Chapter 2 - The Statue and the Cipher
The ambient hum of the refrigerator felt like a deafening roar in the tiny kitchen of Callie’s apartment. Beside her, Geneva was fast asleep on the worn sofa, her breathing shallow and rhythmic, her frail hands still clutching the hem of her faded cardigan.
Callie stood over the kitchen counter, her phone resting on top of a legal pad filled with scribbled notes.
The key sleeps with the broken Virgin. Five... Eight... Two... One... Where the bell sings.
The words repeated in her mind like a haunting melody. Uncle Joel’s threatening text message was still illuminated on her phone screen, glowing like an open flame: Don’t involve lawyers. You have no idea what you’re starting.
"What did you do, Joel?" Callie whispered into the empty room.
She grabbed Geneva’s battered leather suitcase, which sat in the corner of the hallway. When Joel and Dakota dumped her grandmother on her doorstep, they had tossed the suitcase aside like trash. Earlier, Callie had only glanced through it to pull out dirty clothes and medication. Now, with the riddle echoing in her chest, she tipped the suitcase upside down over her kitchen table.
A heap of worn floral nightgowns, mismatched socks, a half-empty bottle of generic antipsychotics, and old receipts spilled across the formica surface. Beneath the clutter fell a small porcelain statue, wrapped in a faded velvet scarf.
Callie froze.
She carefully unwrapped the cloth. It was a nine-inch statue of the Virgin Mary—a piece Geneva had kept on her nightstand for as long as Callie could remember. But the left hand of the statue was chipped off, exposing a jagged white scar on the blue-painted ceramic.
The broken Virgin.
Callie’s hands trembled as she lifted the heavy figurine. She turned it over. The felt bottom had been partially peeled away and crudely glued back down. Taking a small butter knife from her dish rack, Callie carefully pried the green felt away from the base.
Something metal clinked against the porcelain.
A heavy, antique brass key slipped out, landing on the table with a dull thud. Stamped onto its side were four small, crisp numbers: 5821.
Callie gasped, pulling the key to her chest. It was real. Geneva wasn't just hallucinating; her broken mind was desperately trying to protect a secret before Joel and Dakota erased every trace of her existence.
"Where the bell sings," Callie murmured, trying to connect the remaining piece of the puzzle.
May you like
Her eyes drifted to the window looking out over the Fairview district. Across the river, in the historic downtown district, stood the old Bell Tower Square—home to the city's oldest financial institution: First Farmers & Merchants Bank, famous for the massive cast-iron clock bell above its stone archway that chimed on the hour.
Callie grabbed her coat and looked over at her sleeping grandmother. She couldn't leave Geneva alone, not tonight. But tomorrow morning, when the sun rose, she was going to take that key to First Farmers & Merchants Bank and unlock whatever truth her uncle was so terrified of finding.
