A Picture is Worth About a Thousand Words

There were parts of the golf course that weren’t fenced. It was a bit of an adventure to get onto the course; you had to climb up from Wildwood Canyon and then up the creek through a lot of berry bushes, but you could get onto the course at the 16th hole if you really wanted to. And kids sometimes did. The gardeners picked up their beer cans and cigarette butts, so this was known to Fletcher House security. It’s one of the places that was monitored routinely by the room of security staff that watched the perimeter.

The usual practice, the one staff came to recognize, especially in the summertime, was a group of four to six, or, two, who would bring blankets and beer coolers and park under the heritage bay tree, smoke dope and drink beer, fuck, and then depart the way they’d come. Knowledge of the path in was known to a select few. So, this late January night was not likely going to be a meet-up of young lovers or bros drinking beer. It was a single individual, almost certainly male, apparently making his way across the course toward the 9th tee.

At this point, security deployed three team members to intercept and detain. And they were not behind hand, but the team lead held back in order to observe the intruder’s intent. The team followed the black-clad figure around the members’ club house and down the path toward the hedge row that ran around the slaves’ exercise garden and then on to the kitchen terraces where he climbed up and peered in to the only window at eye level.

Whatever he may have seen in the moment was eclipsed by a muffled pop behind him which suddenly surrounded him with a thin netting; the security team rolled him over once and that made movement instantly impossible. Within a minute or two an electric transport whizzed up and took the captive away. The security team returned to their station.

It was early in the morning, so the call went to the deputy assistant to the gamekeeper, which is to say, the assistant to the assistant gamekeeper. And this may be why so unlikely but so providential a course was taken in regard to this particular captive. Archibald Cruickshank was a character; a good character taken altogether, and well-liked by his coworkers, but wry and serious at the same time, and dedicated heart and soul to the House.

Archie was briefed by security staff and then taken to the detention facility where the intruder was being held. What he found there surprised him. This was an astonishingly beautiful child. 17 or 18 at a guess. At a glance, privileged, entitled, educated, pampered, and arrogant. Just the sort to get Archie’s interest; he was going to love this.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked the boy.

“Is this the 19th hole? Are you taking drink orders?”

“Did you have a purpose in peering into windows? Are you a peeping tom? What did you hope to see?”

“What goes on in here that needs gates and high fences and a bus load of security? Huh? What? Something interesting?”

“Hmmm...,” said Mr. Cruickshank. “Yes..., yes, something interesting. You’ve gone to quite a lot of trouble to get here. Would you like to know?”

The boy regarded the man across from him with a seriousness he’d learned from teachers and his father. This looked like a serious question, something he’d not often experienced. Somehow he believed the man was serious. And that gave him pause. Did he really want to know? Had he come here on a lark? No. Not a lark. He wanted to know. What really went on at the castle? Was it true what Jimmy Mitchel told him? Is that really what happened to his brother?

“Yes, I want to know.”

“Huh,” said Archibald. “You want.” He waited two beats, then said, “Tell me what you want.”

Without weighing his words, he blurted out, “I want to know what happened to Billy Mitchel. He disappeared two years ago, and I think the castle had something to do with it.”

Archibald sat quietly for a moment, appraising the boy. Then he got up and left the room, leaving the boy to wonder alone for ten minutes. On returning, Archie sat across from the boy and looked him right in the eyes. “Tell me you want to know.”

The boy hesitated. There was something real about this guy. Something that spoke truth. Did he trust the guy? Well, he trusted that what he’d be told would be true. Where’s the harm in that? Yes, he wanted to know. “Yes, I want to know,” he said in a clear voice.

“Alright then, let’s get you started.” He led the boy out of the holding cell and down a hallway to another similar room. He opened the door and ushered the boy in. “Take off your clothes and then sit on the bench over there.” Archie locked the door as he left. He was going to enjoy this.

__________

Detective McCaffery was deferential and polite and completely professional. He’d already spoken to Harry and Franklin and now he wanted to ask the same questions of Archibald. Had he seen or heard of a boy of 17 who was known to sneak onto the golf course from time to time. Yes, of course the sheriff could view the security tapes of the front gate. No, no one of that description came to mind.

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I want to give a shout out to Gen who inspired this note with his story, Break In - GayDemon, check it out. It looks to be a good one.

This wraps up the current experiment. Thanks for reading, thanks for support. Watch for longer format experiments in the months to come.
/mushrush