Tina's Treasures

Barnaby Mimms ran the largest scrapyard in New Haven, North Carolina. He inherited it from his father, who inherited it from his father. Barnaby’s grandfather had recently passed away and his father had retired to sunny southern California where he decided, absurdly, to take up surfing at the age of 58. Barnaby was now all alone at the age of 28, unless you counted the 350 million dollars that he kept stashed in three offshore accounts.

Barnaby’s facility, Tina’s Treasures, deconstructed totaled cars for useful parts and sold them. What remained was then further processed, crushed, and recycled. Noise levels at the facility were rather high, what with all the cars getting crunched up and heavy machinery used for separating all the relevant materials.

Tina’s received two types of cars: totaled cars, reluctantly relinquished, and junk cars sold by people looking to make some fast cash. Barnaby had enough employees to do the bulk of the work for him, but he would stick his head up if something rare or noteworthy came along.  He took his time, he wasn’t in a hurry, and he wasn’t hurting for money.

He trusted three people in the world including his father. The other two were Barnaby’s lifetime employees Owen and Merryweather Michaels, an older married couple. Both had been his father’s employees, so there was no need, thankfully, for any explanations about the facility. Owen held a law degree and Merryweather dabbled in just about everything else. They were both trained in the day-to-day management of the facility, of course, but that wasn’t what warranted their sky-high salaries. They did what they were told and didn’t ask questions. Most importantly, they remained unscrupulous when asked to perform certain villainous errands.

Barnaby occasionally disappeared into the scrapyard’s office, a nondescript white mobile home at the back of the property. When the faded sign with red lettering was posted on the door, the employees knew never to bother him.

That was why, when a wealthy young southern belle and her meek assistant showed up to the junkyard demanding to speak to the owner, Owen didn’t even attempt to knock on the office door.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” the woman demanded. “It’s Christmas Eve. My car was taken here, and I was told I would have to personally retrieve any items from it. There were valuable personal belongings inside it at the time of the crash, and I demand to speak to the proprietor of this... establishment about why they were stolen.”

Owen sighed and rubbed his face with thick calloused fingers. “I can assure you that nothing from your vehicle was stolen, Miss -?”

“Snodgrass. Helena Snodgrass,” Helena snapped at the woman beside her. “Rachel, my phone.”

With deft fingers, Helena’s assistant, a small plain woman, plucked the phone from an expensive bag and handed it to the angry blonde. While Helena furiously typed away on her phone, Rachel retrieved a medicine bottle and a bottle of water.

“You should take these before you get a migraine,” she said.

Helena did as she was bid and then threw the bottle back to Rachel, who caught it wordlessly. She slipped it back in the bag and stood silently awaiting new orders.

Owen raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“I’ve just drafted an email to my father and the insurance company. My next move will be a call to the police. I won’t have my belongings pilfered, sir.”

“Ma’am, we don’t want or need any of the belongings in your car, no matter what they are. If you don’t calm down, I’m afraid my next call will be to the police,” Owen said.

This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“I won’t be talked to like this! Get me your boss or I’ll… or else!” She stomped one heeled foot.

“What seems to be the problem,” a smooth Southern drawl came from behind the group. The women’s gaze whipped over to see the newcomer, while Owen raised his eyes to the sky in a silent prayer.

“This man is calling me a liar,” Helena screeched, pointing one slender finger at Owen who shrugged as if to say, ‘Maybe I am’.

“Well now,” Barnaby drawled. “Owen’s not really that type of guy. And if he did happen to do the things you say, perhaps you may have done something to provoke him, now isn’t that right?”

For a moment, Helena’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Then, she narrowed her eyes, “And just how do you know my name?”

“We don’t normally get too many Lamborghinis in New Haven, Miss Snodgrass.  I review all demolition paperwork on site, and I made an educated guess.” Barnaby eyed her up and down with lazy indolence. Then, his gaze slid over to Rachel where he paused, recognition blooming.

Rachel, sensing a nuclear meltdown, stepped in. “Miss Helena, I will take care of this. Won’t you please let the driver take you home? I will find my own way back.”

Helena, so angry that she could not speak, turned on her heel and stormed away, slamming the door of a polished black Bentley behind her. The car peeled away, kicking up a cloud of dirt in its wake.

Rachel took a deep breath and adjusted the large bag on her shoulder. A black Boston terrier keychain dangled from the side of it, the only outward display of humanity on the pair of women.

“The name’s Barnaby Mimms, but you can call me Mimsy,” Barnaby offered one large, tanned hand.

“No thank you, Mr. Mimms. I know who you are. We went to high school together,” Rachel said, looking away. “Please lead me to your lost and found so we can wrap this up quickly. Miss Helena does not take kindly to being kept in suspense.”

“You’re Run-Away Rachel, aren’t you? Wow, you look exactly the same,” Barnaby replied. The man before her had come a long way from the pimpled, bespectacled youth she had once fallen for.

