A Life of Death: Episodes 9 - 12 by James Roy Daley, Weston Kincade, Books Of The Dead Page A
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tiled floor.
“What is it?” Dr. Mayna asked.
I rolled my head from shoulder to shoulder, popping my neck, then took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re still taking in the whole visions thing, right? Not really sure about me, although, I’m pretty sure you believe more now than before.”
Dr. Mayna gave an embarrassed frown. “Can you read minds now too?”
I shook my head. “No, just people. You don’t want to know what that was.”
Her brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you—”
I waved the question off. “You’re not ready for it. Just trust me.”
She shook her head with hesitance and took a deep breath of her own.
“Take a look at her hand,” I said, pointing more to divert her attention back to the task at hand more than anything. “This is probably the position she died or was buried in right?”
Dr. Mayna nodded and leaned in.
“Is it just me, or does her hand look like it’s clutching something. The fingers—they’re not relaxed. They’re positioned as though encircling something. See, her thumb isn’t even visible; it just disappears on the underside of the dirt.”
“Yeah, but so do most of her other fingers. How can you tell her hand wasn’t relaxed?”
“Well, rigor mortis sets in—”
“I know about rigor mortis,” she said, rolling a finger for me to get on with it.
“Rigor mortis doesn’t go away for twenty-to-thirty hours, and it looks like in this case she was buried as is. The dirt kept her skeleton in place, and you can see that all of her fingers at the base of the knuckle—”
“The proximal phalanges,” Dr. Mayna supplied.
“Yes, those are all in line. When your hand curls at rest, they aren’t all aligned like that. It’s unnatural.”
“So you’re saying…?”
“That she might have something in her hand,” I finished.
Dr. Mayna’s eyes widened. She grabbed a brush, a small pick, and a narrow chisel from a wooden box of tools in her office at the corner of the L-shaped room. The box was old and looked like it could have belonged to Galileo. Then she began scraping the dirt away from each side of her hand, trying to uncover Jill’s thumb and whatever was inside her curled fingers.
I watched with anxious curiosity, thinking to myself, This must be what it’s like at a dig, never knowing what you might unearth. Soon, the end of something long and cylindrical revealed itself, one brush stroke at a time. A rounded, wooden cap stuck out from Jill’s hand looking cracked and petrified. “What is it?”
She shook her head and brushed away more dirt from the small cavity she’d created. “It can’t be,” she whispered.
Ten
Jill’s Secret
September 16, 2011
“What is it?” I asked again.
“A… a container… It looks like a small, cylindrical container, although it could be a cylinder seal.” Prying more dirt from the base of the cap where it met the skeleton’s thumb, Dr. Mayna said, “Oh wow! It’s not a cylinder seal. It really does look like a container, like a small case for something.”
“Like for scrolls and old documents, right?” My hand itched to reach out and touch it. The thought of what it might reveal was both intriguing and scary. “ She might have died for this. ”
“She might have,” Dr. Mayna confirmed.
Unable to restrain myself, I asked, “Can we get it out?”
“Not right now. To do more, I need to get a camera set up and gather my team. This has to be recorded. It could be incredibly valuable. Who knows what’s in it, what it might tell us about Jill’s past and the culture of her time? Unfortunately, being subjected to the weather, water, heating, and freezing, it doesn’t look like the wood held up that well, but the wax seems to still be in place. They sometimes coated the insides to waterproof them, so who knows if whatever’s inside is still legible?”
I licked my lips and felt another tingling sensation on the other side of the back of my head. I
“What is it?” Dr. Mayna asked.
I rolled my head from shoulder to shoulder, popping my neck, then took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re still taking in the whole visions thing, right? Not really sure about me, although, I’m pretty sure you believe more now than before.”
Dr. Mayna gave an embarrassed frown. “Can you read minds now too?”
I shook my head. “No, just people. You don’t want to know what that was.”
Her brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you—”
I waved the question off. “You’re not ready for it. Just trust me.”
She shook her head with hesitance and took a deep breath of her own.
“Take a look at her hand,” I said, pointing more to divert her attention back to the task at hand more than anything. “This is probably the position she died or was buried in right?”
Dr. Mayna nodded and leaned in.
“Is it just me, or does her hand look like it’s clutching something. The fingers—they’re not relaxed. They’re positioned as though encircling something. See, her thumb isn’t even visible; it just disappears on the underside of the dirt.”
“Yeah, but so do most of her other fingers. How can you tell her hand wasn’t relaxed?”
“Well, rigor mortis sets in—”
“I know about rigor mortis,” she said, rolling a finger for me to get on with it.
“Rigor mortis doesn’t go away for twenty-to-thirty hours, and it looks like in this case she was buried as is. The dirt kept her skeleton in place, and you can see that all of her fingers at the base of the knuckle—”
“The proximal phalanges,” Dr. Mayna supplied.
“Yes, those are all in line. When your hand curls at rest, they aren’t all aligned like that. It’s unnatural.”
“So you’re saying…?”
“That she might have something in her hand,” I finished.
Dr. Mayna’s eyes widened. She grabbed a brush, a small pick, and a narrow chisel from a wooden box of tools in her office at the corner of the L-shaped room. The box was old and looked like it could have belonged to Galileo. Then she began scraping the dirt away from each side of her hand, trying to uncover Jill’s thumb and whatever was inside her curled fingers.
I watched with anxious curiosity, thinking to myself, This must be what it’s like at a dig, never knowing what you might unearth. Soon, the end of something long and cylindrical revealed itself, one brush stroke at a time. A rounded, wooden cap stuck out from Jill’s hand looking cracked and petrified. “What is it?”
She shook her head and brushed away more dirt from the small cavity she’d created. “It can’t be,” she whispered.
Ten
Jill’s Secret
September 16, 2011
“What is it?” I asked again.
“A… a container… It looks like a small, cylindrical container, although it could be a cylinder seal.” Prying more dirt from the base of the cap where it met the skeleton’s thumb, Dr. Mayna said, “Oh wow! It’s not a cylinder seal. It really does look like a container, like a small case for something.”
“Like for scrolls and old documents, right?” My hand itched to reach out and touch it. The thought of what it might reveal was both intriguing and scary. “ She might have died for this. ”
“She might have,” Dr. Mayna confirmed.
Unable to restrain myself, I asked, “Can we get it out?”
“Not right now. To do more, I need to get a camera set up and gather my team. This has to be recorded. It could be incredibly valuable. Who knows what’s in it, what it might tell us about Jill’s past and the culture of her time? Unfortunately, being subjected to the weather, water, heating, and freezing, it doesn’t look like the wood held up that well, but the wax seems to still be in place. They sometimes coated the insides to waterproof them, so who knows if whatever’s inside is still legible?”
I licked my lips and felt another tingling sensation on the other side of the back of my head. I
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