Haserot's Secret

The vaulted ceiling echoes the distressed and panicked cries of desperation. Artifacts of daily life are haphazardly strewn about the grand parlor. Books of literature and biographies litter the floor alongside an impressive catalog of 1920's jazz albums and first edition copies of Art Deco magazines. Flowery pungent aromatics of single-malt mingle with the organic skin scent of fine Italian leather upholstery in the Snakewood-lined chamber. The hysterics become drunken laughter of loss.

Chadwick Bolward plunks on top of his old man's desk, his head making an audible thump. He is too inebriated to care about the knot that self-inflicted blow will cause. Priscilla, stirring her Balvenie 15 with a well-manicured middle finger, smirks while delightfully watching Chadwick moan and groan. The rhythmic tinkle of ice cubes catches his attention.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Chadwick sits up, his normally loose-locked curly hair is a rumpled mess along with his clothes. "Prissy, you do realize that if I don't find this book, this little black book," Chadwick continues with air quotes, "the Black Book...all of this goes away. All of it!"

"Don't be such a queen." She gulps down her drink in two swallows. Satisfied, Priscilla unashamedly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand then carefully navigates the mess to Chadwick and lifts his sulking head. Her dragon-green gaze has always mesmerized him. Priscilla butterfly kisses his brow. "You've inherited an empire, my love. What can be so important in that book...that little black book..." she mockingly air quotes, "...the Black Book?"

Chadwick grabs her mocking hands and binds her wrists with his grasp. Priscilla winces at the unexpected aggression. Seeing the affliction in her eyes, he loosens his grip.

"Haven't you noticed that ever since the old man passed just four months ago, his entire conglomerate has eroded? True, I'm not a business genius, but neither was he." Chadwick rises to his feet on the massive desk and kicks papers and supplies off to the already cluttered floor below. Dramatically, "Everything that man has accomplished, earned, conquered or even stolen...sshh, has come from that little book. The wealth he obtained didn't happen due to hard work. Hell no! The provinces along with its people that he bought and sold at a whim didn't come from a shrewd and calculated sense of business acumen. Hell No! Prissy, even the wives he's taken weren't because he was a dashing young princely heir to a throne. HELL NO!" Chadwick paces the length of the desk to and fro. "I'll tell you what he did do, Prissy. He told me. He told me because the one secret that the book didn't have was the secret of immortality." Chadwick looks over his shoulder at Priscilla who's sitting in an overly-stuffed ornate wingback office chair waiting for him to finish his award-winning diatribe. He turns in her direction and lowers to his haunches, kneading his knuckles into the padded type rest. "He told me that the only thing he has ever done to achieve all his heart's desires was follow the book's instructions. A book, he admitted to me on his deathbed, he stole."

Priscilla barks out a preposterous laugh. "Your father, the man you look up to, the man the myth the legend who is the envy of the entire world, is nothing more than the luckiest thief on Earth." She saunters over to the wet bar and pours a couple more drinks after which she offers one to Chadwick before continuing. "May I ask, from whom did he steal this little black book?"

"He dug it up."

"Dug it up?"

"Yes."

"Like a treasure?"

"More like grave robbing."

"I'm sorry if this comes out wrong...I've had a bit to drink, but your father dearest didn't have the courtesy or courage to rob the living? Was this a career-type thing...robbing graves?" Priscilla tries holding back more laughter. "Who's grave did he rob?"

Incensed, "It was not a career choice. It was a legend. It just proved to be true." Chadwick finishes his scotch and continues, "The legend of Haserot."

Priscilla shrugs her shoulders, "Never heard of it."

"Long story short, the Haserot family, especially Alden Haserot more than dabbled in the black arts of alchemy. They were quite successful at it. Upon his deathbed request, Alden asked that their book of secrets be hidden forever, claiming that it is too powerful in the hands of man. I guess he was right, but dammit, I want that book...I need that book!" Chadwick looks into his empty glass. His head swirls more than usual. "My old man found it tucked behind Alden's breastplate over his heart. He told me to never lose it. And what do I do?"

"Grave robbery and desecration of a corpse. Your father has quite the story. I wish I could have heard him tell it. Well, dear I have secrets to my own success. Not quite secrets...but confessions rather." Priscilla's finger swirls her drink clinking the ice. "I have what is called hyper-retentive eidetic memory."

Chadwick feels his face numbing, vision blurring, and speech slurs, "Wh' wh' what are you talking about?"

"Chadwick Bolward, you know you're not to ask a lady about their private affairs. But, since you have about ten minutes left, I guess I can tell my beloved."

Chadwick slumps into the couch. "Prissy, wh' what have you done?" Chadwick's breathing is laboring as his chest tightens. He can feel his heart pounding like a locomotive on a downhill track.

"Hyper-retentive eidetic memory means that I can recall anything that I see or read. Clear as the skies over Bora Bora." Priscilla touches up her lipstick smacking her lips together to get the coverage even. "I found the Little Black Book a couple of days ago over there." She nonchalantly points to an dimly lit corner of the den where a miniaturized sculpture of the 'Angel of Death' resides. "I read it front to back, then back to front. The funny thing is when I read it backward, the Little Black Book does reveal the secrets to immortality."

"What are you s...s...saying? Wh' where is the book, Prissy?"

"I burned it. Didn't want anyone stealing my secrets." Priscilla straightens and adjusts her aqua-marine sequined pencil dress. "Before I leave Chadwick, two things. One, in case you are wondering, the neurotoxin I used is from the green mamba. Ironically, they live in the same western part of Africa your father exploited."

"And th...th...the other," Chadwick asks, his voice weak and ragged?

"Haserot is my Grandmother's maiden name."

Priscella leans over and butterfly kisses his brow. She moves away and pulls a vial from her clutch, offering it to his trembling outstretched hand. "You may need this. It's the anti-venom," she says with a hint of remorse. "Or, it's more venom. Either way your suffering will be over." Priscilla hands him the vial which he fumbles to his feet and surrounding debris. She huffs and picks the vessel up. As she goes to turn off all of the lights in the parlor except for the small Tiffany lamp in the obscure corner where the 'Angel of Death' lives, she places the vial at its feet. Priscilla nods to the Haserot Angel "He will decide your fate." She blows a kiss to Chadwick and locks the door behind her.