by Mark Boliek
* * * * *
JT gave up trying to follow phantom footprints in the sand. He turned back. Michael was making his way up the beach to meet him.
If anything, JT thought, Michael is trying to be loyal. He still felt strange about the whole situation; he still didn’t trust Michael after what just happened in Bruinduer.
“I'm sorry, JT,” Michael said, but JT could not hear anything. For some reason, no one mattered to him but himself, what had happened in Bruinduer, and whatever was happening to Kali now. It didn't matter to him that Michael might have needed a friend or might want to be forgiven. He could do neither.
Would there be any more to this adventure or could he just forget what happened and head back to Louise, Gregory, and the familiar safety of the farm two hundred miles away? Bruinduer was saved and at least he knew Kali was not in harm's way. He had nothing left to do in Athens Eden. Why was this trip to Bruinduer eating at him so much? Going back to the farm was the logical thing to do.
“I want to be alone, Michael,” JT said as he gazed out over the ocean.
His eyes followed the peaceful swells of the Atlantic, rising, falling, then crashing gently on the shore. It seemed odd that he had looked for and found the road to his lost childhood, the childhood he so desperately wanted to own, but now he only wanted to forget about it. Like Michael had before, he felt that the price he would pay to continue his journey was much higher than he realized. How could this road to happiness, remembrance, and victory be so full of pain?
Michael followed JT's eyes out over the deep blue sea. Not a word was spoken for a few moments. Just like at the Shorts' farm, they would have to make a decision soon.
“It's only Sunday.” Michael broke the silence.
“What do you mean?” JT responded.
“When we walked into Bruinduer, it was early on Saturday morning. I came to get you on Thursday and we left on Friday, if I remember right. We got to Warhead Dale on that same Friday night. We walked through the mahogany door sometime in the early hours of Saturday morning. It is now Sunday—Sunday morning."
Michael stretched.
JT continued to stare out into nothingness. Then something strange happened. His memories of Bruinduer faded a bit. In fact, the memory of the final battle against Charlie sank into his mind and became only a faded image.
“It's taken a while, but the three years I spent in Bruinduer are starting to vanish from my mind. Bruinduer does that to you, you know.” Michael angled his head to the sand. “If time has no meaning in Bruinduer, then I suppose whatever we did there actually has no meaning.”
“You lie!” JT turned and yelled at Michael. His vivid memory of the Bridge of Common exploding, his feelings throughout the entire adventure couldn't have been for nothing. Angry, JT started his hike back to Warhead Dale, limping the entire way.
Michael followed, trying to walk with JT, but JT held up his hand for Michael to stay behind him, far behind him.
JT marched as hard as his knee would let him. The cane did not help in the sand. A few more yards of hard walking and JT's mind began to swim. He had never experienced anything like it. The intense emotions he felt about his time in Bruinduer made their way to the back of his mind. He began to feel that what he, Michael, and Kali experienced had happened, but more like a lifetime ago instead of a day.
JT didn't want the memories to be erased so easily. He finally had memories of something important happening to him. Now, just as they had after his mother’s fatal accident, these memories were vanishing, too.
"Please!" JT yelled in his brain. "This is all that I have—do not take this away!" He did not know who he expected to hear him, but in his heart, he wanted to speak to Billy, the essence of Bruinduer.
JT tramped up the wooden stairs, over the dunes, through Warhead Dale, and into the makeshift elevator at the end of the long hallway past the great hall. He flung the door open and slammed his fist against the red button. The door slammed shut. The elevator screeched and ground its way to the basement room that held the mahogany door.
The elevator door lurched open and JT stumbled out into the dark corridor. He raised the cane above his head like he had the night before. "I demand to be recognized!" he screamed at the top of his voice.
He heard nothing but swift silence. No red beams of light shot from the ruby eyes of the skull and crossbones to illuminate an ancient map. Only the black coldness of the outer wall stared back at him.
JT let his eyes adjust to the darkness and brought the cane closer to his face. He shook it up and down—was it broken?
He raised the cane above his head and tried to get Billy's attention once again. Nothing.
JT thought for minute, then his shoulders slouched. He remembered, though the memories had faded moments ago, that he had made Kali the steward of the key. He remembered his grandfather, in a dream, saying that only the steward of the key could command the power of the cane. He felt amazingly stupid, just like when he made his way to Athens Eden to try to find his lost childhood. Now he had so many more questions than answers.
