Voynich Shift - Pars Duorum (COMPLETED)

Part I - Cornucaprae, 1:1, 2:14 - Missing In Action

June 30th, 1946

"Damn it old man, what are we goin' to do without you? What am I going to do?" the young Arthur Raymond asked, choking back the sadness. He glanced up at the golden crucifix looming above and chuckled through the tears. "You know what? Ignore me, dad, I'm just being selfish. It's 'cause we're all sad down here, but I'm bettin' that crazy mother of mine is as happy as a lark right now and as you would say, when mom's happy, everyone is happy."

Arthur produced a slight smile as he thought back to a time when he was a small child watching his mother slow dancing in the kitchen with his father to some Bessie Smith song. "Give her a spin, dad, give her a spin!"

The medals and buttons on Arthur's olive drab, Class 'A' Army jacket shimmered in the lights positioned over the glossy coffin. A tear fell on the glimmering Medal of Honor draped around his neck and created an odd geometric light pattern on his father's lifeless, pale face. Arthur looked down, wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his right hand, and then covered the metal object with it. He placed the palm of his left hand on his father's similarly ribbon-clad chest and patted it as a tear rolled along the bridge of his nose to drip from the end. Arthur noted that, although the uniform itself was of an earlier design, the old man's right chest was covered in the same obscenely, overly decorated manner as his own.

Arthur had to admit to himself, it was hard, even now, to imagine his larger-than-life father lying in state like this. The late, great Arthur Raymond, Senior, authentic hometown hero of the First World War, now lifeless and cold; even though it was a steamy late July here on the outskirts of New Orleans. Arthur tilted his head and eyed his father's body, feeling something was missing from the aging uniform. He adjusted the man's lapel and sniffed.

"I wish I could thank you one last time for always being there for me as well as all these other old bastards when we needed someone to talk us down from the proverbial ledges," Arthur said with his face lowered. "You kept us all from falling apart way too many times, daddy. You were there for us no matter what you were going through yourself."

Arthur suddenly lifted his face as an inspired thought crossed his mind. "You know what, old man? You definitely deserve this more than I do. You're the one who's earned this here thing over and over, running in to rescue us from our own battles long after the wars were done..." Arthur stopped talking to remove the metallic star from his neck by its blue ribbon and placed it on his old man's chest. He backed away, straightened himself up, and tearfully snapped to attention. He heard a rustle behind him. When he turned, he found a room filled with men of varying ages, all wearing their military formals and all standing at attention with him; their right hands to their foreheads and eyes glistening in the colored sunlight streaking in through the church's stain-glass windows.

It was everything Arthur could do not to break down at that moment.

<<*>>

Five months later...

Arthur looked up as the bell on the front door of his shop dinged. He sat up in his chair with a creak and peered over the antique cash register to see who it was. He smiled noting it was Bernard Westfield, his father's Army buddy and oldest friend. "Hey Mr. Westfield!" Arthur said as he lay the shell of a disassembled pocket watch down on his workbench.

" Hello Junior," the balding African American man said with a tip of his hat. "You busy?"

"Never busy for you, Mr. Westfield," Arthur replied and walked toward the sales counter wiping his fingers on his father's dirty blue apron.

The older man removed his Fedora and his overcoat to hang them up on a wooden coatrack positioned near the shop's large glass front window. "C'mon now, I already told you to call me, Bernie, Junior. You're makin' me feel old."

Arthur ran his hand through his dark hair and blushed. "Sorry, Mr., erm, Bernie. It's a habit. So, whatcha bringing me today? Mrs. Claire broke her watch again?" he inquired and placed his hands on the top of the glass display case.

"Nah, nothing like that this time, my boy," the old man said as he lifted a finger, indicating Arthur should wait. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, jutted his hand in his coat pocket, and extracted an object wrapped in cheesecloth. "Ah, here it is. I'm in here because of this funny lookin' thing...appears Swiss to me, but what do I know? We both know you and your old man are the experts."

Arthur smiled. "Where'd you get it?"

"I discovered it while I was feedin' the horses. The confounded thing was hidden in a pile of hay in the corner of my barn."

Leaning in to examine the large pocket watch closer, Arthur squinted at the object held in the old man's wrinkled hands.

"In fact, I'd say it looks like one of my mares stomped on it...see that dent right there," the old man said and then glanced around nervously. He angled his head and began speaking in a whisper, "There was a bit of blood around it on the floor, too. I'm wonderin' if whoever it was, they might've gotten kicked."

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he extracted the strange looking pocket watch from Bernie's fingers and lifted it before his eyes. "You call Jim?"

Bernie sighed. "And have him and that Keystone Cop bunch of his tearin' up my barn and scarin' my livestock looking for nothin'? No thank you. It's probably just another one of those hobos hiding out in there waiting for the train to Lafayette. I suppose I won't have to worry about that one hanging out in there anymore."

"I'll take that as a no." Arthur laughed and with a shrug of his shoulders, lowered the jeweler's glasses strapped around his head. As Arthur scanned his eyes over the device, his hands began shaking. "Uh..."

The old man raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Clearing his throat, Arthur set the circular metal device down and lifted his glasses "I have absolutely no idea what model this thing is, Bernie. Honestly, it's got to be the most sophisticated watch I have ever seen."

"Really, now? Maybe it's a Nazi souvenir some GI picked up in Europe?"

"Maybe...I tell you what, Bernie, you want to leave it with me? I'm going to need some time with it to make heads or tails of it and tomorrow, I'll make a few phone calls and ask around. Find out if anyone else has seen anything like it before."

"That works for me," Bernie said and tapped the edge of the brassy object, making it turn in place a few times. He lifted his finger and glanced up at Arthur with a grin. "You know what, Junior? Whatta you give me for it? I ain't got no use for it myself and I can tell you're interested in it. Heck, lookin' at the thing, you're probably 'bout the only one round these parts that I think might could do anything with it, anyways."

"Two dollars?" Arthur said quickly, eyes no longer on the old man but the strange pocket watch. He could not wait to get the thing to his bench.

"Deal," Bernie said with a grin and stuck his hand out.

Arthur quickly opened the antique cash register with a ding and extracted a two dollar bill.

Bernie eyed the red spot on the paper for a second and shoved it in his pocket. He smiled. "Always a pleasure doin' business with ya," he said. Bernie began to turn and then stopped in his tracks.

"Something wrong, Bernie?" Arthur inquired, watching the older man walk away.

"Why don't you come by the house for dinner, tonight, Junior? Claire's putting on a chuck roast and I..." Bernie looked up at Arthur sadly. "I miss your old man and it don't hurt quite as bad when I'm talkin' to you."

"I'll be there with bells on, Bernie. I wouldn't miss that roast for nothing," Arthur said with a smile. "And trust me, I miss him every day, myself."