Nevermore

CHAPTER ONE

The arterial spray created a Rorschach of blood on the poster of Edgar Allan Poe. Dr. Margaret Ravenhill froze just inside the door of her classroom, clutching her briefcase to her chest as if it were a magic talisman against evil spirits. Her horrified gaze took in the macabre scene before her. Nothing within the basic rectangular shape of her room had been moved, to her left six rows with six desks each stood undisturbed. Directly across from her the windows were closed against the heat of the Sahara Desert. To her right the white board still held the remnants of her lecture on Emily Dickinson. The familiarity ended there. All of her posters, save one, were ripped from the walls and in their place were huge hieroglyphics that looked as if they had been written in a red-brown substance.

In the front of the classroom, five paces from where she stood the early morning light softly outlined the form of Mr. Beck who was sitting at her desk surrounded by an enormous pool of blood. The headmaster was unquestionably dead, since his neck had been sliced beyond the halfway point and his head was levered back on her chair. She gasped in disbelief as she looked at the sinew and cartilage that had been Mr. Beck’s breathing apparatus.

She stared transfixed in horror at the pool of blood that gently undulated with a swarm of hungrily feasting flies. In an oddly detached manner, she reasoned that if there were flies then the murder must not have been recent and therefore the killer would be long gone. This deductive logic could not explain away the fact that at that moment Meg knew, without question, that whoever had done this was still in the building. Ice-cold fingers of terror began to scratch their way up her spine as her survival instinct kicked in.

She could see inside every nook and cranny of her classroom except for the utility closet. As she stared at the slightly ajar doors, she realized that the stagnant air held a vaguely familiar smell; however, it was overpowered by a much stronger metallic odor. Her mind numbly registered that it was the smell of blood. As if in a dream, she observed herself moving forward toward the closet, arm automatically rising to pull on the handle.

Conscious thought slammed into her before she could take another step. Childhood remembrances of the bogeyman in the closet combined with flashes of every horror movie she had ever absorbed into her teenage brain. A voice penetrated the memory-induced miasma.

No, no, no. The guttural sounds emanating from her throat snapped her back to reality.

Run! Reverberated through her head, as Meg dropped the briefcase, whirled around and plunged through the doorway, skidding to a stop in the middle of the hallway she frantically glanced up and down the deserted corridor. Where was he? She knew he was close, men called it a ‘gut-feeling,’ women called it ‘intuition,’ whatever it was had been honed by millennia of being hunted by creatures more deadly than humans.

That primeval knowledge, imprinted long ago, sent her heart rate up and adrenalin pumping into her terror strained nervous system. She pulled in a breath of air in anticipation of screaming for help but the words froze on her lips as a small scuffing sound was emitted from the slanted shadows at the end of the hallway near the stairwell.

Like a demon rising from the fiery depths of hell, a shrouded form began to materialize and move toward her. A scream tore from Meg’s lips as she turned and raced to the teachers’ lounge on the far side of the building. She imagined she could feel the hot breath of her pursuer on her neck as she reached the end of the hall, rounded the corner and slammed into the custodian’s cart.

Entangled in a mass of rags and bottles of cleaning fluid Meg fought to catch the breath that had been violently knocked from her. Desperately pawing at the upended cart, she struggled over the top. Dizzy and unable to right herself, she began crawling toward the open door of the teachers’ lounge. The slap, slap, slap of shoes followed closely behind.

As she reached the entrance, Meg looked over shoulder before rushing to safety. What she observed stopped her cold; it was as if she were viewing herself through the eyes of the murderer. She was momentarily blinded by the site of herself pausing in the doorway. A gleaming flash of light then searing pain in her ankle, broke her from her stupor, she dove into the room, stood up, slammed the metal fire door and began shoving heavy wooden tables against it.

Her eyes desperately roamed around the room seeking a weapon. On the right hand wall next to the small kitchen, she spied an axe incased within a bright red emergency firebox. Pushing her way through tables and chairs placed around the room she wrenched open the door and grabbed the axe with terror numbed fingers. A faint scratching sound caught her attention, as she turned and faced the door she watched in horrified fascination as the levered handle slowly moved up and down.

At that moment Meg knew that she would do anything to survive, even if the murderer managed to push away the tables blocking the door. She was young, only twenty-six, she was strong and she was armed. With knowledge came bravery. Meg ran toward the door.

