A/N: Okay, stuff's about to get INTESNSE, people. You ready? Cause I am. I've been waiting FOREVER to write these parts! YAAAHHH! Please REVIEW, FOLLOW, and FAVORITE! You know how much I love it when I get a review! They're so much fun to read. So, please leave a review.
I take a huge step back and just stare at the spot where the stand of the altar was. Yes, was, as in used to be, but not anymore. The stand has sunk down into the floor, revealing a sizeable, square shaped hole in its place. Everyone has gathered around me, staring at it like I am. Very clever, may I add. A trap door disguised as a religious sanctuary. Bravo, Mary.
Suddenly, Dad steps forward and gets on his knees next to the hole. I hold my breath when he places his hand inside it to feel around. His whole arm eventually disappears into the hole, showing at least some of the depth, but probably not all. After his shoulder becomes partially buried in the opening, he sticks his head inside to inspect it further. When he resurfaces, he faces me.
"Come here for a second, Char." I stumble forward, getting on my knees next to Dad, but staying completely still. He points from me to the hole, motioning for me to look inside it. Hesitantly, I lean over and stick my head almost fully inside it like he did. Though it is nearly pitch black and hard to make things out, I can just barely see a dirt covered floor that's just far enough to for someone of my small stature to stand on and not be too hard to pull back up.
"Do you think it's buried at the bottom?" I ask Dad. He nods his head and reaches into his pocket. When he pulls out a lighter, I frown.
"Remember what happened last time?" I ask sarcastically. Dad grins, shoving the lighter into my hand.
"This is the perfect opportunity to see if you inherited any of your grandfather's bad luck. After all, your middle name means-"
"Don't you dare!" I warn. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mom crack a small smile. I definitely do not want Mutt, Ox and Sallah to know what 'Desmona' means. Not right now, anyway. I, for one, never believed what my middle name means actually reflects who I am. At least, not most of the time.
I look around the room and am met with everyone staring back at me, waiting for me to take the plunge. Knowing that we have reached near the end of our journey, I feel almost indifferent to this one last task. I know it will be over and done with soon enough. Placing myself near the edge of the hole, I slide myself into it carefully. The fall isn't very long before I land at the bottom. Automatically, I straighten myself out and put my hands out to feel the walls surrounding me to determine how much room I have. Surprisingly, I have a good amount of space to stand and maneuver myself around. Either that or my small size makes it seem much larger than it really is.
"What should I dig with?" I yell above to Dad. A medium-sized garden shovel Dad keeps in his satchel drops down next to me. Dad has every piece of equipment in the whole free world in his darn satchel. Grabbing the shovel, I get on my knees and feel around on the floor. I choose to ignore the lighter. The light isn't necessary.
I dig the mini-shovel into the dirt floor, bringing it as far into the earth as my strength allows. Determinedly, I start to scoop upwards towards my face in order to rid it of the dirt. Once I get a scoop-full of dirt, I toss it to my side and hope I won't have to dig there too. I dig my shovel into the floor and start my process over again.
How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? Okay, maybe I'm being over-dramatic, but that's sure what it feels like right now. I have, I'd say, about thirty to fifty scoops of dirt next to me and a giant hole in the center of the floor. No crown. Not even a hint of a crown. No one has yelled down to ask me how I'm doing or if I found anything. Thanks, guys.
Sighing heavily, I smash my shovel into the ground in aggravation, swearing that I'll give up after this one scoop. Setting aside the dirt I gathered, I notice a glint in the ground. I'm not too excited; it could be a lot of things that could make a reflection. I pick up my shovel and scrape it around against the source of the light to remove any dirt covering it. When it's uncovered, I see that it's a small lock, like one belonging to a jewelry box. Automatically, I quickly start to dig around the sparkling lock, desperately trying to uncover whatever it is that goes with it.
