Unbounded

What if you knew a secret that could shake the very foundations of an organized institution, would you keep the secret for yourself, or would you expose it, and change history forever?

This is a novella of one such secret.

All descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents, and secret messages in this novel are somewhat accurate.

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Prologue
Early February, 2006

Renowned commercial model Jean Cammhall II stopped at the corner of Yale and Harvard Street as he was trying to catch his breath. A robed figure behind the mist of the foggy night was not far behind and is slowly closing in on him.

As he started to run around the street corner, trying to quicken his pace, his foot was caught on a stray rock and he tripped. He lay for a moment, gasped for breath and stared at the sky with the yellow crescent prominently glowing behind the clouds. I am still alive. He tried to crawl and stood up when he heard the grating footsteps of the man against the concrete road that had just caught up with him.

A voice spoke, chillingly close. “Do not move.”

On his hands and knees, the model rose, turning his head slowly.

About five feet away, behind the blinding streetlights, the silhouette of the attacker stared right back at him. He wasn’t that tall of a man but had a firm stature. His skin was darkly tanned and he had a prominent unibrow.

The man drew a pistol from his coat and aimed the barrel directly at Jean, right between the eyes.

“You should not have run.” The man’s voice was really low and his accent, not easy to place. “Now, tell me who else you have told it to.”

“I told you guys already!” answered Jean nervously, now kneeling on his knees. “I have told no one else!”

“You are lying.” The man stared at him, immobile, as if he’s contemplating on what to do with the helpless model. His beady eyes looked at him with intensity as he spoke. “Tonight, the rightful guardians will be restored. Admit to me everything and you will survive.” The model could not breathe.

The cloaked man tilted his head and peered down the barrel of his gun. “When you are gone from the Priory of Thirteen, we will be the only ones who know the truth.”

Jean closed his eyes, with swirling thoughts of fear and regret.

The click of an empty chamber resounded through the empty streets.

The man then glanced down at his weapon, looking almost amused. He thought about pulling the trigger and contemplated on popping a few more bullets through Jean just to make sure, but then seemed to reconsider, and smirked at him. “My work here is done.”

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