Rachel nodded stiffly. “Perhaps I wouldn’t have ran off if your father hadn’t threatened me with bodily harm.”

“Did he now? That does seem like something he might do,” Barnaby said, stroking the stubble on his chin as if in deep thought. He shook his head and cleared his throat, “Unfortunately, the ‘ghini in question has already been demolished, as I believe Owen has explained to you. The car was searched and if anything was found, it was taken to our office. If you would like to accompany me, we can check the system for any items we may have retrieved.”

“The ‘ghini…” Rachel’s mouth pursed in disapproval at the moniker, though she was at least pleased that the conversation had turned away from the past.

“We like to have fun around here,” Barnaby replied. He gestured towards the office. “After you, Rachel.”

----

The unremarkable exterior of the office did not give any hints of its rather abnormal interior. Inside, strange baubles and nonsensical trinkets filled the room. In the span of a bell chime, Rachel left the world of the ordinary and entered the land of the bizarre. She spotted what appeared to be an actual candelabra-style wall sconce on the Eastern wall.

“If you could fill out this form, please,” Barnaby said from behind a small desk.

“Oh, yes,” Rachel said quickly, tearing her eyes away from the out-of-place light fixture and walking to the desk. But when she put pen to paper, the document was strange.

Please write the following sentence:

‘When zombies arrive, quickly fax Judge Pat’.

“What kind of form is this?”

“We like to have fun around here,” Barnaby said once again.

The repetition of the phrase flipped some hidden danger alarm in her brain. Best to get this over with quickly. She filled out the form and handed it over to him. He read it over, smiled, and said, “Be right back.”

Rachel watched him disappear into another room filled with computer monitors and filing cabinets before a door closed behind him. She tapped her foot impatiently, looking around the strange room. There were multiple neon signs depicting flamingos, a life-size marble statue of a capybara, and at least a hundred snow globes behind glass casing.

Rachel stood, unable to resist the pull of the peculiar. When she reached the aforementioned wall sconce, she saw that a waxen stalagmite had formed on the cheap carpet below, indicating that the candles were real. To her further surprise, she confirmed that the fixture was made of real gold. Working for the Snodgrass family had taught her to distinguish between authentic objects of affluence and their false cousins.

She reached out a hand and caressed the sconce, perplexed. Abruptly, the light-fixture shuddered and snapped downwards at a 90-degree angle. Rachel jumped backwards as she heard a grinding sound and a piece of the wall jutted inwards and slid sideways to reveal a hidden passageway.

The hallway was dark and beckoning and she felt inexplicably compelled to enter. Helena had beat her personality into submission in the years that she had worked for her. There was no room for error, no room for curiosity, and certainly no room for indulging in anything unusual.

In the span of a moment, it became essential that she investigate the door.

She walked through the mysterious entrance as though possessed. Logically, she knew Barnaby would return at any moment and question why she was trespassing in a clearly forbidden area. But it was too late, she must discover what this handsome and strange man from her past was keeping behind a hidden door.

At first, the hallway was all shadows and secrets. As she walked, more wall sconces flared to life revealing a circular staircase that led downwards into the unknown. As she descended, the air began to smell cloyingly sweet with hints of something rotten. She noticed that the walls were made of the kind of oak wainscoting that belied true wealth.

Curious and curiouser.

The foul odor increased with each step, but she breathed through her mouth until she reached a thick oak door. Gold lettering glittered back at her in a language that she could not decipher. She hovered outside it, pushing up onto her toes and back again, uncertain. Her mind felt cloudy, her judgement impaired. She felt drunk off something she hadn’t known she had consumed.

A loud sound came from somewhere beyond the door, startling her out of her stupor.  

She shook her head. What am I doing down here? Surely Mr. Mimms was searching for her by now. Surely, he had discovered that she had…

“You’ve come all this way, why should you think to stop now?” a voice called out behind her.

“Mr. Mimms,” Rachel squeaked, whipping around to face him, her back pressing against the door. “I am so sorry, I don’t know why I came down here…”

“It’s alright, Rachel. Curiosity got the cat, after all,” Barnaby said, his deep voice like a soothing lullaby. He really was quite handsome; the stubble of his beard somehow drew attention to the sharp line of his jaw. The flickering candlelight only accentuated the striking blue of his eyes.

“By all means,” Barnaby said, “You should open the door.”

Rachel was transfixed on the contours of his face; he was an uncommonly alluring man. “I should open the door,” she repeated.

Her left hand reached blindly behind her and pushed down on the gilded handle. The door swung inward, and she stepped backwards into the room, darkness swallowing her footsteps. Barnaby did not follow. The door swung shut behind her and a lock snapped into place. She was thrust into a black void. Knowing it was futile, she reached out for the door handle again and shook it up and down.

