Neanderthal Marries Human

“Let’s look at the last case.” His words brought me back to the present and I followed where he led.

To my surprise, the last case was full of rings. This struck me as more than a little odd as the others contained crowns, scepters, and giant gemstones.

I smiled a little as I took in all the rings. Some were quite old, I could tell right away, as the metalwork was heavy and thick and perfectly imperfect. But all the inset gems were flawless; they shone as though new or just polished.

“Oh, they’re lovely!” I leaned against the rail and toward the box to garner a better look. Almost immediately, a gold ring with a red stone caught my eye and I gasped a little. I lifted my hand to point at it and had to catch myself before I actually touched the outside of the case. “Look at that one.”

Quinn wrapped his arm around my waist and leaned beside me. “Which one?”

“The oval one—the garnet—with the thick rose gold band.” Foil work held the gemstone in place, which likely dated the piece to pre-Victorian. In truth, they were all lovely. I noted that only one or two of the twenty or so rings were diamonds. The rest were emerald, sapphire or tanzanite, ruby, or garnet.

Quinn offered a non-committal “hmm.”

My eyes were drawn back to the red stone ring, and I marveled at the rose gold band, how it was sturdy and thick but detailed with delicate scrollwork.

“I don’t know as much as I’d like about antique jewelry, but—if I had to guess—that one looks to be Georgian or maybe older. Do you think that’s a ruby or a garnet? I’m thinking it’s a garnet and not paste jewelry. Rubies from that time were usually more fuchsia than red. True red rubies were exceptionally rare, especially the size and cut of that one—faceted like a diamond rather than smooth and polished. Wow….”

“Wow?”

I nodded, my eyes still on the ring. “Yeah. Wow. Think about all the history behind that single item. I wonder who the original owner was. It’s just…if rings could talk.”

I felt rather than saw his smile, and I answered it with a shy one of my own. “Seriously, if that ring could talk, I wonder what it could tell us about its life.” I turned my face to his and found I was correct about the curve of his mouth. “Maybe even intrigue—a ring like that must’ve been present during more than one important discussion. Maybe the owner even wore it while planning someone’s torture and murder.”

“Or maybe it was locked away in a dowry box for hundreds of years, just recently discovered, and placed here on special exhibition.”

I frowned at the thought, glanced back at the case, and sighed. “You’re a killjoy.”

He rubbed my back. “Fine, you’re right. It was worn to plot murders and the overthrowing of governments.”

“That’s right.” I nodded once. “No one could forget about such a ring let alone lock it away for hundreds of years. You have an overactive imagination, but with boring ideas.”

This last statement earned me a laugh, and I found it infectious. Quinn laughed so rarely even though I considered him a funny guy. He liked to tell me jokes deadpan without giving me any warning; I often didn’t know it was a joke until the punch line.

As an example, one morning over coffee while he was reading the newspaper and without looking up, we had the following interaction:

Quinn: “The Chicago sewer department called for you.”

Me: “Oh, really? What about?”

Quinn: “They said they’re tired of taking your shit.”

It took me about seven seconds to realize and understand the joke.

Usually my resulting laugh would garner a smile from him. If I laughed so hard I snorted, he’d usually chuckle. But very rarely did he laugh out loud; maybe once or twice a week if I were lucky.

Therefore, when he did, I always felt a heated supernova explosion of a star formation in my chest and abdomen.

Quinn’s hand stilled on my hip and squeezed. “Come on. We should get going.”

I gave the ring one last glance then allowed Quinn to guide me from the non-moving people mover. We sauntered to where Emma was standing at attention in a room full of what appeared to be solid gold serving dishes.

“What do you think of our treasures, Janie?” She asked me with a smile.

“They are…numerous.” I finally settled on the word numerous, because it felt like the most accurate description for the treasures as a whole.

