lighting grid. Within a minute, a lighted path showed the way from the Petrakis Exhibit to room 400A. The cameras linked up to monitor Jerimiah and to follow his progress. While she waited, the Gorgon moved about her office and prepared fresh perk coffee as promised.
Jerimiah wondered if he was going to die a horrible death. Certainly, this creature would kill him for trespassing. If not by her, Samantha, waiting at her place, will definitely kill the archaeologist and bury him so no one would find him for a thousand years. What started to be a fascinating adventure was turning out to be a dreary epitaph. Lights came on in the exhibit, illuminating for the first time the Petrakis exhibit. The room was larger than he thought, but then again it was dark. He noticed more unopened creates along the back wall. The lights did not come on because he could inspect them; his host was waiting for him. He gathered his belongings, closed the lid of the chest and made his way to the office.
It was strange to see the museum at night after hours. A strange quietness hung in the air like a graveyard. The museum was split between light and darkness as an uneasy feeling began settle over him. Jerimiah tried not to think of any terrible things that possibly awaited him. He made his way to the fourth floor, via a stairway access, and entered the outer office leading into Madame Petrakis inner office. The smell of coffee brewing caught his attention as he slowly entered.
Madame Petrakis, the Gorgon, was seated behind her desk waiting for Jerimiah. She wore a thin, light blue cloak and the hood covered her hair of snakes. Her eyes were also covered with designer shades. The lenses appeared to be blackened as to not allow anyone to catch a glimpse of her true eyes. From what he knows of the myth, a glimpse was all it took. On the desk were two mugs, one that read, "I heart NY" and another that had the logo of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He guessed which one would be his. Additionally, a small bowl of brown sugar and pouring jar of creamer were set out should he desire cream and sugar. The Gorgon beckoned Jerimiah to enter and take a seat in one of the two leather chairs in front of her desk. The sound of a stainless steel coffee pot churned and bubbled as it prepared a special blend of exotic coffee. The smell was pleasing to both.
Once Jerimiah settled and got comfortable, the Gorgon spoke. "So Mr. Clarke, we have ourselves over a barrel, sort to speak. You have been caught trespassing in my museum, attempted robbery and criminal mischief." She paused and realized she sounded like a police officer. She changed her tone. "And you know something deep and personal about me only a few people on this planet know. I cannot get rid of you as that will pose too many questions and I remember how you have been instrumental in helping me this evening. So what are we to do about this?"
Jerimiah took a long time to answer. He made sure that his choice of words would not land him in any deeper trouble. And he also wanted to sound confident in his reply. "Well, I figure that since I was instrumental in capturing those would be thieves, perhaps I could help you determine why they targeted the Metropolitan to steal documents in the ancient Greek exhibit. Then I think I should have the honor of knowing who you are and what is going on here." He paused, swallowed and continued. "Before you turn me to stone."
A puff of steam blew out from the coffee maker, a sign indicating the process of coffee brewing was done. The Gorgon rose from her chair and retrieved the pot. She poured for Jerimiah first and then for herself. They added the desired amount of cream and sugar to their coffee and tasted. Ironically, both were satisfied and set their mugs down.
"Jerimiah," the Gorgon explained calmly. "First, I have no intention of turning you to stone. That would be cruel. Second, I considered revealing this part of myself to you but at a later date as I was not prepared for this meeting. I have suspected from the efforts you put forth this evening you are a man I can trust. I wanted to introduce you to some of my other projects and ambitions slowly but it seems that is not the case now. Still, I feel I can trust you with more of my secrets."
"Anyone who brews the best coffee I ever tasted in the world can't be all bad," he commented jokingly. "But you can trust me to keep your secrets." The archaeologist did not want to add the fact that she held his life in the palm of her hand and can extinguish it with a mere look.
"Fair enough. I guess I should grant you an impromptu interview so you can ascertain the information you seek," the Gorgon said as she took another long sip of her coffee.
Jerimiah brought out his tablet and worked on it for a minute, moving files into encrypted folders and opening a new folder for the Q&A session he was about to undergo. So many questions ran through his mind, but he needed to sort them out. The Gorgon sat back in her leather chair and watched Jerimiah work. Using her special vision, she was able to peer into his body and see his respiratory and circulation was calmer than before. She feared the sudden appearance of her true form behind him would cause him to collapse from sheer fright. She has been known to do that to her enemies before petrifying them or doing worse to them. Luckily, Jerimiah was healthy young man and seemed like he could handle anything thrown at him.
"My first question I have for you is this, who are you?" he asked as he set up his tablet to video record the interview.