Listen you sick monster! She yelled for all she was worth. I called the guards at the gate and they are on their way up. I have an axe and so help me God I will cut off any part of your body that comes through that door! Despite her show of bravado, Meg’s hands were shaking and there was an unmistakable tremor in her tone. The door lever stopped moving.

God is dead Meg. A shrill voice laughingly rasped.

Much to her relief, she heard the swift movement of shoes running down the hall. Meg lowered the axe and reached for the black utilitarian phone affixed to the wall. She depressed the number for the back gate.

Hello, Khalid here. The normalcy of his voice caused Meg to sigh in relief.

Khalid, this is Miss Meg, please order a lock down of the school, I have just found Mr. Beck in my classroom. Meg began to stumble over her words. He’s, he’s been murdered. I’m in the teachers’ lounge. Please help me.

Miss Meg, listen to me, I am coming, I will be there in seconds, just hold on. Call the U. S. Embassy right now. As Khalid rang off the high-pitched screech of the emergency alarms went off in every building on the campus. She fished her cell out of her jacket pocket and pressed the number for the embassy on her speed dial.

Embassy of the United States of America, Cairo, Egypt, how may I direct your call? A cheerful voice piped into the phone.

I…I…I don’t know who I am supposed to speak with but I am at the scene of a murder. Meg croaked out.

Wait, did you just say you murdered someone? The woman enquired.

God no, I found my headmaster murdered. Meg’s hands began to shake.

Are you an American citizen miss? The woman was speaking very quickly.

Yes, I am. My name is Dr. Margaret Ravenhill. She always used the doctor when she needed someone to pay attention. I am a teacher at AAC, sorry I mean the American Academy of Cairo. I have just found my headmaster, Mr. Beck murdered in my classroom.

"Dr. Ravenhill, are you in any danger?’

No, no, I don’t think so; I alerted the guards. They have triggered the emergency alarm and the school in on lock down.

Okay, I am going to find someone to help you, just hang in there and stay on the line. She could hear the woman yelling for the military police and then a hushed discussion where the only words she could make out were, teacher, AAC and body. Just then, a man’s voice came on the line.

Dr. Ravenhill, this is Brody Nichols, are you in a secure location? She drew in her first deep breath.

Yes, I am in the teachers’ lounge on the second floor, I have not seen anyone else. This is too early in the morning for most of the staff and faculty to be here.

Okay, we have military police on the way and they should be there in fifteen minutes, you will stay on the line with me until they tell you otherwise, is that understood?

Affirmative, Mr. Nichols. She could hear a suppressed sound like a gasp or a cough on his end.

Dr. Ravenhill, are you in the military?

She had slipped into military speak without even realizing it. That’s what comes from soldiers mating.

No, sir. I am however a full-fledged army brat. Both of my parents were stationed at the Presidio in San Francisco, and it’s Meg, I go by Meg. She heard a whooshing sound as if his breath had been released.

I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that Maggie, I mean Meg. Okay, now I know you can handle the wait. Make your parents proud, pull it together and tell me what you saw.

Meg dragged in a couple of rough breaths and realized that she needed to focus on his words. She seemed to be losing her concentration as her mind wondered back to her classroom.

What did you want me to tell you sir?

Please call me Brody; let’s begin with what time you arrived and which gate you came through?

I came through the back gate at 6:30 am. There were two of the AAC guards at the gate. They let me in and I went up to my classroom on the second floor. I noticed that the door was ajar so I pushed it open with my foot because I was carrying my briefcase. The first thing I saw was my poster covered in blood.

Okay, you are doing really well. Now, where in your room is the poster located?

It is on the wall facing the door right next to the windows that look out over the track. Then I saw the body of the headmaster at my desk.

Meg, you are talking about Mr. Beck right? Are you absolutely sure he’s dead? His voice sounded forced is if he were keeping an extreme emotion in check.

Yes, he is gone; his neck has been almost completely severed. Brody you sound as if you know him.

I do, he is a very good friend of our family. He has been since I went to AAC. This last part seemed to be choked out. Meg, don’t think about Mr. Beck now, concentrate on the room.

My desk is located equidistance between the far wall with the windows and the door way. All of the desks were perfectly in place; nothing seemed to have been disturbed. The only thing that was glaring was the blood on the walls. She was beginning to feel queasy again.

