#wotn

Thalatha 

“Is that an amulet?”

Even as tall as she is, OA still towers over her. He leans slightly towards her, looking over her shoulder at the pile of items that were once compiled in Professor Chastain’s knapsack. A few field notes’ books, measuring tape, sunglasses, Ziploc bags, painkillers, and a digital camera. The kind of essentials that you’d expect to find in an archeologist’s possession. 

The amulet, too. To a certain extent. 

It’s made from stone and metal, hand-carved symbols on its hard surface. It’s beige in color, with cracks creeping in every which way despite still being solidly composed. It’s older than probably everyone in the room, combined. 

Tiffany frowns, looking up at Lieutenant Shaheed. “This was in her bag?”

He nods. “I’m assuming she found it in the tomb where she was discovered as it was already sticking out of her bag when our crime scene technicians recovered it. I’m not 100% sure, though, and was wondering if you or your classmates had any knowledge on its origin?”

She looked closer at the artifact, zoning in on its features and details. Noting the various hieroglyphics and intricate art designs in its center. There’s a message being told here in the carvings, but Tiffany is much too novice to decipher it.

“I know that amulets, historically, were used as talismans to ward off harm or invoke special powers. These symbols here… The only one that I recognize is the sphinx. Not like… the Sphinx, but this is actually a criosphinx.” She points it out. “It represents power.”

Both men listen intently as she shares the nominal knowledge she’s able to. 

The lieutenant nods once more, this time more hesitantly. 

“I’m really not supposed to be showing you these things, but according to the university, Professor Chastain is… was the only Egyptology professor on campus this semester. The other Egyptologist is on sabbatical and it would be one of the two who we usually consult on such matters.”

OA gives a sympathetic hum. “Have you already been in contact with the States?”

“Yes. An Agent Forrester and his team should be arriving shortly.” Shaheed gestures to Tiffany. “I’m sure you and your classmates are eager to leave, but we’re asking that you stay here on campus until they arrive so that they may interview you all as well for the investigation.”

“Of course. I’m actually a former agent myself. I was expecting that that might be your next move so I gave my classmates a heads up.”

Shaheed gives a weathered smile as if not all too surprised. “It’s much appreciated, ma’am.”

One of his officers approaches him and he’s pulled away for whatever conversation they’re having. Tiffany’s Arabic is elementary, at best, so she doesn’t bother trying to listen in. She turns away to wander outside the classroom where the rest of her classmates are settled, but she stops and grins at OA.

“Stop eavesdropping,” she chides.

OA blinks, having been caught. 

“I was just-”

“Eavesdropping, yes.” 

The two share a muted chuckle, with OA walking in stride with her as the two head for the hallway. The handful of Tiffany’s classmates congregate in the large, wide hall space of the archeology and anthropology department, settled around some tables and benches. One by one, each had been called in to give a brief statement and some background regarding Professor Chastain. 

OA keeps his voice low as the two approach the group. “So what happens to the class trip now?”

Tiffany shrugs. “I don’t know. UGA just asked us to stay put and cooperate with the authorities and that they’d give a formal statement and directives as soon as possible.”

Not that Tiffany was planning on going anywhere anytime soon. It’s gripping how quickly she’s sunk back into her former life. It’s like the role of the grad student has left her body, making way for her old life as an agent. It feels like it was merely yesterday that she was solving cases and tracking down killers rather than the eighteen months it’s actually been since she left 26 Fed. 

While she has no plans to overstep boundaries as the authorities seek to investigate what happened to her professor, she’ll be here to lend as much as a helping hand as she could.

“I’m sure that’s the last thing on your mind, but hopefully this doesn’t affect your coursework too much.” OA vocalizes. “How long is your program?”

“Just two years. I went for a master’s to dip my toes back into the academic setting since I’m not decided on if I want a PhD or not. I’m a little over halfway through.”

OA does the math in his head, surmising that she started the program only a few months after leaving NYC. He wonders how long she had been considering leaving before she actually did.

They’re back within the hub of the rest of Tiffany’s classmates and Clarke immediately ventures closer to them both. A mild expression of worry colors her face.

“We’re not like… suspects, are we?”

Tiffany chuckles, though she doesn’t mean to. Clarke, for all accounts, was one of the most bubbliest human beings she’d ever encountered. Constantly inquisitive, making friends everywhere she went simply by hacking up a conversation. She had sat next to Tiffany on their first day of class and Tiffany found herself sharing things she’d never reveal to a person she met less than an hour prior. Clarke had that magnetism, though. Along with a disarming sense of innocence that made the idea of her being a murderer nearly laughable.