The Gorgon did not mind in the slightest. She took a long moment to answer and then, as if the words would slide out between her lips easily, very calmly she said, "I am the Gorgon Medusa!"
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, the Office of Madame Petrakis, October 15, 2012, 11:00PM
"No! I strongly disagree with this request, with all due respect Madame Petrakis. It will undermine the case we are building against your former guard and her accomplices!" Detective Brenson said while trying to keep his voice level. He rubbed his tired eyes as he sat in a comfortable red leather high back chair in the fourth floor office of Madame Petrakis. As a personal favor to Cynthia Petrakis, the detective returned to the museum to give his full accounting of the arrest and booking of five individuals who attempted a daring but foolhardy robbery during the Gala. He gazed upon the woman who single handedly brought this museum back to life after a few years of abandonment. On the one hand, this woman struck him as a powerful, competent individual not to be taken lightly. On the other hand, she was a stubborn woman who will not concede her point. Yet, she was gorgeous and intelligent enough to make some of the qualities attractive, as was the case with the detective.
"I understand that you need to all of the evidence and testimony available to build your case. You will have my full cooperation, along with my staff and the footage sent of the video. I imagine with this level of cooperation, none of these individuals should see the light of day," Cynthia said as she sat up straight in a chair that was a bit more lavish than the seat occupied by her guest.
"True, but if we return the museum antiquities to you, the District Attorney will most likely down grade the charges from grand larceny to attempted larceny, criminal trespass, criminal mischief, disorderly conduct, assault, possession of a firearm and a slew of minor charges. These will warrant possible bail and a court appearance to be determined at a later date." He paused and shifted in his comfortable chair. "Their legal representative will then be able to fight to get more severe charges dropped and they will be able to go free with a slap on the wrist, if the judge does not set a high bail for them all."
Cynthia Petrakis reclined slightly in her chair and thought for a moment. Sitting on top her lavishly carved oak desk was the portfolio in a black satchel bag in which the would-be thieves used to steal the ancient Greek parchment from their exhibit cases earlier in the evening. The exhibit was titled "Records of Olympus" and the artifacts detailed some of the thoughts and actions of the high gods of Mount Olympus. Some scholars who had examined the ancient writings, were able to translate some of the characters and words, attributed the documents as folk lore or the stuff of legends. Secretly, Cynthia knew there were more to the documentation than what is written on the surface.
As scrolls and other writings from ancient times continued to surface in the modern world, scholars, linguists and scientists worked to translate languages not spoken in the world for thousands of years. Some chronicle events history failed to capture. Others have deeper meanings: incantations into the realm of magic. Cynthia herself was a practical woman and believed in what she could identify with her five senses. Yet, in all of her years of living, she has seen many strange occurrences and situations to make her believe there is another realm beside that of Earth. Her scientific teams partially translated the scrolls the thieves attempted to steal and she, with her extensive knowledge of the mystic arts, dead languages and history filled in what answers the scientists could not. Powerful incantations and spell lay hidden in these pages. Worse, it was incomplete as other pages exist somewhere in the world if they have not been destroyed. Cynthia Petrakis only had eleven pages in her possession. For now, she figured to display them on exhibit for the public to enjoy ancient Greek writings. When she can acquire additional pages of this manuscript, they will be removed to her personal storage facility in Canada. Another in series of mental notes Cynthia made to herself to continue the search for the additional pages.
A couple of questions came to her mind: Who else could be interested in these ancient writings? Who could translate and understand its true meaning? The thieves can serve a purpose of possibly exposing the person or persons interested in the material. Leaving the pages in the hands of the police was a risk she was not willing to take. If they managed to corrupt Lian Zhou Zhu, paying off police officers was not beyond their influence.
Cynthia leaned forward and placed her elbows across the desk. "I appreciate that you have come here personally to relay this news to me; good, bad and indifferent. I also realize the predicament I am placing you in." She smiled broadly and then continued. "These pieces belong to my personal collection in which I have chosen to display here in the Metropolitan. I can't bear to think if they left my possession and were damaged or even lost in police custody. What would be the ramifications of such an accident?"
Detective Brenson frowned as he knew where Cynthia was going with her statement. And what a situation he found himself in. With the evidence, he had enough to put the five thieves away for at least 10-15 years in federal prison. Without it, they would get 2-5 years in a minimum security prison. That may change when the criminal backgrounds on all of the suspects were concluded. A judge may grant them bail or remand them to custody. All will depend on the judge's disposition and their legal representative. If the charges get reduced and bail is granted, all of them may take flight and never be seen again. Perhaps this is what Madame Petrakis wanted, he thought.
