VIII
Carmel
Dylan
As Anthony pulled into the parking lot, I looked at the ruins of the mission in amazement. "They've completely rebuilt it," I said. Then I shook my head, it was time to get down to business. I turned and saw Anthony getting out of the car, His cane in hand. "Wait," I called. I got out of the car in a hurry and walked over to him.
"You can't take the cane with you," I said, taking it from him. "We're supposed to be from a San Diego newspaper, writing an article about the mission. You're going to have to be the photographer." With that, I walked to the trunk and opened it. I pulled out a camera, a pad of paper and a pen and then two id badges.
Anthony looked upset that he wouldn't be able to bring the cane with him. He stared down at the came and swung it by the cord a few times.
"You'll only have to take a few pictures," I said. I had pinned the id to my jacket and handed the other to Anthony, who did the same.
We left the car and walked out of the parking lot to a dirt path that led to a small building. A note posted on the door read: "The Carmel Mission will be opened to the public on January 27, 2004. The Gift Shop is open for business during construction."
I pushed open the door and walked inside. After Anthony closed the door behind him, I glanced around the place, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.
"May I help you two?" a young man asked from behind the cash register.
I forced a smile and walked towards the man. "Yes, my name is Anna King," I said. "And this is Andrew Logan. We're with the San Diego Register."
"Oh yes," the man said, getting up from his chair. "Your boss just called me. Said that you wanted to write about the Mission right?"
I nodded quickly. "I hope you don't mind if we take a few pictures," I said, gesturing to the camera in Anthony's hand.
"Not at all Miss King," the man said, glancing at Anthony warily. "By the way, name's Richard McShea. I'm the Mission's historian." He shook my hand and then held his hand out to Anthony. When he didn't take the offer, McShea withdrew and said, "Let me get someone else on the register and then I'll give you a grand tour." He turned and went into a room that was behind the counter.
***** It took an hour for McShea to give us the tour. A whole hour of just listening to McShea talk about the Mission when it was first built.
I glanced over at Anthony as McShea was finishing his story about the roof tiles on the North Tower, where we were, and how they had been imported from Spain.
Anthony was looking out towards the ocean, holding the camera by its cord and swinging it from time to time.
When McShea walked into the tower, I turned to Anthony. "I've had about as much as I can take of this guy," I said. Anthony nodded in agreement. "I'm going to tell him we got everything we need. Wait out here okay?" Without waiting for an answer. I walked into the tower. "Mr. McShea," I called out.
"Miss King," McShea answered, obviously annoyed that I wasn't giving him my full attention.
"I've got almost everything I need for the article and it's a long drive back to San Diego," I said. "So we've got to go soon."
"Of course. What other information do you need?" McShea asked, his beady brown eyes glancing at my chest.
I cleared my throat and said, "I would like to know who now owns the Mission and where the money for the building costs are coming from."
"The Mission was donated to the state of California by a Jamie Camden and she's been supplying some of the money for the construction," McShea said.
I wrote the information down on my pad of paper. "Well that's it Mr. McShea-"I began.
He cut me off by walking to me and grabbing my arm roughly. "Since that blue eyed creep's not in here, maybe you and I can get better acquainted," McShea said, smiled evilly.
"Let me go Mr. McShea," I said angrily, my temper flaring. I tried to yank my arm from his grip-but he was holding me tightly.
With his free hand, McShea reached out to grab my chin. Before he could do so, a hand grasped his wrist tightly.
I looked over to find that it was Anthony, a look of pure hate on his face. With his other hand he signed, "Let her go."
"What the hell did he say?" McShea asked me, his voice trembling.
"He told you to let me go," I said evenly.
McShea quickly did so and tried to apologize to me.
Anthony just shook his and hit McShea with his fist, knocking him out. "Let's go," he signed to me, letting go of the unconscious historian's wrist. He grabbed my hand and we walked out of there as fast as we could.
As we passed by the gift shop, an elderly woman opened the door. "Excuse me miss, are you from the San Diego Register?" she asked.
Letting go of Anthony's hand, I walked over to the old woman. "I am," I answered.
"This letter was delivered while you were on the tour with Richard." She paused for a moment. "Where is he?"
"He stayed up in the North Tower, he was looking at the new beams for the ceiling," I lied.
"Oh, well here's the letter," the woman said, giving it to me. "Have a nice day."
"Thanks I said as she went back into the gift shop. I glanced down at the letter, when Anthony grabbed my arm gently.
"We have to leave before McShea gets up," he signed.
I nodded and put the letter in my pocket, letting Anthony lead me to my car. "You can drive," I told him when he handed me the keys.
Eyes lighting up, he signed thank you and got into the driver's seat. He started the car and we sped off to the freeway.
Once we were well on our way, I took the letter out. It was a long envelope and there was nothing written on the front. I turned it over and using my fingernail, I slit it open. I took out the letter and read it quickly. I then gasped and said, "Get off at the next exit Anthony."