“No,” Tiffany answers. “Getting statements from everyone is standard procedure for any homicide investigation.”

Clarke’s posture slumps. “Thank God. Maybe it sounds insensitive, but this whole thing just reeks of creepy and I’m just ready to get on the fastest flight out of here.”

Tiffany nods in understanding. “Yeah, I get it,” She says, her voice softening as she glances around the room, as if the walls themselves might be listening. She increases the octave of her voice, allowing the others to hear her as well. “Let’s just get through this and then wait to figure out the next moves, okay?”

A modicum of stress releases from the frazzled group and everyone tries to shake off the tension as the day progresses. Some coordinators and administrative staff from the university swing by with food and drinks for the group, relaying their condolences and announcing the availability of grief counseling should anyone want to decompress regarding recent tragic events. 

Hana, a young, petite woman from the Dean’s office mentions that the university’s president and another member of the Egyptology department, would arrive shortly to discuss next steps.

Tiffany figured most schools had some sort of protocol when things like this took place, but she imagines it’s probably the first time that they’ve had to actually carry out such procedures. 

Though people are less edgy with food in their systems and their formal statements over with, there’s still slight tension in the air. The muttered whispers of conversation die down when there’s movement from the hallway and a team of agents striding down towards them.

The Fly Team.

OA recognizes them immediately, having worked with them previously and it doesn’t take much for Tiffany to deduce who they are with their badges on display and air of business.

“Forrester.” OA holds his hand out for Scott Forrester to shake.

“Omar.” If he’s confused or surprised at OA and Tiffany’s presence, he doesn’t let on. “You must be Tiffany Wallace.”

Tiff shakes hands with Scott, knowing of him but meeting him in person for the first time. 

“Nice to meet you.”

Scott nods, reciprocating the acknowledgement before jumping straight into case mode. “Isobel caught me up and I’ve been on the phone with Lieutenant Shaheed. Tiffany, the victim was your professor?” “Right,” Tiffany confirms. “The whole class was supposed to visit the tomb site together today as part of the excursion. To my knowledge, none of us knew she had gone by herself last night.”

Scott nodded in understanding. 

“Obviously, I’m sure you’re gonna want to talk to all of us to get a better picture of what could’ve happened, but I’m about as lost as you are. I can’t imagine any of the students being involved, especially because we were all out to dinner last night, but it all seems so random and I don’t know what to make of it.”

“That’s natural, though I can imagine it feels uncomfortable being on the other side of a case like this,” he says. “We’ll start by interviewing you first. I know you’re no longer an agent, but you could have a point of view that maybe your other classmates don’t and your perspective might really help.”

Tiffany agrees. “However I can help.”

OA, standing beside her, nods as well. “Not here to step on any toes. I was actually just here on vacation, but if you guys happen to need an extra hand, I’m here if you want.”

“You speak fluent Arabic, right?” Cameron jumps in, lingering near Scott while Andre and Smitty greet Lieutenant Shaheed, who’s just exited the classroom the police were questioning the class in. 

When OA nods, Cameron exchanges a silent agreement with Scott. She turns back to OA. “If you don’t mind sticking around, I’m sure you’d be a big help with liaising with the ENP.” 

Raines and Smitty join the group with Shaheed and Tiffany steps back realizing they’re about to discuss next steps in the investigation. She ambles back over to Clarke and the rest of her classmates and her senses perk up when she realizes someone else has joined their group.

He’s an older man wearing glasses and a casual styled suit, holding a briefcase and some papers. Tiffany looks closer and the tattered pages look like sheets of hand written notes. 

The man adjusts his glasses and offers a polite nod to the group, his deep-set eyes scanning their faces with quiet intensity. His skin is weathered from years under the sun, and a neatly trimmed silver beard frames his thoughtful expression. A faint scent of old parchment and desert wind seems to cling to him, as if he’s just stepped out of a memory.

Tiffany studies him more closely. His suit jacket, though simple, is dusted faintly with what looks like sand, and the edges of his sleeves poking through are worn. The briefcase he carries is scuffed and well-traveled, its brass hinges dulled by time. When he sets it down and opens it with a soft click, the brittle crackle of old paper breaks the air.

“I am Professor Hafiz Khalil,” he says in a low, measured tone, his accent rich with Cairo’s cadence. “I believe I can offer some context… regarding your professor’s presence at the tomb on what would be her last night.”

He stops for a second, as if forgetting something.

“First, let me say sorry for you all’s loss. It is a death most untimely.” He looks around at the encircling group of archeology grad students as they inch closer to hear his words. “The university’s administration is convening on the status of this course with UGA, but I have made it known that I am more than willing to take over the class for those who wish to proceed and earn their credits. My understanding is that they’ll work to instill some alternative so that no one gets penalized should they choose to return to the States.”