"Okay. The NYPD will return the museum property to you," Detective Brenson said pushing the satchel closer to Cynthia Petrakis. "We will do all we can to hold these people in custody while the case builds against them."
"What if two of my security guards that were injured pressed assault charges as well?"
Detective Brenson rubbed his lower lip. "They can come to my office and I will personally take their complaint. I understand they refused to go to the hospital. If they did, it would be documented and that will make the case against the suspects stronger."
"I will speak to them and see what they want to do. They are proud men. I think their egos are bruised more so than their persons." Cynthia and Detective Brenson laughed briefly but understood the severity of the situation.
"I think we should look into who hired those men ourselves. Let the police do what they need to for their case. We can resolve the rest. Besides, who can stand against us?" the voice inside Cynthia's mind urged. She agreed and would take care of the situation herself, ascertaining the identity of the person responsible for interfering with her evening gala. A plan began to form in the back of Cynthia's mind.
"Detective Brenson, thank you for bringing back the museum artifacts undamaged. I trust you and the police department will do all it can to exercise justice on the five individuals." Cynthia reached for the satchel and pulled it closer to her. As if they were playing a game of chess, she declared check and mate in her final move.
The detective relented and did not say another word about the pending case and stood up. Cynthia rose as well. "Then Madame Petrakis, we will keep you informed of the progress of the case." Detective Brenson walked over to her side of the desk came within two feet of her.
"You know you still owe me a drink one evening. Do you know how many traffic tickets I had to fix for you and your staff as you restored this museum? And now me giving back critical evidence of an ongoing investigation, which will warrant a dinner." He smiled broadly.
Cynthia could not help but to admire the detective. Indeed he is a handsome man, aging very well to the point his looks were debonair, a term not even used in the 21ST century. So damn young, she thought to herself.
"Agreed. I will call you-"
"No," Detective Brenson said cutting her off. "I will call you with the time, the place and the attire."
He reached for her hand he kissed the back side of it. Yet another tradition lost to time. Cynthia was flattered, but still held her reserve. "Ok, I will keep my calendar open for you. But I insist we go somewhere private and have a nice, quiet dinner."
She realized too late what she agreed to as Detective Brenson grinned. "Lucky for you I have a degree in making a good, private dinner. Until then." He turned away and left her office in a rather slow pace, almost walking in a triumphant shuffle.
Detective Brenson was escorted by museum guards from the inner office of the fourth floor to the garage level where his department issued vehicle was parked. Thoughts of the conversation with Cynthia Petrakis replayed in his mind. Whether he thought it was eventful was a matter of point of view: he returned a key piece of evidence, but he had gained a closer relationship with Cynthia Petrakis. No one would ever believe he was able to secure a date with the wealthy, partially reclusive, and philanthropic billionaire. No one would believe it so he won't tell anyone. Detective Brenson drove his police issued unmarked car back to the 19TH Precinct. At this late hour and the robbery attempt that occurred a few hours earlier, he hoped to be leaving before 1:00AM. One thing was certain, the night just became more and more interesting.
* * *
Cynthia thought about Detective Brenson since his departure from her office. Mixed feelings stirred within concerning the man with whom she has been taken with since they first met. She knew she was attractive and many men were attracted to her beauty. However, Detective Brenson, Dylan, was a man of some unique character and possibly worth exploring. Still, she would have to continue to practice reserve. Still the attention was nice.
"Now back to business," she said aloud as she sat back at her desk. She pressed an area on the top the desk. The oak finish surface faded out and was instantly replaced with a multi-faceted display showing several different areas of the museum. Four screens closest to her at the bottom revealed information from the internet and other media sources. Ten minutes elapsed as she checked social media on the reviews of the night's reopening gala. Many people had nothing but positive reviews about the evening, mostly from her guests. Other reviews were from the people who were outside and commenting on the excitement of the museum reopening, not to mention the invasion at the front door. Some people snapped images of the melee in the main hall of the Metropolitan. She frowned at that, but people will be people. Her main focus was on what the media outlets were reporting. The news reporters outside prior to the beginning of the gala reported the same thing: an electric buzz or spectacular showing of celebrities as they gathered for the reopening. Channel 6 caught her interest as she watched the entire footage of Samantha Reid's reporting. It was the final report of the evening that Cynthia paused and studied her face for signs of stress.
"See, you are photogenic! Many would be jealous of your supernatural, flawless beauty!" the voice teased.
"True, but who would put up with an annoying presence as a trade off," she whimsically replied.