JT, dejected and angry, made his way into the elevator and back up to the great hall. He slammed himself down the musty green couch and flung his neck back. He stared at the once leaky ceiling. Instead of hearing the pitter-patter of small, fat drops of water, he saw small, bright beams of sunlight shoot through, lighting the walls and splattering polka dots across the room.
JT thought about the last time he sat on that couch. Kali had been beside him, curled up and sleeping so peacefully. He could almost feel her warm body. He placed his hand beside him, in hopes of maybe touching some sort of aura left behind. His hand tingled, but it wasn't the same.
A few moments later, JT felt the cushions beside him sink. He opened his eyes. Michael, his former best friend, sat beside him.
“Man, I wish I could change everything, JT,” Michael said. “But I can't.”
“What makes you think that I want to change anything?” JT asked. His mind, like so many times before, had wandered, the questions piling one on top of the other. Would he always do that?
“I don't know, JT. It seems like ever since you've been back, you’ve wanted to control everything that is happening around you. It's like what everybody else says doesn't matter.” Michael looked at the wet, mud-encrusted floor by his feet. “I know I did wrong in Bruinduer, though I thought I was doing right at the time. I've learned from my mistakes—I hope. I thought you and I could just stay in Bruinduer and forget about the world out here. I thought it could be like it was when we were kids. We worried about nothing. I know that can't happen, no matter how much I want it. All I can do is be here now. And hope you can forgive me.”
“You wanted me dead,” JT snorted, unconvinced.
“I am so sorry, JT—I was never going to let anything happen to you. Like I told you before, I thought I could handle everything that was happening by myself. I learned that I couldn't. I just wish you would learn the same thing.”
“What?” JT's skin felt hot. His hair on his arms prickled. How dare Michael lecture me?
“I can help you, JT. I can help you the right way. I know I can't con my way back to something I could never have anymore, anyway. I have to face this life head on.” As he pleaded with JT to give him a second chance, Michael’s voice cracked and wavered. He pressed his lips together until they turned white.
“How exactly can you help—me?” JT retorted.
“I can do this the way I should have before. I can start from the beginning.” Michael took a hefty breath, regaining a small bit of control over his emotions.
“Well.” JT sucked in what felt like a gallon of air. He wanted to think about what to say before he spit something out, but stubbornness got the best of him. He blurted out the first biting, nasty thing he could think of. “I don't want your help.”
Michael was taken aback. He thought that now, if he could start to be honest, JT would actually be receptive. Of course, JT had no reason to believe him.
A pause filled the great hall of Warhead Dale. The sun climbed the morning sky, warming the inside of the dilapidated mansion, but the mood between the two friends stayed cold.
Michael stood up. JT laid his head on the green couch's back. Michael fumbled through JT's duffel bag, still lying on the floor in front of them. He pulled out Ol' Captain Luke's journal, flipped quickly through the pages, fastened the leather strap, then tossed it onto JT's lap. The book thumped down on JT’s legs, but he did not flinch.
“I read through that journal a hundred times or more, JT. There is a lot of information on the pages in that old leather case. The words aren't faded anymore—since we saved Bruinduer from collapse and all, I guess." Michael turned away from JT and walked out of Warhead Dale. “I'm going back to my sister's place. She's probably worried. She'll never believe this anyway.”
Michael was mad at JT for sure. He wanted to help his friend, but he knew deep down he couldn't force JT to do anything. He also understood that JT had no reason to trust him. Michael knew in his heart that he would not lead JT down the wrong path on purpose, but he had to let his former friend decide for himself.
As Michael walked out the door, JT mumbled, “Fine. Go then.”
JT had what he wanted. He was alone. Alone with his thoughts, alone with whatever decision he was about to make.
The silence of solitude is very hard to describe. Every little bump from the ceiling or creak in the floor is amplified tenfold, becoming a clamor. It can drive you mad if you let it take hold, especially when you do not know what to do next.
JT fumbled with the journal that lay on his lap. Did he dare open his grandfather's journal? Anything written on those pages might be more trouble than it was worth. Like so many times before, he wondered if he actually wanted to know about his past. He could have never imagined Bruinduer or Billy or even meeting Kali and Michael again—what other surprises awaited him between those pages, now that they could be read?
