"We're both working late tonight, huh?" Peter asked Elizabeth as they both started looking for their coats and shoes in the entryway after they finished dinner. Peter could only seem to find one shoe.
"We picked the wrong professions if we wanted consistently normal hours," Elizabeth said with a laugh as she tapped his shoulder with the shoe he hadn't been able to find on the floor.
"Good thing we love our jobs then," Peter smiled as he took the shoe. "Though at the moment I'd like to put this curse business to rest. Even though I'm skeptical, I'm tired of hearing about it. You know a pen exploded in my pocket earlier, and it just happened to be when I came across Mozzie."
"I was wondering what happened to your shirt. Well, I'm sure once you catch this guy everything will go back to normal," Elizabeth said as she reached down to pet Satchmo who had followed his owners into the entryway, "Satch, you be good. Take care of Neal while we're gone."
Not long after the Burkes left, Satchmo padded his way back into the living room and lay down on the couch next to where Neal's arm hung limply from the couch. Satchmo's fur against his palm brought Neal out of what had been a deep sleep, "You're my company for the evening, huh?"
Neal pulled himself up into a sitting position and looked down at the coffee table. Lacking its normal cleanliness, the table was strewn with various objects, most purely for Neal's benefit: a box of tissues, a partially filled glass of water, two pill bottles (an antibiotic and a fever reducer), a note from Elizabeth explaining that she and Peter would both be home in a few hours but for him to call if he needed anything, a sealed ziplock baggie with dog treats in it (which Satchmo had not failed to notice), and finally the photo Mozzie had taken of the thief.
Neal slowly moved to get a treat out for Satchmo as he looked expectantly up at the young conman, "I'm the one that's sick; why am I getting things for you?"
Nevertheless, he continued to pet the dog as he tried to focus his attention on the man in the photo. Although Neal couldn't quite place it, there was something about the photo that made him slightly wary. He tried to think if he had ever seen the man before, but his mind was cloudy and trying to focus was making his head hurt. But, the more he tried to think about the man, the more certain he felt that he had never met the man. Pushing aside that thought, Neal looked at the museum in the background of the photo. He felt sure he was missing something. Unfortunately, his musing was cut short by a coughing fit.
When it ended, Neal leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes for a moment, and he became acutely aware of how sore and dry his throat was. There wasn't enough water left in the glass on the table even to swallow another fever reducer, which, he reminded himself, he should probably also do. He opened the pill bottle that was sitting next to the photo and began to shake the contents into his hand, only to realize there was only one tablet left. He vaguely remembered Elizabeth saying something about stopping at the store later. He set the tablet on the lid of the container, picked up the glass, and began to walk towards the kitchen. But as he did, Satchmo began sniffing the contents of the coffee table and licked up the tablet.
"Satchmo, no," Neal said hoarsely as he began wrestling the tablet out of the dog's mouth. When he accomplished this not-so-pleasant task, he held the tablet up out of the dog's reach. "Satch, what did you want to eat this for? One treat wasn't enough for you?"
He held onto the tablet as he opened the ziplock baggie to give Satchmo another treat, "This is more the gourmet cuisine you were hoping for, huh?"
Satchmo ate the treat but sensed Neal's disapproval and stalked back to the corner. Neal walked into the kitchen, threw away the now unusable tablet, and went to the sink. He refilled his glass of water, and then ran his hands under the cold water and ran them down his face. He then took a wash cloth and held it under the water as well and wrung it out as best he could, assuming it was the best he could do until the Burkes came back.
Neal languidly pulled himself back onto the couch and lay the cool washcloth on his burning forehead. He closed his eyes and began to try to go back to sleep. But his thoughts kept flickering back to the photo on the table beside him. After awhile, drowsiness overcame him and he fell asleep once again. However, his inexplicable anxiety followed him into his fevered dream.
Three statues sat alone on an expanse of sandy terrain, their gem set eyes glowing with an eerie and unnatural intensity. As Neal began to approach one, it shifted its position so that it was just beyond his grasp. He attempted to approach each of the others in turn with the same result. Frustrated, he collapsed on the sand. As he did, the sand blew aside and the ruins of a long uninhabited building became slightly visible. Neal began to scrape more and more sand aside, trying to find what lie beneath. As he did, the statues formed a circle around him, their eyes glowing even brighter than before as the light in the sky had begun to dim. Their presence provided no comfort but without the unnatural light of their eyes, Neal would not have been able to see at all. Although Neal had begun to shiver against the night sky of the desert, he continued his seemingly sisyphean task as the wind continued to blow the sand back to where he'd brushed it aside. Finally a great gust of wind blew enough away to reveal an opening. Neal approached it slowly, aware that the statues were sliding along the sand a short distance behind him, and pulled himself inside. The sand nearly filled the room to the brim of the window he had just climbed through, but with the eerie light cast in by the statues, he could just barely make out faint fingerprints tracing the wall. The fingerprints were a pale red suggesting that there had been blood on the fingers.
"Is someone there? Hello?" Neal asked, after glancing around the room and seeing nothing other than the statues hovering outside the window he had just climbed through. When his question received no answer, he moved closer to the wall. As he moved closer, the wall seemed more familiar. He understood eventually that it was the wall in the museum.
As Neal carefully studied the fingerprints, a man, without having made a sound, appeared before him.
"I see you're admiring the walls I built to guard my love's treasure," The man said.
"Who are you?" Neal asked. He felt as though he knew without asking but the answer didn't come to him.
"Someone not to be toyed with. So I would suggest that you leave the statues alone. Please understand that my curse is real; it will follow you in and out of your dreams," he said. Then he gestured for Neal to look down beneath where the fingerprints were. A bloodied hand was almost entirely covered by the sand. He began brushing the sand away to reveal the body beneath. It was Peter.
Neal jolted awake, shaking, clammy, and disoriented. He wasn't sure if he had been unnerved by the dream or was merely shivering. Regardless, he sat up and pulled the blanket close around him noting that despite the antibiotics that he'd taken earlier, he somehow felt much worse. He tried not to let the image of Peter's face pale, lifeless face linger in his memory as it did little to improve how he felt. It was a dream; the curse isn't real. Don't start thinking like Moz.
"I hope your friend forgives your disbelief," The man from his dream whispered softly. The specter-like figure was standing across the room, barely visible.
Neal blinked and rubbed at his eyes and the man faded from view as Satchmo began barking frantically. Did Satchmo see him too?
Peter Neal thought weakly. He felt that he needed to warn him...of what exactly, he wasn't sure. He pulled himself up groggily towards the coffee table. He felt dizzy and uncoordinated. But a sudden single-mindedness forced him to search for his phone and attempt to call Peter. However, after Neal dialed Peter's number, the phone rang and rang. When Peter's voicemail finally picked up, Neal was in the entryway holding the phone in one hand as he pulled his coat on with the other. He dropped the phone as he pushed Satchmo away from the front door, which the dog had been stoutly blocking. He managed to open the door then picked up the dropped phone, shakily walked down the now icy steps, and looked for a cab to hail.