After watching the reports and was satisfied, she turned her attention to an image of Jerimiah Clarke and wondered about this unassuming archaeologist. Unassuming yet vaguely familiar to her. Deep feelings emerged about him as he was instrumental in bringing to her attention the museum robberies and thwarting this latest one. She made a mental note to have further meetings with him and maybe, establishing a deeper role in the Foundation. Cynthia even considered introducing him to her true self. She wondered if he would be able to handle it. Deep down she believed he could.
A swipe of her hand on the desk display causes all of the windows to be swept off the main screen. She brought up a digital keyboard in which she type in a few commands at the prompt for the Security Office. A moment later, the guard named Winston answered the video call at the chief of security's desk.
"Yes Madame Petrakis."
"Winston, please have Daniela Harker bring all her security chiefs to my office so we can discuss tonight's events and lock down the museum for the night," she ordered.
"Yes ma'am, we will be right there." Winston terminated the video call. Cynthia sat in her office in silence for few minutes until the security officers came for a final meeting of the night.
* * *
Sitting quietly in the closed exhibit, Jerimiah slowly and cautiously extended his legs to relieve the cramp that developed in his left leg. He had been sitting behind the stone golem being protected by its "shadow" for nearly an hour since he bluffed his way past the security guard Tom Tiege. Several guards passed through the area, not looking for him but following their lock down procedures. For several minutes he listened to the footfalls of guards checking through the exhibits, radio transmissions between each other and their central command post, and conversations of events of the gala party. Anyone involved with event will have some stories to tell. None more interesting than Jerimiah's because he was experiencing a supernatural phenomenon. Twice guards have entered, scanned the room and moved on. The aura the golem projected was a blessing to be sure.
The golem was his best friend at the moment. He wondered about the other three golems; just as large as the guardian but not as gentle. The guardian had what appeared to be a staff in its grip dressed in a simple robe and his face is appeared to be Native American, of the Cherokee tribe he surmised. Another possessed two heads shaped like a snake; resembled an Egyptian deity as it had long arms and stood up like a man. The third golem looked as if it is an armored female knight. She carried a long sword and gothic shield at its side, and a helmet revealing determined eyes for battle. The last one appeared to resemble a giant werewolf. A big hulking presence and if he were alive he could smash through any barrier or army set against him. This would be best accomplished not only by his great size but its large hands or paws to be politically correct.
Jerimiah could not figure out significance of the stone giants before him. Each one's origins appear to have come from different corners of the world and the craftsmanship was unlike anything he had ever seen. But the real prize was examining the chest. He waited a few more minutes until he was certain no more guards patrolled the museum. Inwardly he questioned the sanity of this idea, but he told himself a thousand times before he had been in worse situations.
* * *
Seven security officers sat in Madame Petrakis' office giving their final reports on this evening's Gala and the security measures. Eight chairs sat opposite her desk, noticeably absent was former security guard Lian Zhou Zhu, who was now sitting in a cell at the 19TH Police Precinct. None of the other security officers made mention of her, or of the part she played in the robbery. For the most part, Madame Petrakis would most likely speak to that affair. The last officer reported on the status of the lock down and waited for their boss to speak.
"Ladies and gentleman, I will come right to the point. I am very upset at Miss Zhu for betraying her commitment to all of us. However, that is no reflection on all of you. I believe I have assembled a great staff, but as you know to err is human." Her words seem to relax her staff as they nodded their heads and agreed. "I will have to take the blame for the overall security measures. I did not foresee this level of difficulty when throwing this party for the reopening. I wanted our guests to feel secure but not under constant, strict surveillance. Such a hindrance would have tightened the flow of donations into the Foundation. Well, live and learn. From now on we will practice more visible security measures for all events, including normal operations. And we will have the central command center fully manned at all times."
Daniela Harker spoke up. "I think I can speak for all us here to say that we appreciate you having confidence in us. However, with the increased security measures and the absence of Lian, will you be sending more security officers to this location?"
"Yes, I have requests for some security officers to be transferred here because they live closer to the museum. This will work out for them as for everyone else," Madame Petrakis answered.
"Since they said they live close, let's put some cots in and let them sleep over night," Joanna said with a laugh. Everyone in the office joined in as well.
"I have considered that, but I would have to agree to provide cable TV, refrigerators and other comforts of home," Cynthia joined in on the joking. After a several moments of jovial delight, she turned her attention to Harker. "Harker, our system went down this evening. How did this happen?"
Harker leaned forward and placed a metallic bag carefully on the desk. She unwrapped the bag to reveal the sophisticated device Samsone Zee installed on the junction box. Everyone in the room expressed interest and fascination with this device.
