Seek and Ye Shall Find

The rain hitting the windshield, and the gloomy sky on the horizon, seem to add even more negativity to the day. Why was it so hard to move aging family members? Not just the sheer number of personal belongings collected over decades, but the vice like grip on said possessions. I wish my aunt would just donate all of it. That drama isn’t enough to bring me down though. I’m on my way to make some big money at the antique roadshow. Well, at least I feel like I can. I have no idea what some of these old family heirlooms are, but they look something fancy. One of the posher looking items is a gold broach with a shiny red gemstone. It looks like a ruby to me. Another piece of jewelry that came with the broach, is a ring. The ring looks like it has seen better days. It’s a little beat up and has some small writing on it in another language. I figure these must be worth something. So, I threw them into this little pouch I had found tossed to the side of the room. Now here I am, off to a traveling antique roadshow. The only experience I have is watching snippets of the roadshow on TV and witnessing how much money people can make from discarded items.

Approaching the venue for the Antique Roadshow, you would think it was Coachella, or something of that nature. Except all the guests appear to be retired, or close to it. I park as far away from the doors as possible. To give the older guests a shorter walk. I haul my pouch out of the vehicle and start my walk to making a nice hunk of change. Walking through the venue doors, there is a massive lineup of people waiting to get in. A lot of people are carrying boxes or bags of the items they want to get appraised. However, there are a few different people with massive instruments, or statues of interesting art. This truly was a smorgasbord of yard sale treasures. After the slow-moving queue finally grants me access to the hall, I could see the various lineups to the designated appraisers. You can see experts of all kinds. You have a person determining the price of erotic art. Another person is looking over hand tools and educating people about the era their tools were used in. It looks like a cool history lesson, with the chance of winning the lottery after. Who would have thought there would be such a rush at an antique roadshow?

I finally find an area where it looks like people are going through jewelry. Here was my chance to get rich through a simple conversation. I line up in the queue and patiently wait for my opportunity to see the value of my heirlooms. The line moves a lot quicker than I expected. Within 25 minutes of lining up, I was talking to the jewelry expert, giving what information I had. The idea of striking it big overwhelms me. Looking at the broach first, the expert sounds a little excited. This makes me smile a bit, because that must mean it’s valuable. He looks at me and says, “Five dollars, tops.” Wow. Not what I was expecting. At least I have that old ring. That must be worth something! The expert holds up the ring and laughs. Now I know this can’t be a very profitable reaction. Again, they look at me smiling, “This may be worth a dollar. Very nice stage jewelry though.” This really shows my knowledge on jewelry appraising. I figured I would be living the rich life, and here I couldn’t even afford to buy a bottle water with my potential sales. I’m definitely feeling embarrassed and go to retrieve my fancy stage jewelry. Then the expert’s eyes pop wide open. “That pouch your holding. Where did you get that?” I mention how I found it kind of tossed to the side of the room, and I grabbed it to carry my stuff to be appraised. His eyes grow even bigger, and it almost appears like he is salivating. He is reaching to grab it from me. I kind of recoil a bit and ask him to give me a little space. His face goes from bewilderment to rage. Suddenly he tries snatching it from me. I back up a little quicker and turn to run. His eyes stay fixed on me, and he starts to chase.

I move through lines of the elderly people like a wrecking ball. They seem to be the most prominent, and they are very easy to run through. I feel a little bad leaving a path of knocked over old people, but it was me or them. I think I am losing the expert. Suddenly he emerges from the stacks of knocked over pensioners. I manage to get outside the building and sprint towards my vehicle. He is still on the chase. As I get to my vehicle, I grab a tire iron out of my trunk. I look at him and ask him what he wants with me and this pouch? His eyes just stay fixed on the pouch. He is muttering, “I must have it…”. As he reaches for it again, I connect with his head like a solid golf drive. He dropps like a sack of hammers. I have never really assaulted anyone before. So, this is a whole new situation for me. I notice there is a card hanging halfway out of the expert’s pocket. I figure I have just assaulted someone, what’s the damage in taking this card? I inspect the card, and something looks a little off. Relic Hunter. I know this person was an antique roadshow specialist, but Relic Hunter had a whole different ring to it. I get into my vehicle and drive away from the scene as quickly, and safely as possible. I don’t want to attract any more attention. I mean I did just knock out someone in the parking lot.

