#with zoomed in close ups of the members crying and carrying his coffin like can we not????

[shawoluvs]

People handle grief in their own ways and I don't like to judge people on how they process loss but something about shorts and tiktoks and videos made with some sad, generic pop song playing over video clips from a celebrity's funeral gives me the ick. There are ways to remember people and if you knew someone personally then maybe it'd be different but there's something off about it that I can't put my finger on.

[daretosnoop]

Chapter 3: The Secret Room

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Once outside, Nancy gave Renee her chocolate and returned her key. She then walked around the small garden towards the gates that led to the cemetery. Following Henry’s instructions, Nancy eventually spotted the top of the mausoleum. She approached the mausoleum door but they were locked. Looking around the front, she saw the same crow engraving from the paper on the lower left. Along the bottom of the mausoleum were four different designs, a crow, bones, a worm, and a coffin. Odd. Then again, everything that happened so far had been eerie. Nancy placed her paper over each engraving and rubbed the image onto it. She quickly placed the papers back into her coat and hurried back towards the Bolet manor.

Once inside and back at the model mausoleum, Nancy put the engravings into each slot. She heard a click and the mausoleum roof opened to reveal a key. Now where do you go? Then she understood. This was clearly the key for the mausoleum. Pocketing the key, she hurried back towards the study. As she left through the doors, she noticed Henry was not at his desk.

As Nancy approached the mausoleum she could hear muffled sobs. It was Henry! He was, sobbing? Henry was down on his knees and letting out a torrent of tears. Nancy tried to mask her presence but it was too late. Henry heard her boots approaching. He snapped his head towards her direction. They locked eyes. His stunned expression mirrored Nancy’s, but before she could call out to him, Henry jolted up and ran away, the rain quickly masking his figure.

Nancy never knew how to comfort people. She understood grief, but others always found her advice to be too hard to swallow. Henry was clearly hurting more about his uncle’s death then he let on, but Nancy didn’t know what to say to comfort him. Move on? That’s what she did when her mother died. At least, her father never mentioned Nancy having any issues moving on from her mother’s death. Life went on, and she moved with it. Considering Henry’s testy nature, Nancy thought it was best to carry on like she never saw him.

She eagerly unlocked the mausoleum door, anticipating what she would find inside. Silence greeted her. Leaving the door open, Nancy walked through the small interior. She noticed every coffin had a stone marker with the name Bolet. So, this is the Bolet family’s private burial ground. She looked towards the more recent deaths, but Bruno Bolet was not there. There were, however, two other names with the same death date. Henry mentioned his parents died in a car crash. Marianne and Claude Bolet. Now it made sense why Henry was crying out here, alone. Not knowing what else to do, Nancy simply placed her hand on the stone markers and listened to the rain.

From her periphery, Nancy noticed a rolled parchment on the right-hand side of the mausoleum. She picked it up and unrolled it. Two figures stared back at her. A woman with lush brown hair gazed forward. Her eyes stared down at the beholder and a Cheshire smile laced her lips, as if she knew something they didn’t. Her arms were wrapped around a man. He was shorter than her and looked rather plain were it not for the smile on his face and his eyes which were affixed upon his wife. Charming couple, must be Henry’s parents. Then Nancy noticed that Marianne was holding an umbrella in her hand. She smiled. Of course. The kookiness of this family was quickly growing on her.

Nancy tucked the painting within her trench coat and headed back towards the manor. Upon entering she saw that Henry was back at his desk with a dry shirt. He very pointedly refused to acknowledge Nancy and she moved towards the living room. She took down the empty frame, attached the painting of Henry’s parent’s, and placed it back on the wall. Now what? Since each Bolet was holding an object, Nancy was sure that they were clues to something. She sighed. She would have to ask Henry, if he knew anything, and if he was even willing to talk to her.

Bracing herself, Nancy slowly slinked back into the study room. If Henry heard her, he did not give any indication. She moved closer towards the bookcases, thinking of something to say that would allow her to ask Henry about his family. Good god, Nancy, just ask him outright! The worst he can say is no! Or he could throw her out of the house. She leaned against a book shelf and was about to address him when she heard noises coming from the bookshelf. Looking up, she noticed that the stuffed iguana had moved!

The not-stuffed iguana leaped away from the bookshelf, knocking over a crate of books and scurried quickly out of sight. Henry swiveled around from the commotion but Nancy saw that he was not mad. In fact, there was a glint of humour in his eyes and he looked like he was suppressing a chuckle.

“What was that?” Nancy asked.

“That was uncle Bruno’s pet iguana, Iggy. He’s always in here stealing paper. Must be using it to build a nest or something”.

“An iguana! Keen!”

Henry shrugged as his face fell back into a scowl. “Hey, look. I had all those books arranged so they fit perfectly. Could you put them back please? I don’t have time”.