"This is how they were able to scramble the surveillance systems in the command center. They connected the video and ethernet feeds to send alternating signals on both feeds. Sometimes the image would freeze, replay the last few seconds or go black." She picked up the device and turned it over for additional examination. "I have ordered newer security locks on the junction control boxes throughout the museum. When you approve the order, I will have it in place in less than twenty four hours."
Cynthia raised her right eyebrow in fascination. "Good. And how did they beat the alarms on the cases?"
"Similar to the device here, they managed to bypass the alarm by continuing the circuit through a specially fitted circuit board and two wire leads. Using a few lock picking tools we found discarded in a trash receptacle, they managed to gain access to display cases. Knowing how all of this was done, we can redo all of the cases and exhibit security systems in a few days to prevent this theft from ever happening again." Harker was about to take the device when Cynthia stopped her.
"Leave this with me. I want to take a closer at this device," Cynthia declared. She thought to bring it to Dylan but she had to determine if he was to be trusted completely in the matter of the robbery. Her inner instincts told her she could trust him.
Harker nodded and took her seat. "When we upgrade the security protocols, do you want to close the museum for a few days so we can test it?"
"Check the calendar, we can do it after Thanksgiving. Everyone will have returned by then and we can afford to be closed a few additional days." Harker and the other security officers made note on their digital tablets.
"All right everyone, if there is nothing to report, please place these artifacts back in to their display cases and we can retire for the evening."
Tom Tiege stood up and took the satchel from the desk Madame Petrakis pushed it toward him. The other security guards rose from their chairs and headed for the door. Madame Petrakis walked over to the guards before they left through the door and asked a final question. "Tom, did you or anyone else happened to see Mr. Clarke, the archaeologist, leave the museum?"
"The last time I saw him was earlier this evening. He said that he left something in one other exhibits and I allowed him to back for it when we started escorting the guests out." He turned to the other guards present and they shrugged their shoulders as to not confirming if they saw him.
"I am sure he has gone home. Thank you ladies and gentleman. I will remain here and do some work. When I am done I will use the service elevator and have my driver take me home." Madame Petrakis made herself look busy as Harker led her officers from the office.
Looking at the displays on the top of her desk, two guards replaced the ancient Greek documents carefully and correctly in their display cases. Several minutes later, she saw the last of the security personnel take a service elevator to the parking garage and left the Metropolitan. At long last the museum was empty and Cynthia Petrakis was ready to get on with the work she mentioned. Only it would not be worked confining to her desk. And finally, after a long eventful as well as stressful evening, she can let herself go.
Cynthia Petrakis stood behind her oak desk with her fingertips caressing the surface and she concentrated. Or more to the precisely, she allowed her inner self to be released. Her skin went from a nice olive tone to a dark gray color. The tips of her fingernails grew from their original manicured length to an inch and a half hardened nails. These nails were not normal human female nails but composed of sharp bronze. She also began to breathe more freely as she opened her mouth partially as fangs protruded. These fangs were well taken care of, not jagged or broken, well-manicured for the type of being she was.
Cynthia then carefully reached into her eyes and pulled out the contact lenses. Everyone who has spoken to her looked into eyes would think they are the prettiest brown eyes ever seen. If the only knew what truly laid behind those fake eye lenses. She reached into her desk draw and placed the eye lenses into a shiny silver monogramed case. Blinking several times, the feeling in her true eyes calmed and then settled from being behind false lenses for so long. These new eyes are black as night, save a jagged, yellow slit in each eye. These eyes were considered the most ghastly weapons of destruction in the ancient days of Greece, sought after by many in a past life to stop armies in their tracks and could bring entire kingdoms to their knees.
Finally, the individual strands of her long black hair began to merge together and form tentacles. Not tentacles, snakes; a writhing mane of snakes! All of them had yellow glowing eyes and looked like black vipers, twisting and hissing in agitation of its wearer. One snake, white in its color and extending from behind the right ear, turned back toward the snakes to calm them down. The being known as Madame Cynthia Petrakis was gone. What stood there behind the desk was what history and mythology referred to as a Gorgon.
With her transformation complete, she walked out from behind her desk began to looking at the walls of her office. Her eyesight afforded the ability see in complete darkness or through any object; therefore making her the most dangerous hunter to walk the earth. Man, woman or beast would be stopped in their tracks by turning to stone if they gazed into those eyes. No one could hide from this creature of myth. Even her other senses were dozen times more powerful than an ordinary human being. She used these senses to peer into every corner of the museum and then to inspect the area in which the would-be thieves stole the incomplete manuscripts of Olympus. Afterwards she would inspect the chamber where the private collection of Cynthia Petrakis was temporarily stored. She did not have the time or the vision to determine how she wanted to present the artifacts for public display. She merely used the area as a storage area and instructed security to make the exhibit off limits. She was thankful nothing was taken as a terrible price would have to be paid if even one item was removed.
