by E W Barnes
“A national corporation bought the paper and changed the focus of our stories. They wanted more gossip and sensationalism, less investigation and journalism,” Sharon answered. Uncomfortable talking about herself, she asked him questions.
“What about you? Tell me about yourself.”
“I worked in my parent’s auction house when I was a kid, helping to catalog and prepare items for auction. It was interesting work, and I learned a lot. Caring for people’s furniture while they’re moving seemed like a good fit after caring for antiques.”
She waited while he took a sip of water before she asked another question and watched as he set his glass down. The water shimmered in the light of the hanging lamp.
It kept shimmering. Then it rippled and jumped. There was a low rumble and the window frames shifted and creaked. The table jiggled and the mountain of boxes in the kitchen tumbled down.
“Earthquake!”
They both dove under the table as the rumbling grew louder.
They each held an edge of the lightweight table to keep it over their heads as the floor jumped and undulated beneath them. Sharon could hear items falling out of cabinets in the kitchen, crashing to the floor as the doors banged open and shut.
Glass panes in the windows cracked and two of them shattered, sending glass over the couch and onto the coffee table. They could hear yelling from inside other apartments, the screech of tires, and the sound of cars colliding outside.
The rumbling suddenly stopped. The floor became still. For a moment the world was silent. Then the loud voices could be heard again, echoed by the sound of sirens in the distance.
Sharon started to climb out from under the table.
“Wait.”
Sure enough, an aftershock rumbled through the building and the voices outside turned again to shouts and screams. The light that hung over the eating area fell onto the table above them, sending glass shards like colored snow to the floor. The power went out. The movement stopped.
They waited another five minutes. Then, they cautiously climbed out from under the table, carefully avoiding the glass that glittered everywhere. The photos on the mantle were in pieces. Broken dishes, glasses, and canned goods covered the kitchen counters and floor.
In the twilight, they could see a glowing light and smoke on the horizon. The sound of sirens grew louder and longer.
Caelen took in the mess. “Wow,” he whispered.
Thankfully, the bookcases had not fallen. In fact, they had not moved at all, and the books Sharon had carefully placed on the shelves were still there, exactly as she had left them.
There was a knock on the door. It was the building manager asking them to leave, just as a precaution, until he confirmed the gas was shut off. After grabbing her phone and computer bag, she and Caelen jogged to the park across the street to wait.
For a long time, they were quiet, listening to the sounds of the sirens, now louder, now softer, and the murmuring of those around them. Some of her fellow tenants were nursing cuts and bruises; others just sat staring.
It was fully dark when the manager told the waiting tenants they could go back into the building. Caelen touched her arm and pointed to the right.
“I think things are a little worse over there.” Sharon looked to where he was pointing.
The red glow which illuminated billowing smoke spoke of a huge conflagration. It was as if a whole neighborhood was burning. Sharon was sure she knew which neighborhood it was.
“That is where your grandparents’ house is, isn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question, but a confirmation.
Sharon nodded. “I think so.”
They had moved the bookcases out just in time.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sharon declined Caelen’s offer to help clean up after the earthquake, wanting time to think. After he said good night, Sharon got out flashlights and a broom and dustpan, and reviewed the last couple of days while she cleaned.
She cut apart one of the empty boxes to make temporary covers for the broken windowpanes. As she taped the squares of cardboard in place, she could still see the bright glow of fire in the distance. Now and then emergency vehicles, with flashing lights and silent sirens, sped down the street.
It had been the earthquake her grandmother’s message had warned about - more evidence the message in the crawlspace was true. If the earthquake destroyed the house as her grandmother had warned, it would be the final proof. While Sharon was certain the house was gone, she dreaded confirming it.
She no longer had doubts about the message in the crawlspace. From the moment she had found the message, to when she found the panel, to the earthquake, one by one her doubts had been stilled.
The earthquake had replaced her remaining incredulity with a calm surety.
She took satisfaction from knowing she had destroyed the message and kept the bookcases as her grandmother had requested. She would spend the rest of her life as someone who knew a huge secret.
She looked up at the enormous bookcases dominating her living room. I hope they invent magnetic levitation technology before I get old, she thought with a smile.
◆◆◆
It took Sharon two hours to clean up. The power came back on while she slept on the couch again.
Sharon remained in her apartment continuing to unpack books from boxes and arrange them on the bookcases, heeding the request of officials to stay off the roads and out of devastated neighborhoods.
The fires in the distance continued to burn, stretching local emergency resources thin. The earthquake had injured many people, and several were now homeless.
On the third day after the earthquake as she was carrying broken-down cardboard boxes to the recycling bins, she saw Caelen standing on the sidewalk holding what looked like a giant ball of bubble wrap.
She had not expected to see him again and was delighted by his surprise appearance. After inviting him in, he set the package down on the kitchen table and gestured with a flourish for her to unwrap it.
It was a new lampshade, a beautiful rainbow of colored glass worked into the shape of a blooming tree.