Nancy looked up and saw that Henry had his cell in one hand.

“Sure”.

“Groovy”.

Henry turned around and initiated a call with someone. Nancy eavesdropped for a bit, but there was nothing important. She turned towards the books and started to place them back. Once done, she noticed that one of the books was written by an old acquaintance. Beatrice Hotchkiss, professor of French history. She wrote a famous book on Marie Antoinette based the journal Nancy uncovered when she vacationed in Wisconsin. Looks like she wrote another book. The Crystal Skull: Fact of Fable? Strange, not related to French history. It must have been the result of professor Hotchkiss’s side research. The woman was a genius and always had some side project going on. Nancy opened it and saw a number near Hotchkiss’s name.

Flipping through the book she read about the theory and histories behind the legendary crystal skulls. They came from the Mayans and were made of a single pure crystal quartz. However, the skull’s histories enveloped a vast array of cultures. Some Indigenous communities claimed there to be 13 skulls total, and when united, they would reveal all the secrets of the universe to mankind. Some argued that the skulls came from Atlantis, and others believed the skulls contained some power and would give its owner anything from telekinesis to invisibility. One skull in particular, “The Whisperer” was reputed to give its owner immortality. It had a history of belonging only to owners who did not die of natural causes. Nancy sighed. There was being eccentric, and then there was poppycock. Still, she knew professor Hotchkiss would not write on something that did not have some irrefutable evidence.

As she closed the book, a piece of paper fell out. It had letters randomly spaced out on it. Three letters at the top and four at the bottom. Nancy recognized that the position of the letters matched the position of the photo frames. Perhaps the letters tell me where to place the photos! She hurried back to the living room and was pleased to see that her theory was correct. Each object a family member held corroborated with a letter. Arranging the pictures like the letters, Nancy heard the noise of a door unlocking behind her. She turned and noticed that a portion of the wall opened up. A secret passage way!

Nancy eagerly walked into the secret room and up the stairs. There was a door and it was locked. Rats. She looked at the lock, hoping that maybe she could use a paperclip. Instead there was a metal etching of a spider web with dashes coming out in various locations. I’m guessing that this Bruno Bolet foul proofed the door from blindly breaking in. It was another dead end, for now. Nancy pulled out her phone and took a picture of the lock. Walking back down slowly, Nancy heard noises coming from Bruno’s study. Leaning closer to the wall, she could hear Henry’s voice. He was arguing with someone.

“Aw c’mon Summer! Give me a break! You never said anything about that!” Henry paused listening to Summer’s response. “Well, how was I supposed to know? I mean, what am I? Telepathic? No. No. C’mon Summer. Don’t get upset! Look, I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

There was a silence as Henry listened to Summer’s reply.

“What do you mean ‘something else’? You gotta be kidding me, Summer. I don’t have that kind of money!”

Summer must have said something harsh because Henry quickly changed his tone.

“No. No. I meant, I don’t have it now, but I will soon. Okay? Bye”.

Conversation over, Nancy heard Henry toss his cell onto the table and groan.

Yikes, Nancy thought. On top of a dead uncle, Henry seemed to be having major issues with this Summer person. Has this guy ever been able to catch a break? No wonder why he was grumpy all the time.

As she reached the wall-door, Nancy noticed a spyglass built into the wall. Curious she peered through and saw the study again. Or rather, a specific shelf within the study. There was a zoom button and moving the cursor, Nancy caught the sight of a book, The Eye of the Beholder. Keeping it in the back of her mind, Nancy went out to talk to Henry.

 When she entered the study, Nancy saw Henry looking towards the double doors that marked the entrance to the garden. He had a hand on his cheek and a vacant expression on his face.

“Want me to open the door for some fresh air?”

“No,” came a quiet response. Henry didn’t turn towards her.

Nancy tried again.

“I need to ask you some questions”.

Slowly Henry unfolded from his position and turned to face her. He looked exhausted.

“And what is it you need?” Henry asked in a tone that implied Nancy’s request was not something he wanted.

“I need to ask you about your uncle Bruno”.

Henry made a gesture with his hand for Nancy to continue.

“Okay, look, I know this is going to sound like nonsense, but I’m not losing my mind when I say what I’m about to say, okay?”

Henry gave her a puzzled look, then nodded softly.

“What can you tell me about your uncle?”

Henry shrugged. “Not much more than what I told you”.

“Well, you mentioned he was eccentric”.

“Yep”.

“And this manor isn’t exactly what you would call normal”.

Henry rolled his eyes and gave a small smile.

“Tell me about it. But that’s just your perspective”.

This was interesting to hear. Nancy titled her head and asked, “You find the manor normal?”

“Look at me,” Henry said gesturing to himself. “I fit right in.”