The Gorgon was about to leave her office when her senses picked up someone in the same area she was to investigate. Using her vision, she was able to look through superstructure of the museum to identify the person who managed to slip through all of her security.
"Jerimiah Clarke. I thought he left the Metropolitan earlier. What is he doing here?" she asked out loud. The reply came not from within her mind but from the mind of the white serpent in her living hair.
"Let's go and ask him. But you should be more diplomatic. He was instrumental in preventing the robbery this evening," the white serpent responded. Before when it was hidden, it spoke to the Gorgon as an internal voice. It is physical representation of the living being residing in the body of the person who called herself Cynthia Petrakis. It did not speak verbally but was a powerful mind merged with the Gorgon's. Only she could hear the entity voice an opinion.
"I intend to find out why he is here, diplomatic or no," she said with a bit of annoyance in her voice.
The white serpent replied, "Well, consider that the Guardian has been hiding him during the sweep of our security staff. You know he will protect truth and reveal lies. So why did he protect Jerimiah? This is what we need to know."
Without responding, the Gorgon removed her stylish sandals from her feet, which also possessed bronze nails, and walked swiftly to the Petrakis Exhibit. She arrived there in less than a minute.
* * *
"Amulets with crystal cores, scrolls, bound tomes, sealed wooden boxes and stone carvings. These are peculiar objects to place on display, but this assortment does not suggest a particular theme for an exhibit," Jerimiah summarized as he spoke quietly into his tablet documenting his findings. "There is also a kite in the shape of a bird. It looks ancient, based on the materials used to make it. I cannot determine if this was someone's keepsake chest or a storage container. The larger question is this: Does this truly belong to Cynthia Petrakis? Did she inherit these all of these items? Or did she simply acquire them for various sources?"
Jerimiah looked at the other crates in the dim light and decided to examine their contents. He stopped when a circular golden amulet with a clear crystal center caught his eye. Its core sparkled as if it was a beacon to attract his attention. His hand hovered over it and he felt a tingling sensation. Curiosity compelled him to touch it and that moment, a power like none he ever felt surged through him.
Within the span of seconds, Jerimiah's mind's eye absorbed thousands of images and sounds. From where they came he did not know. The rush of mental stimulus would be enough to place someone in a coma for months, even years; yet the archaeologist barely managed to breath during what appeared to be memories flooding into his mind. He saw images of mountains, fields, people, different moments in time. Some of which he could identify from his own memories and research, but most was unknown to him. However, it felt as if he knew them personally. He heard people talking in different languages, incoherent at first, but then was able understand each and every one of them. Finally, he saw an island in the Mediterranean; it looked to be deserted at first but then he saw people arriving in ships. Refugees of some sort, they made a life for themselves and thrived at doing so. But there was a mountain that rose from its shores, a large cave entrance. Someone or something lived there and it led a solitary life. Jerimiah, immersed in the vision, strove to see who or what was in the cave. Slowly the image brought him closer. He could swear he could hear the wind blowing, feel the ocean spray on his face, but it was the sound of snakes that caught his attention. Dozens of them hissed in alarm but still he could not see anything. And then he saw the origin of the snakes…
* * *
The Gorgon moved very swiftly through the Museum and within less than a minute she was standing at the entrance of the Petrakis Exhibit. She found Jerimiah was going through the contents of her bronze chest. Her sharp hearing overheard him recording his findings on his tablet. The Gorgon was about to enter but stopped short. Jerimiah's hand touched one of the amulets and a brief flash of light filled the dimly lit room. She knew what that meant.
"He could not be a descendant from the island of Ieró. I thought all of their descendants, have died through the ages. Is this possible?" She asked the white snake internally.
"It is indeed possible," it answered. "That would explain why the Guardian shrouded him. He was protecting the descendants, like you created him to do in the first place."
The Gorgon smiled. It was true, on an island hundreds of years ago, escapees from a young Roman Empire settled on an uncharted island in the Mediterranean Sea. For generations, the people were able to live a life happy free from tyranny. Unfortunately, these escaped souls could never return to the country of their origin for fear of being recaptured or put to death. The light from the amulet died down, as if it was completed its task when Jerimiah touched it. She moved directly behind him.