Her smile widened at my response and she turned her attention to Quinn. “I’m afraid you’ve received a call, Sir. Your cell phone won’t have reception down here, so if you’ll follow George,” she motioned to a gentleman in a business suit standing just inside a doorway marked Staff Only; “He’ll take you to the Tower office.”

I barely got a glance of George before Quinn gave me a quick kiss on my cheek and whispered against my ear, “I’ll catch up with you.” Then he left me standing with Emma in the middle of the room as he rushed through the open door. I didn’t have even one second to object and my body gave a surprised flinch when it shut with a thud.

Emma nudged my elbow to draw my attention away from where he’d departed and I blinked down at her softly smiling face.

“Come dear, I’ll show you the ancient torture devices room you’ve been asking about.” She sounded apologetic.

I dutifully followed Emma, though my heart sunk a little as I reflected on the past days in London. Certainly, I was a solitary creature, but I’d seen Quinn less since we’d arrived in the UK than I usually did in Chicago.

I wished that Quinn had told me before we left that I’d be spending most of my time without him. If I’d known what to expect, calibrated my expectations as we often referred to it, I might have asked one of my friends to come along to share the new sights and experiences.

Discovering a new place was one of the few exceptions to my preference for solitude. It’s always nice to have someone with which to compare notes and thoughts, point out items of interest, and discuss the day. I made a mental note to create a survey; I would require him to complete it prior to future business trips if I were invited to attend.

I could score the survey, assigning a point value to each of his answers to determine whether to accompany him and, furthermore, whether to bring a companion.

I began making a list of the questions that would comprise the survey, and this seemed to lighten my mood. Though the fog of melancholy hadn’t abated entirely, not even when we arrived at the torture room, I was feeling less despondent about my current state of aloneness now that I had an actionable plan.

“I’ll go find your man.” Emma waved me toward the room. “You have a peek inside, and feel free to touch the instruments. Just be careful, as they are quite old and, you know, were used for torture.”

“Thanks, Emma.” My previously sunk heart gave a little leap when I entered the room and I beheld the wonder of the gruesome devices.

I forced myself to take my time to study each of the implements with detailed scrutiny. I wasn’t a sadist or a masochist, but I felt a certain amount of both reverence and repugnance for them. They were, in essence, devices of influence, the muscle with which a great deal of power was flexed. They were each terrible and beautiful—a product of early engineering and disturbed minds.

I recognize an instrument called The Scavenger’s Daughter, which compressed a person into a ball and was known to have crushed bones as it was tightened—a truly awful way to die.

I noted the manacles, giant iron handcuffs, affixed along one of the walls. Prisoners were hung from their wrists, suspended in the air. I suppressed a little shiver down my spine as I imagined myself so completely vulnerable. It was a disorienting, dizzying sensation.

Peripherally, I was aware of footsteps approaching and turned toward the door just as Quinn and Emma entered.

“Having fun?” Emma’s cheerful tone felt jarring given the surroundings.

However, I was having fun, so I said, “Yes. This is all quite incredible.”

Quinn gave me a once over with his assessing gaze. I was disappointed to find him again stone faced and aloof.

Regardless, I affixed a half smile on my face and lifted my eyebrows in question. “Everything okay?”

He nodded once, his eyes darting around the room; he seemed to be cataloguing each detail with his typical rapid efficiency.

I motioned to the manacles behind me. “Being hung in manacles was like being crucified. It actually kills a person by collapsing their lungs. The lungs can’t inflate properly against the weight of the suspended human body.”

I saw Quinn’s jaw tick. His voice was devoid of inflection when he said, “That sounds awful.”

“It was.” I nodded.

“Not at all romantic.”

“No.” I frowned at his comment. “Of course it’s not romantic. It’s death by crucifixion and suffocation. Nothing remotely romantic about that.”

He closed his eyes, inhaled through his nose then sighed. “You’re killing me here, Janie.”

A wooden apparatus just behind Quinn caught my attention and distracted my thoughts. It had been previously overlooked in my slow perusal of the space, and I sucked in a startled breath. “That’s a rack!”