What do you mean the blood on the walls?

"There are hieroglyphics written in what I assume to be Mr. Beck’s blood all over my walls. Most of what I saw came from passages in The Egyptian Book of the Dead."

Meg, you mean to tell me that some bastard slaughtered Mr. Beck and used his blood to write ancient graffiti all over your walls, and you can read it?

Well hieroglyphics characters are not that difficult, I have memorized quite a few of them. I recognized the monster Amenta also known as ‘The Devourer’ or ‘the eater of the dead’, Amenta stands out because it has the head of a crocodile, upper body of a lion and back portion of a hippopotamus. Wait, were they having this discussion? Everything was a bit surreal to Meg. Here she was a few feet from the body of Mr. Beck and she was discussing the merits of hieroglyphics.

It seemed to her that Brody was trying to keep her occupied while he was waiting for the cavalry to arrive. This thought only vaguely registered as she heard a loud noise down the hall. It was the sound of several sets of feet approaching.

Brody, I hear someone coming. She said in alarm.

Don’t worry, stay on the phone with me; it must be the people I sent.

Miss Meg, Miss Meg, it’s me Khalid. A light rapping on the door followed his welcome presence. Miss Meg are you hurt? I see a trail of blood leading up to the door?

No Khalid I’m okay. I’m on the phone with the U. S. Embassy right now . . . Brody interrupted Meg.

Meg, if that is the guard, tell him to stand outside the door. Do not let him in and tell him to radio his men to keep out of the classroom. Meg relayed the message to Khalid. She felt instant relief at the thought of him protecting her. She heard a loud commotion and several raised voices as Khalid called in.

Miss Meg, there is a man here from the embassy. I have checked his credentials and he is fine. Can I let him in? As Meg agreed, the door began to slowly force the tables back. Almost of their own accord, her knees buckled and her legs gave out. She slid to the floor still clutching the axe and the phone.

The first thing she observed about the man was his extremely expensive looking Italian leather loafers. Her eyes traveled up the length of his dark grey pinstripe suit. Having once lived in England, she recognized the cut of a hand-made Savile Row tailor. He was well over six feet with broad shoulders, jet-black hair that curled on the sides and a tawny complexion. As his face came into view, she could see that he had a classic Roman nose and a strong jaw line.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He seemed to visibly pale under his dark skin.

Meg, are you okay? Brody broke into Meg’s contemplation of the man.

Yes, I’m fine; a man is here wearing the most beautiful suit I have ever seen. Did she just say that last part out loud? She really was losing it. There was a snort across the line and then Brody answered.

That would be Callahan; would you please put him on the line? The man called Callahan knelt down in front of Meg as if in prayer. He gently placed his hands over hers. She felt a sudden flush of warmth flood through her. Funny that, she had not even realized how chilled she was.

Dr. Ravenhill are you injured? Meg looked into the most astonishing eyes, they were very light brown and they had gold flecks in them. They reminded her of a lion’s eyes.

She had just returned from a photo safari in Kenya and she had had the opportunity to use a commercial camera with a zoom lens. Their party had stopped to take pictures of a pride of lions and the male had eyes exactly like the ones that she was gazing into now. Oops, he was talking to her.

Pardon me, were you saying something? She managed to blurt out.

Are you injured Dr. Ravenhill?

No, no, I’m fine. Well not exactly fine, my ankle hurts but I have not had a chance to look at it. Mr. Beck is dead and Brody wants to speak with you. She was babbling. He took the phone from her out stretched hand.

Brody, we need you here now; bring Miguel and Amy. He shut the phone off. Dr. Ravenhill, my name is Rasul Callahan and I am here to help you. Do you think you can stand up?

While he was talking, Meg realized that she could hear people running and shouting outside the door. She could just make out the sound of someone retching when those compelling eyes brought her back.

Meg, my name is Meg. Yes, I can stand. She lied, as soon as she attempted to the shaking began and she would have fallen if not for his fast action. He scooped her up before she hit the floor, carried her across the room and placed her gently on the couch under the windows in a patch of sunshine. She was shivering uncontrollably by that point.

Meg look at me, focus on my face. I need you to understand that you are safe. I am here and Khalid is right outside. Everything is going to be okay, no one can hurt you, do you believe me? Do you trust me? Meg locked eyes with Rasul, nodded her head and croaked out a barely discernible agreement.

