Samson lit another torch, making his total come to six. The room was fully lit and yet still felt very dark. The four chains that disappeared into the atrium were still not visible even with all the torches lit. The casket rocked slowly back and forth. The slight draft made Samson feel as if there was an opening, hidden high up in the darkness. He considered resting and regaining his strength before returning to the water. The room left him feeling empty and alone. Waiting to regain his strength was not an option. He made his way to the main doorway.

“The water has to lead out,” he thought.

Standing at the entrance, he looked back over the area he had crawled through in the dark. The smooth surface leading to the room was a landing. Several stone stairs led down into the water, disappearing in the mud. The “rock” that he had laid on was no rock but head of large stone statue. The stone was carved beautifully in the shape of a roaring lion. Its twin was on the other side of the stairs. Both were made of a solid red marble, faded by time.

When he cast his light out over the cavern it was met by nothing but solid sharp rocks. No walls or signs of civilization. The stairs and room seemed to be carved out of the rock to stand alone in the empty cavern seemingly out of nowhere. He walked to each corner of the landing, both dropped off into the water, and he realized was not ready to risk another swim. So, he walked back to the atrium and sat looking up at the giant suspended casket, wondering what he should do next.

His stomach growled. He had not eaten anything since noon, and the crisis of Saint’s arrival had made him forget all about the Chinese restaurant he was looking forward to. He sighed and stuffed the torch back into its holder on the wall. He pulled his hands through the soaked black frock he was still wearing. Pulling it off he tossed it over one of the chains. The weight swung the chain into the casket making a loud “clink” that jostled the casket more. It swayed heavier now, putting strain on the old chains, creaking menacingly down at him. He was startled and jumped back against the wall. He caught himself. Saint’s violence had shaken him to his bone marrow, and he had not yet recovered. He slid down the wall and looked out over the dark cavern. The water was still, seemly untouched by the world around it. The quiet was off putting. He pondered it if was a wise idea of have the torches lit, as it provided a beacon for Saint to find him. Then again, without the torches, he was would be lost and blind. Eventually Saint would find him, and he would have no way of getting away.

He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his wet socks. The floor was like ice on his already damp feet, but it felt better than sitting in wet socks. He wanted to remove his pants and get out of his wet undergarments, but given his current situation he guessed that would be unwise. He decided to investigate the back of the room. He dislodged the torch from its holder and made his way to the back wall, slapping his bare feet on the marble as he did. The back wall was the same as the rest, “Periculo” carved in every brick as it climbed up and out of sight. He lifted the torch as high he could to see if he could make out the top of the room. He guessed that the builders had to have built a way out, and given that the other direction was a murky underground lake, this seemed like the most likely exit. The draft flickered the fire and helped confirm Samson’s thought. Yet the torches faint light was not bright enough to see the ends of the chains much less the ceiling above it.

A faint splash out in the lake broke Samson’s concentration and he dropped the torch, diving to the floor, trying to make himself as small as possible. Silence returned to the cave. Samson held his breath. Saint had used silence to fool him last time and he was not going to let it happen again. He laid there, still as board for some time. The light from the torch was slowly fading on the floor. Seeing that it was going out, he quietly stood up, trying his best to keep his wet feet from slapping against the floor. Feeling that he was still alone he reached for the torch. The orange glow was sputtering out but still gave off enough light for him to see it.

A scorpion tail had crept out of one of the bricks in the wall. The black scaly skin glimmered off the torch. Samson withdrew his hand without hesitation, the tail remained where it was. The light faded into embers, losing sight of the scorpion tail. Samson pinched the base of the torch, dragging it slowly to him. He dug his bare feet into marble, stabilizing his weight. Once the torch was far enough from where he assumed the tail was, he gripped it tighter. Leaning it against one of the other torches, it was not long before the flame was reignited. With new light he brought it back to the floor. The tail had not moved. Samson contemplated his options. He could leave it alone and return to other side of the room, but there was no guarantee that the bug wouldn’t make its way to him. He could grab it and throw it in the water, hoping it didn’t sting him when he threw it. He decided to burn it. He felt bad at the thought, but he didn’t wish to share the room with a potential deadly animal, so he knew he had no choice. He also didn’t want to admit he was hungry enough to eat it and it would likely taste better cooked.

Biting his lip, he drove the torch at the tail. He expected the bug to flee deep back into crevasse once the fire touched its tail, but that was not the case. It didn’t move, even as the fire engulfed it. The flames dancing around the skin didn’t even burn it. Samson was shocked and afraid. He felt he had found another demon, unfazed by pain. He pulled back the torch. The tail remained still. He reached his hand out to it. The fear was flowing down his shoulder to wrist, no matter how much he stabled, himself he could not stop his arm from shaking. His hand met the tail. He released it almost immediately. He thought he was stung before he realized, he was slightly burned. He shook the pain out of his hand and reached for the tail again. This time tapping it slightly. He smiled, it was not tail after all, it was a handle made of obsidian. The scorpion tail seemed designed to serve as a deterrent.

“Clever,” he thought.

Gripping the handle tight he pulled hard. The brick became loose from the wall. With ease he slid the brick to the floor revealing something else. It was not a brick but a secret drawer. He leaned the torch closer to the drawer. Inside was a leather-bound book. It was large, wrapped in a dark maroon leather, and bound with a black corded rope with frayed tassels along the side. The pages were water damaged. Each one was layered differently than the others causing the corners to poke out from all sides. The cover was engraved with a stamp that had been pressed into the leather by force. Unlike the walls however, it was not written in Latin. The words that crawled over the cover were in Spanish.