Wariness paints the faces of the group of students. Amongst the earlier muted conversations, some were distressed about having to potentially delay their graduation when they were so close to the finish line while some were ready to leave Egypt without a second’s notice. 

“Fret not,” he says. “No one has to make any split decisions. I just wanted to introduce myself and offer any comfort, as knowledge usually does. There’s a story to be told in Professor Chastain passing in a place so closely connected to life and birth.”

Tiffany frowns and silently appreciates when Clarke speaks up. “What does that mean?”

Hafiz’s expression brightens like he was hoping someone would ask. “Professor Chastain was found in the tomb of the priestess of Amun-Ra. Amun-Ra was a supreme god, two gods fused together actually, symbolizing fertility and re-birth.” 

“Wait, I know this story,” Clarke expresses. “They’ve never been able to identify who the priestess was, but they call her the “unlucky mummy” because her sarcophagus is like cursed or something.”

“Precisely. It’s a bit of a misnomer because it’s not really the mummy that is unlucky, but rather the people who come in contact with it. The legend is that anyone who comes in contact with even the coffin lid experiences extreme misfortune and sometimes even death,” he adds. 

Tiffany hears a scoff as OA approaches behind her. “Surely, you’re not blaming a woman’s murder on folklore.” 

Hafiz smiles, though it’s flat. “Actually, I was going to say that in my decades of research, I’ve concluded that the curse is false. There is something to be said about the amount of incidents regarding that specific tomb, however.” 

“What incidents?” Smitty asks. The Fly Team have now made their way over to the large, growing group. 

“Lieutenant, you haven’t told them that this is far from the first suspicious death at this tomb?”

Everyone glances over at Lieutenant Shaheed who looks on with tightened features. “We are conducting an investigation, not exploring past history.” 

Like a hound with a scent, Tiffany picks up on something being spoken between the two men beyond what was said in words. She supposes Hafiz was the other professor Shaheed mentioned earlier that the police would usually go to when consulting was needed. She’s not the only one who picks up on the frostiness. The wide room shifts into stilted energy leaving everyone on edge. Forrester takes the instant of silence to gain everyone’s attention. 

“Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Agent Scott Forrester and my team and I are working with the ENP to investigate Professor Chastain’s death.”

Suddenly, instructions are being given and people are being split into groups. 

Tiffany realizes she’s going to have to give yet another abbreviated statement as the case moves underway, but she can’t help to linger on Hafiz’s words. Shaheed’s statement had left no room for the exchange to continue, but she could tell that the man had more he wanted to share. Their eyes connect from across the room and his eyebrows dance with excitement as if he’s got a secret. 

Without meaning to, Tiffany finds herself right back in the mindset of an investigator.

-----

“Just the person I wanted to see.”

OA traipses over to Tiffany, who sits away, but not far from the group of grad students who’ve just finished dinner in the outside communal space at their home stay. On the university’s bill, dinner was ordered and delivered from a nearby restaurant for an impromptu memorial dinner in honor of Professor Chastain. Not only had students convened to commemorate and mourn their clever professor, but other instructors from the university had also come. There was a blonde middle-aged linguistic anthropology professor who divided her time between Egypt and the UK who was particularly distressed about Chastain’s passing, citing that the two were travel buddies, often attending international academic conferences together.

Tiffany had listened to her sob with grief in the middle of recounting the various traditions they held as long-distance friends. 

There were other faculty who were comrades with the fallen Egyptologist and came to pay their respects as well as speak encouragement to the group of shaken grad students.

At some point, it had all gotten overwhelming to Tiffany, not because of the recollection of sentimental memories or the reassurances about this hurdle in their career aspirations, but because of her own mind. It had been whirling with thoughts at what progress might’ve been made in the investigation.

Tiffany was free to leave shortly after giving her statement to the Fly Team. OA had stuck around to assist, but he had promised that he’d be at the homestay this evening for dinner.

She had only waited around long enough for Clarke to finish giving her statement and the two had been essentially stuck to the long, narrow couch all day long in Clarke’s unit until dinner had arrived in the evening. They had watched TV, scrolled social media, and spoke on surface-deep topics, none of which helped to quell Tiffany’s antsy cast. 

“I saved you a plate when you texted you were gonna be late.” Tiffany scoots the aluminum-covered plastic plate towards him as he sits in the adjacent eucalyptus folding chair. 

“Thanks.” OA wastes no time digging in, grabbing a tamiya and tossing the patty into his mouth, whole.