Good, now I want you to give me the axe, could you do that? Meg slowly lifted her hand and dropped the axe to the floor, kicking it aside; Rasul found a blanket in the emergency closet and tucked it in around her. He was just elevating her feet and gingerly examining her ankle when her best friend Emma burst through the door.

Excuse me miss, you can’t be in here. Rasul stepped in front of the couch in a protective position. He had just enough time to register long black hair, a heart shaped face, furious black eyes and an athletic body before she moved into the room.

Like hell I can’t, I don’t know who you are, but I am Dr. Emma Kim. I am a teacher here and Meg is my best friend. Emma looked at him as if he were a roadblock she would be happy to forcibly remove.

Dr. Kim, I am so sorry. Of course, you can stay with us. My name is Rasul Callahan and I am the expatriate liaison from the embassy. Meg seems to be going into shock and I need to get some sugar into her. Could you stay with her while I fix some coffee?

She does not drink coffee. You can make her some decaf herbal tea right here in the kitchen. You will find everything in the cupboard. Emma pointed to the small kitchen on the right hand side of the room near the door; she gave him an appraising look and then walked to the couch. Meg, Khalid told me what happened, are you okay? She enquired as she sat down and gathered her best friend up in her arms.

Meg was shaking and her teeth were chattering. Emma looked into her haunted eyes and spoke slowly. Meg, you are in shock and we are going to ask you to drink some hot tea. Would you do that for us?

Yes. Meg managed to get out; she vaguely recognized the truth of what they were saying as she veered between acute awareness and oblique distraction. She had been able to carry on a constructive conversation with Brody and had noticed every aspect of Rasul’s appearance, all the while feeling as if she were underwater buffeted from her surroundings. She had only experienced this one other time, it was best not to dwell on that now.

Rasul brought two cups of tea and handed them gingerly to the women. I loaded these with honey, both of you need to stay in here until we can secure the crime scene. His eyes raked over Meg. Her black curly hair cascaded silkily down her back, which gave her an old-fashioned look. She stood about five-six with a lean body that curved in the right places.

He guessed the combination of honey colored skin, almond shaped eyes, high cheekbones and her last name meant she had Native American heritage. Her most mesmerizing features were her eyes. They were a combination of blue, green and grey with a dark blue outline. As he studied their unusual pattern, tears overflowed and began to stream down Meg’s cheeks.

Rasul reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and slowly handed it to her, the chivalrous gesture of days gone by, represented by the offering of a handkerchief proved her undoing. She leaned into Emma and began sobbing. Emma looked up at Rasul; her tears just beginning to fall.

He grabbed a few tissues off the coffee table by the couch and handed them to her.

Meg you have a cut on your ankle . . . Before Rasul could finish Emma jumped up and ran for the first-aid kit.

Why didn’t you say that in the first place? She’s hurt! She needs a doctor! Emma shot Rasul an accusatory look as she began to get out medical supplies.

No don’t touch that. Rasul raised a hand to stall Emma’s attempted treatment. Meg did someone hurt you? Do you think it was the same person that killed Mr. Beck? When Meg nodded in agreement, Rasul continued. She is not bleeding very much and that injury is evidence. If she was cut with the same weapon that was used on Mr. Beck we need to have forensics look at it before anyone cleans it up.

Man you are cold. You would let a woman lay here bleeding on the couch and not help because you are worried about evidence. Emma spat out the last word with a look of pure malice toward Rasul.

Dr. Kim, Emma, please let me bring the embassy doctor in here to clean up the cut correctly. I promise it will only take me a minute to get her, she is right down the hall. Emma realized the switch to her first name was a professional attempt to get her to acquiesce.

Emma please do as Rasul asks. I thrust him, I am safe, anything we can do to help catch Mr. Beck’s murderer we should be doing. Truthfully, I can’t even feel my ankle. Meg’s pleading look and beckoning hand seemed to calm Emma as she returned to her friend on the couch. Rasul mouthed a Thank-you, to Meg and slipped from the room.

As Meg watched the door close, she realized that no matter what anyone said, she was not safe. For the moment she was protected, but not safe, she was inexplicably tied to this murder. A feeling of dread enveloped her as she pieced together the most salient facts.

The murder occurred in her room, the killer knew her and he left her alive. Mr. Beck’s life was brutally ended this day, but Meg knew, with bone chilling certainty, that for her, this was just the beginning.