He took a deep breath and unfastened the leather strap that held the journal together. A few loose pages fell to the couch, including the familiar pictures of his grandfather. One image showed his grandfather sitting stoically in his uniform, smirking at the photographer; the other showed him with his friend Jato in ceremonial garb, obviously exultant about concluding whatever it is they had done.
JT picked up a piece of paper and glanced at it. Unlike the last time he had looked at the pages, the writing was dark and legible. He slammed the paper down. He knew that, no matter how many questions popped into his mind about his grandfather, he would find the answers now.
JT swallowed and his forehead felt hot. His forearms tightened. He opened to the journal to the first page.
The first line startled him and, once he began to read, he knew that this journal would be different than anything he had read before.
January 14, 1946
Dear Reader,
Keeping this journal in the way that I am is very egotistical. As you may have noticed, I have started these entries in a manner that reflects my belief that others will read it. If you are reading this and you are not I, then I am correct.
In these pages you will find a most interesting adventure, to say the least. You may have noticed that I did not say, I "hope" you will find a most interesting adventure. That phrase would only apply at the start of a journey that does not end quite as expected. I know that this journey will meet all of the characteristics and definitions of the phrase "most interesting."
JT chuckled and his forearms released their tension. His curiosity bloomed. He continued reading.
Last evening, a messenger came and handed me a written order. From whom this order came, I am sorry to report that I cannot say—well, at least for the moment. I am ordered to apprehend a criminal. I do not know who this criminal is nor do I know where to start in this caper. I only know that I must capture this villain, for my orders come from a person to be reckoned with.'
As JT read on in the journal, each word grabbed him and held him with such vigor that it would have taken an army to pull him out. His grandfather went on at length about how he came to be a captain of a ship. The old sailor gave a very interesting genealogy for his family, starting with an ancestor who seemed to be a caveman. He continued the family tree with an endless list of poets, shoemakers, carpenters, and even one king of a small land with the population of only fifty people.
In time, it dawned on JT that not only were these people his grandfather's ancestors, they were also his. He stopped reading for a brief minute to contemplate why he had not inherited any of his forefathers’ outstanding traits. He doubted that he could ever put anything into prose, let alone build anything out of wood.
The afternoon fell into darkness. The days, along with the season, crept into the shadows of fall and winter. A chill bit at JT's skin within the hole-pocked walls of Warhead Dale, so he started a fire.
He ignored the hunger pains that cramped his stomach and moved close to the flickering flames to continue reading Ol' Captain Luke's diary. He crossed his legs and focused his mind.
January 21, 1946
The day has started like no other. After two weeks, I have assembled a crew to carry out my orders to apprehend a mysterious criminal. Even after a number of clandestine meetings with my employer, in which I never see his face, I do not know what this person has done. I do know that this man must be brought to justice, though I am still not certain in which national court he will appear.
The crew is of a most interesting sort. Mercenaries have a most uncivilized reputation, but I will say that none of the men who accompany me on this adventure are typical of a rogue group of hired sailors.
Thirty souls, men with extensive experience at sea, will handle the day-to-day sailing of the ship. Twelve individuals, including myself, will dine in the officers’ mess. My executive officer, Terrian Murray, is a former classmate of mine and a navigator like no other.
Writing extensively about the other ten men, all important in their own right, would only waste the precious time I have to prepare for this journey. Besides, short descriptive paragraphs would not do justice to these men, who are as close to me as any brothers might be. I will simply list their positions, minus the executive officer, whom I have already mentioned. They are: ship's physician, weapons officer, quartermaster, bosun’s mate, engineer, second navigator, surveyor, reconnaissance officer, cultural scientist, and chaplain. It is highly possible—or not—that you will learn about each as this journey progresses, my dear reader.
I must leave you now, but know fast and true that I am busy refitting the bowels of my mighty ship, the Mary Maid, for this once in an age adventure.
JT’s stomach cramped. He had one sandwich in his duffel bag, leftover from the ones that Linda had made before their journey to Bruinduer, two days and a lifetime ago. He unwrapped his feast, took a quick sniff to make sure it wasn’t too ripe, then chomped down. His stomach relaxed.
Since nightfall, the dropping temperature had sunk its teeth into him. Even in his shoes, his toes were numb. He threw as many dry logs as he could find on the embers of the fire and huddled under a few crusty furniture covers, regardless of the filth. He tried to read more of Ol’ Captain Luke’s journal, but could not hold his eyes open any longer. He fell into deep slumber.