Soon enough, my shovel hits something solid. Using whatever I just hit as a guide, I dig in the place where it is most likely to be. My heart beats wildly in excitement as something wood-based comes into view and I can feel the smile spread across my face. The scoops of dirt fly out of the ground like magic from my fast-paced digging. Finally, I shove my hands into the loosened dirt and pull the object out. Carefully, I brush the dirt off and run my hand over the surface. Even though I can't see very well, I can tell that it's a wooden chest by the feel of it.
"I found something!" I yell up to everyone. No one asks me what I found. Instead, Dad lowers his whip for me to climb. I'm a pretty decent climber from Dad's teachings, but it looks a heck of a lot harder when you have something to carry. Tucking the chest under my arm, I jump onto the whip. The chest is still firmly under my arm by my clenching my upper arm together while my forearms are struggling to pull the rest of my weight up the whip. My hands are clinging tightly to the whip, turning my knuckles white. I was right; it is harder while carrying something.
I just barely reach the above floor when my hand is gripped by Dad's stronger one. In seconds, I'm pulled out of the hole and onto the stone floor. I extract the wooden chest from under my arm and place it on the floor. Quickly, I open the latch and pry the top up. In the chest, sitting on satin lining, is a beautiful gold crown lined with jewels the size of someone's thumb and sparkling like it wasn't underground for centuries. There are three rows of jewels, all of them green, red, and blue. It's so beautiful and regal that I just want to reach out and touch it... I look away, ashamed that I was admiring something that is known to give its users an extreme thirst for power.
Ox slides forward on his knees. He looks like he's about to cry over this artifact he's been desperately searching for. He's even more dedicated to his artifacts than Dad, who has put himself in dangerous situations because of the artifacts he searches for. Rather hesitantly, I hand the crown over to Ox. My reluctance surprises even me. I claimed to have no interest in the crown, which I still claim now, but something about it transfixes you and lures you in. However, I'm happy to be rid of it. I'm not sure how much longer I could have gone with it in my hands. Ox examines it carefully in his hands, his eyes growing large.
"All my life," he begins in a hushed whisper. "I have been searching for this all my life." Everyone backs away simultaneously to give Ox a moment with the crown. We exchange looks with each other, asking 'what the heck is wrong with him'. It's mildly creepy to see the way Ox treats the crown, almost like it's his child. I exchange another brief look with Mutt and see he's thinking the exact same thing; Ox is acting strange, even more than usual. Suddenly, Dad stands up and pulls me with him.
"C'mon, Ox. We need to get outta here." Ox stands up shakily, never taking his eyes off the crown. Still clutching my hand, Dad starts to file out of the room with the rest of us following. In a single file line that I have no idea how we managed to make, we shuffle out of the room, down the hall, and towards the exit.
"Ox, put that thing back in the box," I say to him, holding the wooden chest out so he can do exactly that. Ox carefully places the crown in the box. I surprise him by snapping it closed and bringing it back to my chest. Before Dad has a chance to open the door, a thought occurs to me.
"Wait!" I call. Dad's hands leave the door and he looks at me.
"What?" I point to the upper level.
"Should we re-cover the hole in case the Nazis come here?" I suggest. If someone were to come here and see a giant hole in the floor, they would assume that someone, probably us, came here and got the crown already. Dad sighs.
"Char, how would they find the location of the crown anyway?" he asks skeptically. That's a good point; Ox has been searching for the exact location for most of his life. I doubt the Nazis could do it in a few days. I shrug.
"Okay, fine. I guess we're safe. They'll probably never find this place," I say, stepping forward to continue.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," a voice I do not know responds. In the blink of an eye, Dad's gun is off his belt and in his hand, his body turned towards the back entrance where the voice came from. Three Nazis stand, their guns already cocked and at the ready. Dad and his one gun is no match for three gun-wielding German soldiers. They each have matching smirks on their lips.
"Herr Jones, please put the gun down," one asks, feigning politeness. "We don't want to kill you, but we will if we have to." Dad hesitantly lowers the gun into its holster, glaring at them the whole time. The Nazi in the front of the other two smiles at him. "See? Was that so hard?" Dad rolls his eyes defiantly and crosses his arms over his chest.