CHAPTER TWO

Rasul walked out into a maelstrom and grabbed the most experienced MP on the scene. Mateus, I want you to guard that door and don’t let anyone in except Brody, Miguel or Amy. I don’t care who they are, they have to go through me first, got it? He could not get the anger, brought on by this senseless murder, out of his voice. He had better control that or he would not get anywhere with the Egyptian police.

Yes, sir. No one will get past me, I give you my word. Mateus blocked the door with two hundred pounds of serious muscle.

Thanks, I knew I could depend on you. We have the woman who found Mr. Beck in there and I don’t want anyone bothering her until she can recover from what she has seen. Rasul pulled Khalid aside. I want you to go inside and stay right by the door. I know Miss Meg will feel much more protected if she has someone she knows guarding her. Without a word, Khalid entered the room.

With that taken care of, Rasul pushed through the crowd until he reached the entrance of the classroom. Unless, you are processing the crime scene you must move back from this entry. He yelled above the noise. It helped to be six-four, he was a head taller than everyone in the hall so all eyes turned to him. I want all of the staff to assemble in the cafeteria. I will be meeting with you in a few minutes to answer any of your questions that I can.

The hall became a bit less stuffy as several people moved to the first floor. All of the AAC guards need to double up. I have sealed off this campus; no one leaves without my permission. The only personnel you may let in will be Egyptian police or people from the American Embassy. I would greatly appreciate it if you would not speak of what has happened to any passersby, thank you.

Lots of grumbling as the guards moved to their regular posts. Brody, Miguel and Amy joined him at the door. Amy buried her face in Miguel’s chest as they silently surveyed the mutilated body of their mentor. Rasul had a PhD in clinical psychology; his instincts told him that this was not just about Mr. Beck. Everything about the position of the body, the wound and the writing on the walls was spelling out a devious message.

Madre dios. Miguel tended to fall into his parents’ native tongue during times of great emotion.

Predictably, Brody was the first to blow. I am going to find the SOB that did this and cut his heart out. His close cut, black curly hair was bristling as he put his six-two, two hundred and ten pounds of force behind the ebony fist that slammed into the wall.

Brody, you idiot. Let me look at that. Amy glared at him in exasperation.

Amy, take him to the teachers’ lounge, Mateus will let you in. Would you check on the ladies while you are there? The woman who found Mr. Beck has a wound on her ankle, please take one of the techs from the crime scene to process her injury. Rasul shook his head as Amy swung her medical bag over her shoulder, grabbed Brody’s good arm and motioned for one of the techs to follow her.

Miguel pulled a desk from the nearest classroom, placed it directly in the entrance to the crime scene and set up his laptop. Rasul, we need to know everything that is happening in here. He whispered as he glanced toward the medical professionals who had begun their work.

Ladies and gentlemen, would you please stop whatever you are doing for a moment. I appreciate the fact that all of you went straight to work even though I was detained in the teachers’ lounge, however, we need to have a quick discussion regarding our roles here. Rasul surveyed a group of three Egyptian police officers that stood at attention a few paces down the hall.

He was pleasantly surprised to find his friend Amir Nasser apparently in charge of the Egyptian contingent. Amir, Brody, Amy, Miguel and Rasul had cemented their friendship in these halls during ninth grade.

Rasul, I have been assigned to this case by the head of our department. We will be most honored to work with you as we search for this fiend. Please know that the full weight of the Egyptian government will be at your disposal. Amir moved forward to embrace Rasul in a powerful bear hug. Egyptian men hugged. When he had first moved to Egypt from England, it had been a difficult social custom to absorb. Amir pulled back and kept his hands clasped around Rasul’s arms; this had a Roman centurion feel to it.

Amir, I can’t tell you how much easier this will be with you in charge. Now what exactly is the procedure for an investigation of this sort?

I have been told that the American Embassy has several forensic specialists that would be willing to assist us with the processing of the crime scene. We will be happy to share all responsibilities for the investigation including the questioning of witnesses. Amir stepped back to gauge Rasul’s reaction.

No problem. Let’s speak to the docs together. Rasul understood that normally this would be a matter for the Egyptian police. That said, AAC was considered an American installation, therefore the embassy could exert a certain amount of control. Their team had worked in tandem with the police on several delicate cases having to