I get home and empty out the pouch of all the cheap stage jewelry. What about this pouch caused, what seemed like a normal person, to go crazy and try to fight me? There was nothing jumping out to me about this pouch. I flip the pouch upside down and I notice a faded logo. “What the hell is this?”, I mutter to myself. It almost looks like the letter “E”, but it is made of weapons? The top and bottom resemble an axe, and the middle has a shape of an arrowhead. How have I never noticed this before, and where did this come from? I pick up my phone to google this image, but I see there is a message from an unknown number. The message says, “Bring the pouch to the abandoned warehouse on Greenland Avenue. Come alone. If you don’t abide by these requests, you feel the wrath of the red temper.” Barely able to hold the phone with my trembling hands. I google search directions to this ransacked warehouse. It’s close. Real close. I grab my hunting knife and head out.

The short walk to the abandoned warehouse seems to take longer than usual. Approaching the building I notice the same faded logo that was on the pouch. “Okay, this is probably where it came from,” I say to myself. Almost comforting myself with such a statement. The doors to this warehouse are so big. I push them open without any resistance. The darkness inside the building is unlike any darkness I have ever seen before. This isn’t just visibly a dark room, it feels dark too. A darkness from another time and place. I hesitantly enter the darkness. I ask, “Is there anyone here?”. The deafening silence is overwhelming. I reach for my phone to get the flashlight going. I turn the light on and look up. There are hundreds of people all around me. Staring with blank, angry faces. All their focus appears to be on the pouch I am holding. I open my mouth to speak, and before words can come out, I feel a pain in the back of my head.

The pain is excruciating. I open my eyes and all I can see is a ceiling. I try to turn my head, but I can’t. It is fixed in its current position. I go to my move my arms or legs. I can’t move a thing. They are strapped down. Panic begins to set in a bit. “Where the hell am I?”, I think to myself. Suddenly, a figure appears in my line of vision. It is the expert I had initially ran away from at the antique roadshow. The expert is now looking down on me with a devilish smile. He says, “All you had to do was give me the pouch. If you had just given me the pouch, you’d be safe and sound.” He is almost laughing as he says the words. The expert is now holding the pouch above me. He places it on my chest. “Had you given me the pouch, we would not have to offer you to The Red.” More panic kicks in as this person is uttering threats to me about the pouch. I scream, “You have the pouch now. Let me go. You don’t need me anymore!” This causes laughter amongst the group. “You are exactly what we need,” the expert says. Before I respond, a blade emerges out of the pouch. Again, I go to speak, but only puddles of blood gurgle from my throat. As adrenaline passes through my body, causing me to bleed out faster, I see a wounded old figure materialize. A ginger mane blowing in the slight breeze seems even more intense, as the whole room is so dark. I also notice the same logo on his cloak. The figure raises his maul, looks down on my strapped down body and strikes my chest with such force, that I spit blood that hits the ceiling. “You’ll do just fine.”, says the red-haired figure. He strikes me again with his maul. The pain is almost lesser. This must mean I’m dying. The thought of it makes my tortured body smile. The red-haired figure looks down on me, with a smile as large as he is, “Thanks for returning my pouch. Valhalla awaits you.” I go to speak again, and this time his fist comes down directly on my face.

I wake up in an all-white room. The contrast from the darkness I last saw, is playing with my mind. “Am I dead?”, I ask to no one in particular. I still feel strapped down. I scream for help. There is nothing. The white room is almost unbearable to look at. It’s so bright. My eyes won’t stop watering. Again, I scream for anyone to help. I don’t know how long it has been. Years? Decades? “Anyone. Please help.”