Her other senses quickly compensated for her lack of vison. The noticed that the air was unnaturally warm and damp, as though she were in a sauna. There was also an undulating draft of air, rotten and sweet. She wondered at the draft, considering how deep the spiral staircase had taken her. She couldn’t be outside; there were no hints of the crisp winter air from earlier. She wondered if she was in some sort of cave.

Suddenly, an intercom crackled above her, startling her anew.

“Run-Away Rachel,” the unmistakable voice of Barnaby Mimms echoed. She must be in some sort of vaulted antechamber. “You have wandered into my secret lair!”

To her immeasurable relief, more light fixtures flickered to life around her. She covered her mouth and nose with her jacket sleeve and looked around the dimly illuminated room. Rachel located the speakers where the stone ceiling met the crudely carved walls. Metal beams ran across the ceiling, keeping the dark rocks from crumbling. She cursed under her breath. She should have known something was off with this guy when she saw all those snow globes. And now here she was… the stubble of a mysterious man and a Gods-damned wall sconce were to be her undoing.

Half of that I could have anticipated, she thought, remembering the time Helena had alleged that Rachel could be kidnapped by any handsome man. Gods, that witch will not be the last thing I think about. I’ve got to find another way out of here.

With alarm, she saw that tottering piles of mismatched furniture, some nearly scraping the ceiling, filled the vast room. It reminded her of some peculiar ossuary that held the ghosts of bedroom sets instead of bones. A narrow walking path snaked between and the piles and then turned out of sight.

The retched odor of the place had faded to unpleasant background noise as she took in her surroundings, but it could no longer be ignored. She gagged and pinched her nose. She began to sweat, and her phone become slippery in her hand.

My phone!

Time seemed to stretch as Rachel fumbled with the device, the screen coming to life in slow-motion. Relief bloomed upon seeing the full battery, but it withered just as quickly when she realized there was no service.

“Tut tut, none of the phone nonsense, I won’t hear of it!” Mr. Mimms said. He laughed to cover up his agitation. “You have come at a fortuitous time. It is such a joyous happenstance that you should wander into Tina’s lair on the day of her awakening!”

“Why are you talking like you’re in a historical novel? And who in the hell is Tina?” Rachel yelled. She had asked Barnaby a similar question when they were 17 and supposedly in love and she had never received a straight answer.

Mr. Mimms could either not hear her through the speaker system or else he chose to ignore her. “The Vernal Equinox is upon us, as you may be aware...”

A loud noise came from behind the nearest stack of furniture, somewhere between a roar and a hiss. The warm draft she had been feeling became stronger. Mr. Mimms’ giggle echoed as a large creature slithered into view and Rachel realized that the draft had been warm breath all along.

The monster’s long serpentine body rested upon six spindly black legs. It was covered in shining golden scales, save for its head. Set in a face shrouded in coarse black hair, shrewd eyes watched her with what she desperately hoped was not hunger.

“Her scales are made of pure gold. We harvest them during her winter hibernation,” Mr. Mimms said. “She has been in my family for generations and has accumulated quite the hoard of treasures, as you can see. Tina is rather protective of her things…”

Rachel dropped her phone as the creature took several smooth steps towards her, its breath foul, drool dripping onto the ground below.

“Today is the day she is most ravenous. I do love to give her human meat, though it is rare that I am able to do so. As an aside, did you know that your relationship with the ever-charming Ms. Helena is ideal for formulating a cause of disappearance? I am thinking something like this.” Here, he adopted a mocking, feminine lilt. “I can’t take it anymore, working with you is soul-crushing. You treat me like dirt. I quit, effective immediately. I shall be moving to…" The lilt disappeared. “Well, what kind of place do you prefer? Cold? Hot? No matter, Merryweather is well-versed in discovering these kinds of things.”

Rachel stood in silent terror.

“Have you ever heard of a pangram, Rachel? It’s a sentence that uses every letter of the alphabet. Quite useful when writing a suicide note or a resignation letter, et cetera. And of course,” Mr. Mimms went on, “you have already provided us with a writing sample.”

Rachel remembered the form she filled out, complete with her own distinctive signature. He had everything he needed.

Mr. Mimms cleared his throat, “Anyway, enough of my chattering, I’ll let you get to it. Tina! It's dinner time!”

In the back room of the office building, fifty-some feet above, the sounds of Rachel’s screams were clipped off when Barnaby Mimms let his finger slip off the blue speaker button.

He stood up and stretched. He hummed a jaunty tune as he left the surveillance room and went to remove the large ‘Busy’ sign off the front door. Then, he placed a call to Owen.

“Please come get the diamond ring that was left in the Snodgrass Lamborghini. Also, take the assistant’s writing sample to Merryweather, she knows what to do. What kind of snow globe do you think Rachel would have liked? I’m thinking one of those little Boston Terriers like she has on her key chain. Yes, I agree, so cute. I’ll go down and grab her cell phone in a few. Oh, and place a call to the jeweler. I have this season’s scales weighed and ready to be melted down.”