“Well, you are a Bolet”.

Henry stiffened at Nancy’s response. “Doesn’t really mean much. The family name and its meaning left me the day my parent’s died. Now Bolet just means something else”.

Nancy wanted to ask what it meant to Henry, but Henry, despite his firm appearance, looked like he wanted to cry.

“Right sorry, getting off topic. Well, you see, your uncle’s eccentric behaviour, well,” Nancy hesitated. She didn’t really know how to explain it to Henry. It wasn’t unusual in her line of work to stumble across locks and odd clues, but it was rare to see them so intentionally placed.

“I think your uncle is hiding something”.

“What?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know what or why, but your uncle’s eccentricities have a pattern. There are all sorts of wacky locks around the house and they each lead to a clue and another lock. I think your uncle was hiding something from someone”.

“My uncle?” Henry asked.

“Yep”

“Hiding something?”

“Oh ya”.

“And you’re sure your head’s not hurting right now? Cause I think you’ve got a concussion coming on”.

Nancy rolled her eyes.

“I know it sounds mad, but I’m telling you the truth. I can even show you”.

“Look, it’s getting late. Why don’t you just let this go? Whatever my uncle was hiding is not important now. He’s dead, so whatever he’s hiding is not worth anything anymore. Just go on back home and enjoy your vacation”.

Annoyance flared through Nancy.

“It does matter! It does matter Henry Bolet! I don’t know anything about your uncle or the Bolet family but there is clearly something important being kept secret here! Something someone wants desperately. I did not make up that skeleton figure, and if they were willing to attack me for whatever your uncle has, think of what they will do to you, to Renee! You cannot just ignore it!”

“Oh I can ignore it, just like my uncle ignored me”.

“This isn’t about you or your uncle. This is about something bigger. I don’t know what, but if you ignore it… I don’t know, but something’s just not right and in my experience that usually means trouble”.

Henry sighed and Nancy tried to again.

“Please. Just let me show you what I know. If you don’t find any of it intriguing, I’ll go”.

Henry got up and walked over to Nancy.

“Alright, lead the way”.

Nancy led him to the living room, explaining all her work and deductions up till now. She pointed to the mausoleum and pulled out the key it hid from her trench coat. She then pointed to the portrait of Henry’s parents and explained the order that unlocked the secret passage door. She led him up the stairs and pointed to the lock.

“I don’t suppose you know how to unlock this?” she asked. She was about to say more, about to delve deeper into her theories on what might be going on and further steps, but when she looked back at Henry, the man looked pale. He stumbled out of the passageway and melted onto a living room sofa.

 They were endless in their onslaught. While the whispers didn’t give Henry any pain, they were distracting, making it difficult to do anything but listen. They repeated so many phrases to Henry as he tried to work. It didn’t help that there was now another person in the house. While Nancy ran about chasing some skull man, the whispers chased Henry with words.

Garden…skull…man…garden…bury…garden…look…her…spider.

At one point he gave into the voice and went out to the garden. They grew eager and urged him here and there till he found himself at the vulture shrine again. Bury…bury…bury.

“I can’t,” Henry exclaimed to the air, then realized what he had just done. Mad as he seemed to be, the words had their effect and the whispers quieted down. Enjoying the silence, he walked towards the cemetery gates, entered, and wandered around. Even after seventeen years, the paths were familiar. Henry remembered roaming around as an eight-year old. Uncle Bruno gave him free run of the place, for the most part, and a despondent, lonely Henry sought friends in the afterlife. He knew exactly where his legs were heading, the same legs that stumbled upon a solitary mausoleum as a boy. The door was open and when little Henry stepped inside, he saw his uncle yelling at the Bolet engravings, before collapsing in a sobbing heap. Now at twenty-five, the mausoleum stood tall and alone. Henry tried the door, but it was locked. Of course it was locked. When eight-year-old Henry ran away from his crying uncle, the Bolet mausoleum shut Henry out. The ominous building with its locked doors made its message clear, you do not belong here.

“So then where do I belong?” Henry cried out, stupidly to the rain. He collapsed onto the ground and felt warm rain run down his cheeks. No one responded. Even the rain became muffled. So Henry sobbed a thousand apologies though the recipients were long gone and forgotten. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but soon the pitter patter of the rain turned into the clicking of boots and Henry shot his head up to see a woman in a trench coat—Nancy Drew. Sound returned and Henry realized where he was and how he must have looked. The whispers came back.

Skull…man…skull…find…woman…garden…woman…spider.

Henry scrambled to his feet and dashed away. When he got back into the house, he changed his clothes and did his best to ignore Nancy. She, thankfully, didn’t bring up what she saw. But the whispers continued, and when Nancy returned, when she explained her convoluted theories, when she ushered Henry towards the living room and explained her madness, when Henry saw the door to the secret passage way open, when he saw the spider on the lock, he knew deep down that she was right. Bruno Bolet knew something and these whispers were determined he faced his uncle head on.