"So, are you going to give us to your Fuhrer, or are you going to just kill us right here?" His boldness does not shock or faze the men, who are most likely familiar with him by now.
"Now, now, Herr Jones," one of them warns. "You know you are far too valuable to kill right now. Later, however… we'll see what happens." The only Nazi who has yet to speak strides forward and grips my arm forcefully.
"Alright, where is the crown?" he asks me. Even though it is probably best to be docile in these situations, my attitude prevents me from doing so.
"It's no use," I tell him. "You can't use the crown. It only works on certain people. Those certain people don't include you." He shakes his head at me.
"We know that, dear. That's why you're going to use it for us." He seems so sure of himself that he gives a little nod after his sentence, like he's telling himself he did well.
"What makes you so sure that I'd agree to that?" I ask. Slowly, he looks over at his buddies and makes a small hand signal. They nod at him and walk over to Mutt, Dad, Mom, Ox, and Sallah. Quickly, one of them takes the crown out of Ox's grip and places it on the floor. Each soldier grips two people by the arm; one takes Mutt and Ox, and one takes Sallah and Mom. They all protest, but the Nazis keep a firm grip on them as they start to drag them away to the back entrance. Chaos ensues; there's kicking, screaming, and resistance. Mom's thrashing wildly in the grip the Nazi has on her while Mutt is trying desperately to reach into his back pocket. On instinct, I lunge for them, but the third Nazi holds me back.
"Char!" Mutt yells. "You can do it! Outsmart them!" Those are his last words before he's thrown out the door. It's only Dad and I with the soldier now.
The Nazi is holding a gun to Dad's head, while I stand across from him. He knows very well that I can't make a move without it costing Dad's life.
"I'll make this very clear," he starts. "You are going to put on the crown and send a radio message out to our enemies with the words I choose. If you fail to comply or give me an order, I will press a panic button on my uniform. I will be able to withstand the pain for long enough to press it, and when I do, your friends out there…" He cocks his head to the door. "… will be history." I shiver involuntarily. His plot is flawless. I either follow his orders or my friends and family die. It's as simple as that. There's no loophole, no way out, and no negotiation. Finally, I nod to signal that I'll cooperate. The Nazi smiles evilly.
"Good girl. Now, let's test your loyalty first." I snap my head up, confused by his words. What more could there be besides sending out a message that could win them the war? He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another gun, handing it to me. I weigh it around in my hands for a short amount of time and wonder what to do with it.
"What's this for?" I ask. He doesn't answer. Instead, he starts to step sideways, getting a good distance away from Dad, but still being able to shoot him if needed.
"Put the crown on," he orders. I sidestep to the box, keeping my eyes on Dad. He's trying not to look me in the eyes. I lift the top of the box up and pull out the crown. It's truly beautiful, but I'm trying not to look at it too hard. Something in the back of my mind is screaming that it is evil. Reluctantly, I place the crown on top of my head.
"Good, good. Now, face your father." I do as he says automatically. Shouldn't I be the one with the power? After all, I'm wearing the crown. "Your father has been very bad to our cause, Charlotte," the Nazi declares. "He's bad for Europe and for America. He leaves a trail of human wreckage behind him everywhere he goes. He must be done away with. Charlotte, shoot your father."
My hand goes ridged. How could I shoot my own father, the man who raised me, my best friend?
'He deserves it.'
No, no he doesn't!
'He'll back-stab you. He must be killed before he has the chance.'
"What's happening to me?!" I shout out loud. The Nazi smiles at me.
"You don't have all the power, Charlotte. The crown has a mind of its own." My head starts to pound as each nasty thought creeps into it.
'You don't need your father.'
'He only gets in the way.'
'He tries to control you. You can make your own decisions.'