“Is this a Tiffany lampshade?” she asked in an awed voice. It was like a stained-glass window in a cathedral.
“Well, it is a Tiffany style lamp shade,” he answered. “My parents bought it at an estate sale a while ago, thinking they might auction if off, and I asked if I could take it for a friend who needed a new lampshade.”
“How did your parents weather the earthquake?”
“They were fine,” he answered as he moved the lampshade while Sharon pulled out a step ladder. “A few things were broken, but there was no major damage.”
“Where is your parents’ auction house?” she asked.
“Up north, Santa Barbara area.”
Sharon made a mental note to look up the auction house on the internet. Then she made short work of installing the lampshade over the table and when she flipped the switch, it sent a warm and lovely light throughout the space.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you."
“Have you heard anything about your grandparents’ house?”
“No, nothing.” she answered somberly. “Though technically, it is not my grandparents’ house anymore.”
“They opened the neighborhood again to traffic this morning. I thought you might need to go see for yourself. I will go with you if you want company.”
Warmth and gratitude flooded through her.
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
◆◆◆
The devastation was tremendous. In some places the trees were destroyed, but homes were standing, blackened with soot. In other places homes burned to their foundations and surrounding trees lived, their leaves singed and drooping. And in some places, the trees, homes, and everything around them were blackened ruins, bleak and smoking in the sunlight.
Her grandparents’ home was one of these. Sharon walked up the cracked and dirtied concrete walk, stopping at the porch steps
that now led nowhere. Caelen gingerly made his way through the charcoal remains of the house.
Firefighters had soaked the ruins to prevent flare-ups, creating a layer of ashy mud that clung to his shoes. He bent down and picked something up. It looked like a small black apple until he rubbed it with his sleeve.
It was a crystal doorknob, no longer clear but filled with mist and a long crack. She numbly took it when he handed it to her. Caelen kept walking, nudging aside burnt timbers and crunching powdered glass. Sharon followed, uncertain why she was still there. She had her last confirmation of the truth of the message and seeing the house like this was terrible.
“Look at this,” Caelen said. He squatted, pointing to a perfectly squared corner sticking up in the charred wood. It was a different color, a dull gray instead of coal black. He pushed on it.
“It’s metal,” he said. “I think it is a strong box.”
They wrested it out from under the burned wood and carried it back to the car. Black ash covered them, their noses were filled with the smell of it, the taste of burnt wood was in their mouths.
Caelen had extra packing paper he kept in the trunk for moving jobs and he spread it onto the backseat of the car before he set the strong box inside. Sharon found paper napkins in the glove compartment and offered him a couple as she wiped off her hands.
“It is very sad, isn’t it?” a voice asked.
Candice was standing on the sidewalk, no longer in bright yellow, but in jeans and a dark sweatshirt. Caelen eased the back door closed as he wiped his hands, and then he leaned against it.
“I am here helping clients assess the damage. I thought I would see you here, sooner or later,” Candice nodded at Sharon. “I am very sorry,” she said looking at the ruins of the house. “Thank goodness the new owners had not moved in yet - they would have lost everything.”
Candice glanced around and saw others moving around the charred and ruined neighborhood.
“How did you get so filthy?” Candice asked. Caelen and Sharon realized their hands were almost the only parts of them that were clean.
“We were just looking around,” Sharon said, holding up the crystal doorknob.
“A keepsake, huh?” Candice said knowingly. “Well, if the new owners complain that a crystal doorknob is missing, I will buy them a new one.”
She winked and headed back up the street to another house. Caelen followed her progress with narrowed eyes.
“Ready to head out?” he asked abruptly.
As they drove out of the neighborhood, she saw others milling on the sidewalks looking at the destruction. A man turned to watch them go by.
It was the man who stared at her in the coffee shop.
◆◆◆
It wasn’t until they parked in front of her apartment that she realized that she hadn’t said a word on the ride back - and neither had Caelen. She opened her mouth to say thank you and stopped when she saw his expression.
“What’s wrong?”
Caelen let out a breath. “I know I have no right to ask… I mean, the strong box could have personal stuff inside and you just lost your grandparents and now their home, too… and I'm curious to know what’s in it and I'm afraid you’re going to say no if I ask if I can see, too.”
“Of course, you can see what’s in it,” she replied. “Though,” she added with a grin. “If it is steamy love letters between my grandparents, I may draw the line there.”
“Fair enough,” Caelen laughed with relief.
As he set the box on the table under the new lamp shade, Sharon took a quick inventory of the apartment. The windows were locked, and nothing looked out of place.
She went to the bathroom to wash off the ash while Caelen used the kitchen sink to clean up. She changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and brought Caelen a rag towel to wipe the soot from his clothes. Then they confronted the strong box.
“This might not have belonged to my grandparents, you know,” Sharon said. “It could have been left by the previous owners before my grandparents bought the house.”