“El Colecciones De Ruben Alcazar”

Samson’s Spanish was not as good as he had wanted it to be given how close he lived to Mexico, but he knew enough to understand the title. “The Collections of Ruben Alcazar.” He grabbed the black cord and lifted the book out of the drawer. The cord strained against the weight of the book and several threads snapped against his hand. He set the book on the tile with a thud, snapping more of the cords. He placed the torch in the drawer, leaning the majoring of it out over the book creating a simple reading light. He began pulling at the cords. Time had wasted away their strength, so the simple pulls snapped them without effort. Once the bindings were released the spine slid off the pages, the glue barely holding the leather to the paper. He pulled the binding off the book and let it fall to the floor, leaving nothing but a pile of water damaged pages.

“He hecho mi mejor esfuerzo. Que Dios me juzgue en consecuenica.”

Read the first line in bold black letters, broke in several times by the cracks in the page. The pages looked handwritten. The flow of each letter read almost artistically. Samson began to page through. The words were all in Spanish and he did his best to know what they said. Ten pages in, he began lifting large stacks, doing his best to read, but it was no use. The words were either illegible, written in Spanish, or in another langue he didn’t recognize. He was about to lift the book back in the drawer and return to his search, when he turned to a page with an illustration of the hanging casket. He stopped and lifted the page to the light for a closer look. It was crude, but highly resembled a blue print for its construction. He looked back at the pages and saw more illustrations of the casket and the room. He frantically began paging through while being delicate enough not to tear the pages.

Scribbled on one of the pages was the ceiling. The chains that disappeared were shown to be pulled through a ring that was anchored to the cavern wall. The chains were then funneled through a small opening the size of a manhole. He set the page down and began looking for next page which showed where the chains went from there. The stacks were growing larger as the flame flickered above them drawing closer to the paper. He turned five pages, then six, but the pages that showed him the chain’s path were nowhere to be found. Samson sat back on his hands. His stomach growled again. He doubted he would have the strength to climb up the chain to even reach the opening. Even then if he did reach the opening would there be enough space to fit through?

The flames were starting to die out and Samson considered letting them. He was tired and hungry, yet from where he was, he was safe. He closed his eyes. Sleep was something he wished for, but it did not come. Opening his eyes, he looked up to the ceiling again. He guessed that the top was just out of view of the light and that the climb wouldn’t be as hard he first considered. He looked over to the walls. The word “danger” stood out to him.

“Why would they write danger in a tomb?” He asked himself.

He decided to keep looking for the page showing him where the chains went. He returned to the task, turning over page after page that had no illustrations. He had nearly turned to the end of the book when another page caught his eye. It was not the casket or the chain but the drawer he had just pulled out of the wall. He recognized that sinister scorpion handle. He looked over the page in detail. The drawer was shown to have a false bottom heavily hidden under the marble. He grabbed the drawer and looked down into its base.

It was red marble, like the rest. Each corner seemed to seamlessly blend together. He ran his finger against it. The seems were near perfect, if he hadn’t seen the illustration, he doubted he would have guessed there even was a false bottom. He felt around to the back of the drawer. The bottom of the drawer, like the inside, was seamless. However, its corner had a small gap, large enough for someone to fit their finger in. He wedged his finger into the hole, the slight feeling of a small lever met him. He pushed on it and like magic the bottom popped open. He smiled, and lifted the bottom out, setting it to the side. He was not sure what he expected to find in the hidden compartment, but whoever left it went to a lot trouble to keep it hidden. His excitement faded as he looked inside. Inside the compartment was another book.

This one was much different than the first. The cover was gold, lines woven in and out of each other creating hard lined diamonds that raised on the page. The spine was silver which sparkled and danced in his eyes. The pages were in proper alignment and had been seemingly untouched by time. A golden tassel hung from the spine. It like the first was also bound. However, its binding was a silver bar on the front and back of the spine which met at the front of pages to a small golden lock. The cover had nothing written on it save for a symbol burnt into the center. The symbol was diamond, made of a compass on top and measuring square on the bottom. In center of the diamond stood a capital “G.”

Samson recognized the symbol but could not remember from where. His curiosity had risen to new heights. He had to see what was inside the book. Snatching up the torch he wedged the hilt in the space in the locks. He pressed heavily feeling the gold crack under the assault. He had almost broken through when the hilt snapped, dropping the torch to the floor nearly incinerating one of the piles of paper. Samson kicked the torch away from the paper. It spun along the slick floor, out the main door, into the water. The fire went out with hiss. Samson paused for a moment. The hiss had brought him back to where he was, in a dark and empty cavern under the desert. His conviction was clear now, he was going to get out.

Grabbing the book, he lifted it up and cracked the lock against the drawer. The gold was highly damaged from the strike. Bringing it down a second time, it snapped the lock hard, sending gold shards off the casket and walls. He pulled open the cover. The first page was clear white, glossy in nature. The letter was written in a dark gold.

“The Burial and Resurrection of Nevara Florentino”

Recorded by Mason Ruben Alcazar,

Scribed by Mason Morgan Illiard

Samson pinched the pages and began to read. As he became engrossed, he didn’t even notice the small bit of purple liquid seep out of his ear.