What's scary is that it's technically me who's thinking these terrible things about Dad. I can feel the reasonable side of my brain separating from the other part of my brain with evil thoughts, like I'm becoming two different people. The real me is only in my head, not in my actions, which involve me raising the gun with a shaky hand. I'm pointing it at Dad. Inside, I'm almost crying. I'm about to kill my dad with my own hands, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
'He needs to be stopped.'
No, no, NO!
Dad looks saddened, yet calm in the face of death. I don't know how I look. My eyes are probably black and emotionless while they look at him. I don't want Dad to see that before he dies. Straining, I push myself to bring the real me back the forefront of my mind. My head feels like it's being smashed with a hammer, but I push on. Finally, I feel myself returning, but the pain is worse than ever. The gun trembles in my hand and I can feel tears running down my cheeks. Dad looks at me sympathetically, even though he's about to be killed by his only daughter.
"I love you," he says quietly.
"I-" I try to get out, but the words don't come, no matter how hard I try.
'You don't love him.'
"Yes I do. Shut up!"
'He could never love you. He only loves himself.'
"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop lying to me!" I feel my head banging like a drum, but my regular voice is returning to the surface as I argue with myself. I love my dad. I know he loves me. Why should I listen to the crown's voice?
'You. Will. Kill. Him.'
"N- No. I w- won't." My voice trembles. I don't want to kill Dad! The bad part is taking over again, pushing me further into darkness. It's like a tug-of-war between the two parts of my mind battling to control my actions. No matter how hard I fight, I seem to be losing. In despair, I realize that I'm killing Dad today. There's no way out. I cling on to his last words to me. 'I love you.' I wouldn't want them to be any different. At least it's something to cling to. I repeat them over and over again.
'I love you. I love you. I love you.' As if by magic, I feel some of the physical hold the crown had on me diminished.
In my mind, I repeat to myself, 'My dad loves me, I love him, I would never hurt him, he would never hurt me.' The more I repeat this mantra, the more of my real self I can feel reappear. The crown can control so much. It can control your actions, your thoughts, and maybe even your feelings, but the crown can't control love.
That's the key! I now know where Queen Mary failed. She did not have much love for her brutal husband, as most royalty in the 1500s didn't. She had no loyal family to love and despised her own sister. That's why the crown consumed her thoughts and actions. If she had only loved someone, anyone, she could have broken the control the crown had over her for that. It's too late for her, but not for me.
'I love Dad. I love Dad. I love Dad.' The evil voice starts to fade away, along with the ebbing pain. My eyesight is clearer by the pain fading away. Dad is still standing across from me, despondence written on his face. I know what I must do, despite what the crown has been trying to tell me. I cock the trigger, still keeping my aim on Dad. He seems to have accepted his end.
"Goodbye, Dad." I place my finger on the trigger and begin to pull. I can feel it preparing to shoot. However, at the last second, I change the position of the gun. It's now pointing at the Nazi. Before the stunned man can react, the bullet goes straight to his heart. His hand is lying limply near the panic button he had. It was, luckily, never pressed. I grab the crown and rip it off my head. It has no control over me now either way, but I prefer freedom. Dad's staring at me with his mouth agape.
"How did you do it?" he asks in a whisper. I can feel my mood softening from terror to adoration. The answer of how I beat the crown is right in front of me.
"You," I answer softly.
"If you hadn't told me you love me, I probably would have-" I don't finish my sentence. The thought of killing my own father is sickening. Dad walks over to me and wraps his arms around me.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asks.
"I'm fine." He holds me for a few seconds longer, which I appreciate immensely. All too soon, though, he pulls away and grabs my hand.
"Let's go save everyone, one last time." I nod mischievously.
"What's the plan?"
A/N: I hate that crown, don't you? :) I think I'm almost finished with this story, but when I do finish, I'll probably post random one-shots about the further adventures on Indy and Char (and maybe even the rest of the gang...). What can I say, I fell in love with Char! She's awesome! Please REVIEW, FAVORITE, and FOLLOW. I'm a total review nut; they're so much fun to read and I really appreciate them. Until next time, my lovely readers.