Jerimiah blinked a few times and shook his head to clear it. The rush of mental stimuli was almost too much for his brain to handle, yet he was glad he was still upright. He noticed he was now holding the amulet in his hand, clutching it intensely. As if his whole body had to restart every system one by one. He had no recollection of picking up and holding the mystical amulet but his hands slowly obeyed the command to place it back in its original position. Then his vision began to clear. His ears, unfortunately, kept hearing a ringing noise. No, more like a hissing noise. In the vision he heard the same noise, snakes hissing. He shook his head to clear it again, but the sound was still present in his mind. Or he thought it was. Perhaps it is a side effect of the shock to his brain.
Looking at other amulets, he decided best not to touch them. The other items in the chest, the armaments and even the golems took his new focus. He would have to make an opportunity to examine them when he would get Madame Petrakis' permission. Coming up with a plausible explanation would have to be ingenious. Jerimiah made sure all of the items were back in its original place when a feeling of dread came over him. The sound of snakes was louder than before. He soon realized that the sound was not in his mind, but coming from behind him and growing louder. A feeling that someone else was in room made him freeze. It was not coming from the golem but right behind him. Another guard he thought. He was about to close the lid of the chest when he looked into the reflective surface of the lid and saw something that could literally turn him to stone.
The Gorgon approached slowly. Her face was expressionless as she moved into view of her reflection and stopped arm's length from the trespasser. Jerimiah was horrified and fascinated at the same time. Could it be that when he touched the amulet he unleashed a defensive curse? Why didn't golem protect him? Was this an illusion, a side effect of the amulet's power?
"Why did I let my curiosity get the best of me," Jerimiah groaned. He looked at the reflection again. Something that was considered a myth was less than five feet away. If he could move a muscle, he would run as fast as he could to get out. However, running through the museum would only set off alarms, bringing the police back to the museum. Circumstances of Jerimiah's actions would lead to escalation in which he would not be able to explain. Additionally, this creature would either try to hide and wait to strike or just destroy any who would look into her eyes.
Her eyes, he thought. He looked at her reflection and strangely enough, there were no eyes in the reflection. Jerimiah remembered the myth about Gorgons, how if anyone looked into their horrible eyes, they would be turned to stone. But the reflection of a Gorgon would not that person.
"Thank God that part of the myth was right," he said to himself.
Not sure if the creature behind him heard what he said, its facial expression changed from an expressionless face to a common feminine face of disappointment. She stepped a bit closer.
"I thought you went home Mr. Clarke. It disturbs me that you would hide here in the dark like a possible thief. I hope you are not planning on stealing from me," the Gorgon spoke in a deep, throaty voice.
"How do you know who I am," he responded in a barely masculine voice. He could not believe he was panicking so much, but then again meeting a monster was not an everyday occurrence.
"Really, you don't recognize me? You greeted me earlier this evening. You made me aware of the other museum robberies. And you sent me the video evidence that led to the capture of the five people who attempted to steal museum property, my property!"
Jerimiah looked hard at the reflection. The face, although grayish in color and the snakes are about her head, looked familiar. His eyes widened even more in astonishment.
"Cynthia Petrakis?" he asked.
In a voice he was accustomed to hearing she responded, "Madame Cynthia Petrakis." She smiled and her face took on a more human look, blank eyes and snakes notwithstanding.
Jerimiah could not believe the creature behind him was Madame Cynthia Petrakis! She was mingling with people, talking, smiling and enjoyed being center of attention; now she stood behind him as a Gorgon.
"I think it be best if we continue this conversation in my office on the fourth floor, room 400A. Come there in five minutes and we can make sense of this whole situation," the Gorgon urged. She turned and started to walk away.
Jerimiah watched in the smooth reflective surface the Gorgon walking away. Still in imminent danger, he decided not turn around to watch her walk away. The best move for him was to keep staring into the reflection.
"Why five minutes? Can I not walk behind you?"
"One, I have to turn off the security system and provide you with a safe passage to the fourth floor. Two, you need to get calm and pack up my bronze storage chest the way you found it. Three, I need to put on a fresh pot of coffee so we can talk." She stopped and turned her head slightly but not to reveal her eyes. "Besides, you won't be able to keep up."
Then she disappeared, running fast through the museum, fast enough not to trip the motion sensors and other monitoring devices. Soon the Gorgon was back in the office and at her desk. Looking at the display on her desktop, she brought up the museum security protocol and a floor plan of the Metropolitan exhibit lighting grid. Within a minute, a lighted path showed the way from the Petrakis Exhibit to room 400A. The cameras linked up to monitor Jerimiah and to follow his progress. While she waited, the Gorgon moved about her office and prepared fresh perk coffee as promised.