Carmel
Dylan
As Anthony pulled into the parking lot, I looked at the ruins of the mission in amazement. "They've completely rebuilt it," I said. Then I shook my head, it was time to get down to business. I turned and saw Anthony getting out of the car, His cane in hand. "Wait," I called. I got out of the car in a hurry and walked over to him.
"You can't take the cane with you," I said, taking it from him. "We're supposed to be from a San Diego newspaper, writing an article about the mission. You're going to have to be the photographer." With that, I walked to the trunk and opened it. I pulled out a camera, a pad of paper and a pen and then two id badges.
Anthony looked upset that he wouldn't be able to bring the cane with him. He stared down at the came and swung it by the cord a few times.
"You'll only have to take a few pictures," I said. I had pinned the id to my jacket and handed the other to Anthony, who did the same.
We left the car and walked out of the parking lot to a dirt path that led to a small building. A note posted on the door read: "The Carmel Mission will be opened to the public on January 27, 2004. The Gift Shop is open for business during construction."
I pushed open the door and walked inside. After Anthony closed the door behind him, I glanced around the place, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.
"May I help you two?" a young man asked from behind the cash register.
I forced a smile and walked towards the man. "Yes, my name is Anna King," I said. "And this is Andrew Logan. We're with the San Diego Register."
"Oh yes," the man said, getting up from his chair. "Your boss just called me. Said that you wanted to write about the Mission right?"
I nodded quickly. "I hope you don't mind if we take a few pictures," I said, gesturing to the camera in Anthony's hand.
"Not at all Miss King," the man said, glancing at Anthony warily. "By the way, name's Richard McShea. I'm the Mission's historian." He shook my hand and then held his hand out to Anthony. When he didn't take the offer, McShea withdrew and said, "Let me get someone else on the register and then I'll give you a grand tour." He turned and went into a room that was behind the counter.
***** It took an hour for McShea to give us the tour. A whole hour of just listening to McShea talk about the Mission when it was first built.
I glanced over at Anthony as McShea was finishing his story about the roof tiles on the North Tower, where we were, and how they had been imported from Spain.
Anthony was looking out towards the ocean, holding the camera by its cord and swinging it from time to time.
When McShea walked into the tower, I turned to Anthony. "I've had about as much as I can take of this guy," I said. Anthony nodded in agreement. "I'm going to tell him we got everything we need. Wait out here okay?" Without waiting for an answer. I walked into the tower. "Mr. McShea," I called out.
"Miss King," McShea answered, obviously annoyed that I wasn't giving him my full attention.
"I've got almost everything I need for the article and it's a long drive back to San Diego," I said. "So we've got to go soon."
"Of course. What other information do you need?" McShea asked, his beady brown eyes glancing at my chest.
I cleared my throat and said, "I would like to know who now owns the Mission and where the money for the building costs are coming from."
"The Mission was donated to the state of California by a Jamie Camden and she's been supplying some of the money for the construction," McShea said.
I wrote the information down on my pad of paper. "Well that's it Mr. McShea-"I began.
He cut me off by walking to me and grabbing my arm roughly. "Since that blue eyed creep's not in here, maybe you and I can get better acquainted," McShea said, smiled evilly.
"Let me go Mr. McShea," I said angrily, my temper flaring. I tried to yank my arm from his grip-but he was holding me tightly.
With his free hand, McShea reached out to grab my chin. Before he could do so, a hand grasped his wrist tightly.
I looked over to find that it was Anthony, a look of pure hate on his face. With his other hand he signed, "Let her go."
"What the hell did he say?" McShea asked me, his voice trembling.
"He told you to let me go," I said evenly.
McShea quickly did so and tried to apologize to me.
Anthony just shook his and hit McShea with his fist, knocking him out. "Let's go," he signed to me, letting go of the unconscious historian's wrist. He grabbed my hand and we walked out of there as fast as we could.
As we passed by the gift shop, an elderly woman opened the door. "Excuse me miss, are you from the San Diego Register?" she asked.
Letting go of Anthony's hand, I walked over to the old woman. "I am," I answered.
"This letter was delivered while you were on the tour with Richard." She paused for a moment. "Where is he?"
"He stayed up in the North Tower, he was looking at the new beams for the ceiling," I lied.
"Oh, well here's the letter," the woman said, giving it to me. "Have a nice day."
"Thanks I said as she went back into the gift shop. I glanced down at the letter, when Anthony grabbed my arm gently.
"We have to leave before McShea gets up," he signed.
I nodded and put the letter in my pocket, letting Anthony lead me to my car. "You can drive," I told him when he handed me the keys.
Eyes lighting up, he signed thank you and got into the driver's seat. He started the car and we sped off to the freeway.
Once we were well on our way, I took the letter out. It was a long envelope and there was nothing written on the front. I turned it over and using my fingernail, I slit it open. I took out the letter and read it quickly. I then gasped and said, "Get off at the next exit Anthony."