  “Like I said, I’m pretty sure your uncle was hiding something. Trust me, in my experience people don’t make secret rooms if there wasn’t something to keep secret”.

Nancy continued to pace back and forth, lost in thought as theories spilled out of her. Initially, Henry just pressed his fingers to his nose and listened to her ramble. When he had the energy, he looked up and noticed that Nancy was soaking wet. The rugs are going to need cleaning now. Thankfully, most of the house was hardwood flooring. Henry glanced at his phone. 9:45 p.m. He looked back at Nancy, but she did not seem to be stopping any time soon.

“Henry, I think I need to call professor Hotchkiss. Your uncle seemed to have her number, at least, I think it’s her number. But she might know what’s going on”.

Nancy whirled towards him, eyes bright.

“So, what can you tell me about your family?”

“I already told you, I don’t know anything.”

“No,” Nancy countered. “You said you knew nothing about your uncle. You didn’t mention your family”.

“What’s the difference? I really know nothing”.

“Nothing at all?” Nancy’s voiced dropped as despair creeped in. Her eyes dimmed as she slowly slipped back into thought. Watching her, Henry felt his stomach clench. He searched the recesses of his mind for any scrap of memory, anything that might be of use for her.

“All I know from my parents is that the Bolet’s are an old family, synonymous with New Orleans”.

Nancy did not react and Henry dug further into his memories. It was hard to remember the things you did with your parents when you were young. The world mainly revolved around you. But memories had the ability to preserve expressions. Faces and reactions that you can only explore as an adult.

“My father, he always became sober when he had to return to the family manor. We didn’t live here, so you can imagine my surprise at hearing manor and seeing a bungalow when I came here at eight. My father was a very happy man, especially when my mother was around. He would,” Henry cracked a smile. “He would just light up and the whole room turned bright. Everyone felt the warmth. He usually went to the manor by himself. Mom was busy in the lab, so dad had to go by himself”.

Henry looked up and saw Nancy stare at him pensively. Unable to stand her fixed attention on him, he looked towards his phone.

“It’s getting late,” he started.

“So let me get this straight,” Nancy cut in. “Your uncle dies and it seems he’s designed some locks around the house. Your dad always comes here alone. Your family is wrapped up in the history of New Orleans and no one questions this or tries to change it. And now, a skeleton man appears. Henry,” she suddenly said and her voice dropped. “Is your family running a cult?”

“What,” Henry exclaimed. He jolted up from the sofa and placed his hands on his hips.

“Of all the— “

“I know it sounds weird, but think about it. All I know is that something is being hidden here and everyone respects the Bolets. What other conclusions would you come to?”

“Well,” Henry ran his fingers through his hair. “I wouldn’t immediately jump to cult. What would make you think that?”

Nancy looked away, a little bashful.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been a houseith a secret”.

The stood together in silence for a while until Nancy asked him whether he believed her.

“Frankly, the cult theory sounds rubbish”. His eyes darted towards Nancy but she just gave him a small smile, prompting him to continue. “But, there might be something uncle Bruno was hiding”.

“So,” Nancy began, a smile growing on her face. “Want to help me find out what it might be?”

Henry was taken aback by her smile. He was reluctant to admit that the idea of searching through Bruno’s junk for some treasure was appealing. It didn’t help that Nancy’s smile seemed so mischievous, as is she knew he would find her offer more appealing than the piles of paper that sat on Bruno’s desk. At the thought of the work that awaited him, Henry scowled and shook his head.

“No. I already have enough to do”. He took a deep breath. “It’s getting late,” he started again.

This time Nancy got the hint. She didn’t want to go and was quite ready to stay up the whole night figuring out this case, but she couldn’t well do that in someone else’s house. Darn social politeness! But, if she left now, who knows what would happen tomorrow, or whether even Henry would let her investigate.

“The rain and power outage have most taxi services out of order. I don’t know if you’ll get a cab. You’re going to have to spend the night here”.

Nancy looked at Henry, appalled.

“Don’t worry,” Henry rushed to assure her. “We’ve got plenty of food, blankets, and room. So, it might put a damper on your vacation plans, but you can go back in the morning. I would drop you myself but”.

Henry didn’t finish his sentence and his throat clenched.

“Thank you Henry!” Nancy exclaimed. “You’re a great friend”.

Friend? They barely knew each other.

“Oh we’re going to have so much fun! I tell the best stories, all my friends say so,” Nancy rambled again and Henry looked at her confused.

“We’re not kids. This isn’t a sleepover”.

“Come on Henry, live a little. It’ll be fun”.

Henry just sighed.

“Groovy”.