Jerimiah wondered if he was going to die a horrible death. Certainly, this creature would kill him for trespassing. If not by her, Samantha, waiting at her place, will definitely kill the archaeologist and bury him so no one would find him for a thousand years. What started to be a fascinating adventure was turning out to be a dreary epitaph. Lights came on in the exhibit, illuminating for the first time the Petrakis exhibit. The room was larger than he thought, but then again it was dark. He noticed more unopened creates along the back wall. The lights did not come on because he could inspect them; his host was waiting for him. He gathered his belongings, closed the lid of the chest and made his way to the office.
It was strange to see the museum at night after hours. A strange quietness hung in the air like a graveyard. The museum was split between light and darkness as an uneasy feeling began settle over him. Jerimiah tried not to think of any terrible things that possibly awaited him. He made his way to the fourth floor, via a stairway access, and entered the outer office leading into Madame Petrakis inner office. The smell of coffee brewing caught his attention as he slowly entered.
Madame Petrakis, the Gorgon, was seated behind her desk waiting for Jerimiah. She wore a thin, light blue cloak and the hood covered her hair of snakes. Her eyes were also covered with designer shades. The lenses appeared to be blackened as to not allow anyone to catch a glimpse of her true eyes. From what he knows of the myth, a glimpse was all it took. On the desk were two mugs, one that read, "I heart NY" and another that had the logo of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He guessed which one would be his. Additionally, a small bowl of brown sugar and pouring jar of creamer were set out should he desire cream and sugar. The Gorgon beckoned Jerimiah to enter and take a seat in one of the two leather chairs in front of her desk. The sound of a stainless steel coffee pot churned and bubbled as it prepared a special blend of exotic coffee. The smell was pleasing to both.
Once Jerimiah settled and got comfortable, the Gorgon spoke. "So Mr. Clarke, we have ourselves over a barrel, sort to speak. You have been caught trespassing in my museum, attempted robbery and criminal mischief." She paused and realized she sounded like a police officer. She changed her tone. "And you know something deep and personal about me only a few people on this planet know. I cannot get rid of you as that will pose too many questions and I remember how you have been instrumental in helping me this evening. So what are we to do about this?"
Jerimiah took a long time to answer. He made sure that his choice of words would not land him in any deeper trouble. And he also wanted to sound confident in his reply. "Well, I figure that since I was instrumental in capturing those would be thieves, perhaps I could help you determine why they targeted the Metropolitan to steal documents in the ancient Greek exhibit. Then I think I should have the honor of knowing who you are and what is going on here." He paused, swallowed and continued. "Before you turn me to stone."
A puff of steam blew out from the coffee maker, a sign indicating the process of coffee brewing was done. The Gorgon rose from her chair and retrieved the pot. She poured for Jerimiah first and then for herself. They added the desired amount of cream and sugar to their coffee and tasted. Ironically, both were satisfied and set their mugs down.
"Jerimiah," the Gorgon explained calmly. "First, I have no intention of turning you to stone. That would be cruel. Second, I considered revealing this part of myself to you but at a later date as I was not prepared for this meeting. I have suspected from the efforts you put forth this evening you are a man I can trust. I wanted to introduce you to some of my other projects and ambitions slowly but it seems that is not the case now. Still, I feel I can trust you with more of my secrets."
"Anyone who brews the best coffee I ever tasted in the world can't be all bad," he commented jokingly. "But you can trust me to keep your secrets." The archaeologist did not want to add the fact that she held his life in the palm of her hand and can extinguish it with a mere look.
"Fair enough. I guess I should grant you an impromptu interview so you can ascertain the information you seek," the Gorgon said as she took another long sip of her coffee.
Jerimiah brought out his tablet and worked on it for a minute, moving files into encrypted folders and opening a new folder for the Q&A session he was about to undergo. So many questions ran through his mind, but he needed to sort them out. The Gorgon sat back in her leather chair and watched Jerimiah work. Using her special vision, she was able to peer into his body and see his respiratory and circulation was calmer than before. She feared the sudden appearance of her true form behind him would cause him to collapse from sheer fright. She has been known to do that to her enemies before petrifying them or doing worse to them. Luckily, Jerimiah was healthy young man and seemed like he could handle anything thrown at him.
"My first question I have for you is this, who are you?" he asked as he set up his tablet to video record the interview.
The Gorgon did not mind in the slightest. She took a long moment to answer and then, as if the words would slide out between her lips easily, very calmly she said, "I am the Gorgon Medusa!"