“No, it’s too new,” Caelen replied. “You said your grandparents lived in the house since the 40s, right? This is only a few years old at most.”
“I can’t imagine what could be in it,” Sharon said with a shrug. “We had all their important paperwork after they died. There was nothing missing. Maybe it’s photos. Or love letters!” she added with a chuckle.
Sharon did not have a key for the strongbox, acknowledging that it may have melted in the fire. They broke the lock with a screwdriver and pried open the box.
Caelen hung back as Sharon looked through the items. The contents appeared to be yellowing folded papers in protective plastic sleeves.
“They look like newspaper articles,” Sharon said, pulling one out of its plastic.
“Could your grandparents have saved the articles you wrote?” Caelen offered.
“Why would they save stories about bake-off winners and pet costumes in plastic in a strongbox?”
She unfolded the first of the articles as Caelen pulled out another plastic sleeve. The article was from 1933, the report of a house fire in which killed all members of a family except one. The sole survivor was a child identified as Kevin Bower.
“This is about my grandfather!” Sharon said in surprise. “I remember nothing at all about this. I remember him talking about his family and even meeting an aunt when I was young. I don’t know anything about his family dying in a fire.”
“It could have been too traumatic for him to talk about.”
Sharon opened her laptop. She soon found an archived copy of the article online.
“Here it is in the newspaper’s records,” Sharon confirmed showing Caelen the identical article on the screen.
“Look at this one,” Caelen held up an article dated December 8, 1941. The front page described the Soviet Union moving against Germany, opening a second front in the war in Europe. There was nothing about the Japanese bombing Pearl Harbor, which had taken place the day before.
“That one must be a fake,” Sharon said. “Like a novelty newspaper headline.”
“This one is from today,” Caelen continued. His voice sounded strange and Sharon looked up. He was frowning at the article he was reading.
Local Woman Killed in Fire Following Earthquake the headline read. It was dated with today’s date.
Sharon Gorse died the evening of November 9 following the 6.5 earthquake that shook the greater Long Beach area and which started several fires throughout the city. The Oak Hill neighborhood of the city of Broxwood was one of the hardest hits, with several homes damaged or destroyed. Ms. Gorse, 34, was caught in the blast when her home exploded due to a ruptured gas line.
“She had just moved in,” a neighbor commented. “She inherited the home after her grandparents died and seemed content to be here.”
Ms. Gorse is survived by her parents Reed and Willow Gorse, sister Holly Franklin and her family, and brother Scott Gorse and his family.
Sharon read the article with her mouth open.
“I don’t understand?” She rasped. “I didn’t inherit my grandparents’ home. I didn’t move in. And I didn’t die in an explosion!” She pushed away from the table, pacing the short distance back and forth in front of the bookcases.
“Could it be a joke?” he asked, getting her a glass of water. “Someone you know with a strange sense of humor?”
“How could it be? How could anyone know we would find this? And it is a sick joke, anyway,” Sharon said disgustedly, her hand trembling as she took a drink. It was cold and bracing. She forced her hands to stop shaking and picked up a yellow pad and a pen.
“Let’s figure this out.”
◆◆◆
There were six newspaper articles in the strong box, five from the past, and the one with the present date. There was also a single piece of paper with a list of numbers broken out into groupings. Sharon did not recognize them and Caelen had no suggestions for what the groups of numb
ers could mean. They set it aside as they focused on the newspaper articles.
Caelen recorded the dates, the headlines, and summaries of the articles on the yellow pad while Sharon researched her laptop to see if someone had published them.
Along with the story of the fire in 1933, and the article from December 8th, 1941, there was an article about a charity gala in 1962, one from 1968 about a protest against the Vietnam war, and an article listing gold medals received by the Soviet Union at the Olympics in 1984.
Only the one in 1933 appeared to have been published. When she researched the names and references from the other articles, she found nothing on any of them. Caelen was convinced it was a prank.
Sharon listened uncomfortably and said nothing. A week ago, she would have agreed with him. A week ago, she did not know that time travel was real.
The bookcases caught her gaze. There was a reason her grandparents had collected and saved these articles and, like the message in the crawlspace, she was meant to find them.
But she had no idea what she was supposed to do with them.
◆◆◆
Sharon and Caelen theorized about the articles well into the evening. When Caelen left a little before 11:00 p.m., Sharon turned her thoughts to the list of numbers they had set aside after they opened the box.
She had an idea about what the numbers could mean and did not want to discuss it with Caelen until she knew for sure.
She had been thinking back to a time when her grandmother talked with her about codes and hiding information in plain sight. Picking up the giant dictionary from the bookcases, she looked at the numbers again:
1,853
814
568
994
568
2,116
898
1,591
898
1,483
898
1,591
She opened the dictionary to page one thousand eight hundred fifty-three. It was the first page of the section for the letter “T.” Page eight hundred fourteen was the first page of the section for the letter “H,” and page five hundred sixty-eight started the section for the letter “E.”