Tiffany chuckles. 

“Sorry. I miss this stuff so much. My mom doesn’t make it as much anymore with her arthritis.”

“Glad I snatched the last few, then.”

He nods appreciatively, tossing another in his mouth and spooning some Roz Masri. They both gaze with admiration for the perfect picture of the full moon floating regally across the dark blue skyscape. It almost felt like a waste to have the outside space lit up with lanterns because nothing compared to how the moon illuminated a clear, gorgeous glow. 

OA’s gaze ventures beside him, taking in the profile of Tiffany’s face. Her umber skin gleamed against the moon, highlighting the graceful pout of her lips and the way her cheekbones tapered high with jubilance. 

She sighs lazily. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

OA’s gaze lingers on her. “Yeah.”

She shifts and he snaps out of his daze before she notices his gawking. He clears his throat, opening the soda that had accompanied his plate. 

“So how did your day go?” She asks, leaning further into her chair. 

“The case hasn’t really gone anywhere,” he admits begrudgingly. “I mean, they’ve been combing over everyone’s statements and literally no one has a bad thing to say about Abigail Chastain. She’s clean as a whistle from what the Fly Team’s analyst has uncovered.”

Tiffany could believe that. Professor Chastain had an all around pleasant personality. She was passionate about her field of study and it made everyone around her just as engaged. Tiffany remembers sitting in her class on the first day and immediately knowing she made the right decision in pursuing grad school by how much Professor Chastain spoke with just lively vigor. She had been part of the reignition of Tiffany’s own once dim vigor for archeology.

“I mean, I know Shaheed said there weren’t any cameras outside of the tombs but they have to have cameras outside of the borders to deter vandals, right? There’s nothing of note that’s been found?”

OA shakes his head. “They’re still combing through, but nothing of note. The last person who entered the perimeter before Chastain entered hours earlier but after Chastain entered, there was no footage of anyone leaving the tomb. And to make matters worse, of course, the person was fitted in all black with their face covered, so digital recognition isn’t really helpful at this point.”

Tiffany sucks in a disturbed breath. “What the hell is going on?”

“My words, exactly.”

She shakes her head, unable to make anything out of the case’s most recent developments. “I mean, my gut tells me this isn’t random, but none of this is making sense. We don’t even have a motive.”

OA muses, “We, huh?”

A chuckle exits her mouth. “Who was I kidding thinking I’d just be some passive bystander? I’m not trying to step on Forrester or his team’s toes, but I’m definitely not going home until I get some answers.”

“You and me both.” 

The two share a glance with one another. Tiffany’s grin widens.

“Guess that makes us a two person detective agency. What should our name be?”

This time, it’s OA’s time to chuckle. “I’m making the executive decision to leave that to you.”

Tiffany taps her chin thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Silence settles over them comfortably before she smiles to herself. OA’s eyebrows raise with curiosity. 

“We can never escape it, can we?” A rhetorical question.

“I guess we can’t.” He echoes.

-----

Yesterday

The cavernous space felt strange. And Abby had been in a lot of tombs. Felt the rough coolness that embodied insulated undergrounds. Touched the loculi cut into the rock chambers. She’s even gotten cuts on her palms from grasping the walls as she maneuvers through the tight crevices. It all felt rather benign to her in the two decades she’s explored tombs. 

But she’s never experienced the disquieted feeling that’s settled within her ever since she stepped foot in this tomb. 

The priestess’ tomb.

It was indescribable the way that she immediately felt something other upon entering the space. Like there was some other being that floated in this realm. The silence is too still. There’s nothing she sees among the hieroglyphic texts on the walls and the illustrative rendition of the sun god’s journey on the ceiling. The tomb has been reconsecrated over the decades, losing some of its indigenous glory. And even still, she can taste the faint damp, mustiness of the air. The intensity of the history held frozen in this space for centuries. 

She moves towards the western branch on the underroom, searching for the small vessel of treasures where it’s documented to be kept. 

It lies plainly on the carving table before the path deviates into other tributaries of the room. All too glorious in its intricacies, needing no safeguard or shield. The mystic artifact needs no protection, after all. 

She picks the item up, unsurprised that it’s heavier than it looks. Beige and ordinary in color, but it’s the inscriptions that tell its real story. 

Abby grasps it in her hands and she looks up at the ceiling with utter joy. Her smile is glossy and bright. She even allows an excited snicker to leave her lips because she’s now achieved one of her greatest accomplishments in life. 

She’s reached the promised land. 

It all ends when she turns around at the sound of shuffling feet. 

And when her corpse is found later on in the night, no one will have a clue.