Soul Intent

by dennis batchelder

  I opened the middle one on the left side and lifted out the journal.

  “It’s so small,” she said.

  I pointed to the first sheet. “Here’s that crazy writing I told you about.”

  V

  al took the sheet. “Are they runes?”

  I shrugged. “We’ll have to figure it out.”

  “The first letter looks like a Russian, or maybe a Greek, F.” She handed it back to me.

  “It all looks Greek to me,” I said. Then I heard the door handle rattle.

  I slid the journal back into the drawer and closed it softly.

  Somebody knocked on the door.

  Val whispered in my ear, “What do we do?”

  I pointed to the chairs around the coffee table on the other side of the room, and we tiptoed over and hid behind two of them just as we heard a key turn in the lock.

  The door opened and closed softly. I heard footsteps heading toward the desk, and after a second or two I risked a quick look.

  Madame Flora stood behind Archie’s desk, angling away from us. She opened the top drawer and rifled through the papers, then closed it with a whispered curse.

  I looked at Val and mouthed “Flora.”

  The fortune teller opened the middle drawer and let out a cackle as she lifted out the journal. She sat down at Archie’s desk, and since she was now facing more or less toward us, I pulled my head back behind the chair.

  I heard pagers turn, punctuated by the old lady’s sighs, gasps, and after a minute, weeping. When I heard the chair roll back, I risked another look.

  Madame Flora stood behind Archie’s desk. The journal was open to the first page. Her left hand gripped its cover, and she tugged on its pages with her right.

  Should I stop her before she destroyed the journal, or should we stay hidden? Exposing ourselves didn’t make much sense to me, as the old lady had already blocked us once, but I looked over to Val and pointed at the desk to get her opinion.

  She shook her head emphatically and put her finger to her lips.

  I turned back. Madame Flora let out a quiet moan and started ripping out one page at a time. The sound of each tear slid down my back and made me shiver, and I cursed myself for not stopping her.

  After she ripped out ten pages, she closed the journal and slipped it back in the drawer. She took the removed pages and tore them each in half, then did it again.

  She gathered the tiny paper quarters into a loose pile. Then she brought Archie’s metal trash can up to the lip of the desk and swept the pile into it.

  I mentally urged her to leave the room, but instead she carried the trash can over to the window. This caused Val and me to spin around and hide on the other sides of our chairs.

  We both watched Madame Flora struggle to open the window, her scrawny body silhouetted by the fading sun. After a minute she stopped and banged her fist against the frame.

  Then she snorted, pulled a lighter out of her pocket, flicked it on, and held its flame up to one of the quarter papers. After it was half consumed, she dropped it in the can, took a deep breath, and blew a puff of air after it.

  The old lady sat hunched over the can, the flames casting a dancing orange glow over her wrinkled face. She tilted the can back and forth, then fell into a coughing spasm when a cloud of smoke rose up around her.

  After a minute the flames and her coughing subsided. She remained still for a minute, then stood up, her knees cracking loudly. She carried the trash can over to the desk while Val and I crept back to the other sides of our chairs.

  Madame Flora opened the middle drawer and poured the ashes inside. “Share that all you want,” she whispered fiercely. She set the trash can down and closed the drawer. She walked to the door, paused for a minute, then stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Leaving me with my only clue up in smoke.

  fifteen

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  “She blocked us,” I said to Val as the two of us sat in her dungeon office. “I needed that journal.”

  We left what remained of the journal in Archie’s drawer. Not that it mattered: except for the initial cover page, Madame Flora had left only blanks inside.

  Val was typing on her keyboard. “You can mourn the loss of the journal,” she said, “but I’ve got to finish this—we’re going live next week.”

  When Val’s team launched mysoulidentity.com, not only would members be able to access their accounts, but anybody with a browser and an Internet connection would be able to set up a just-for-fun soul line collection. They’d be able to record their memories, save pictures, and post their learned lessons for others to see, all from a social-networking-style immersive interface.

  The overseers felt mysoulidentity.com could fill a need for people who were searching for a purpose in life, but who didn’t want to deal with the trappings of an organized religion. They also felt it would be a good way to attract new members.

  “Are you linked to the real depositary?” I asked.

  She nodded. “That code passed testing today. Take a look.”

  I pulled her mouse and keyboard over and clicked on the login page. “Will my membership id work?” I asked.

  She pointed at the “member registration” link.

  I created an account for myself and logged in. The depositary tab remained grayed out. “Why can’t I view my real soul line collection?” I asked.

  “Because your soul identity needs verification by a trusted source.” She smiled. “Which is, as I recall, something you forced me to add.”

  “Good girl,” I said. “So how does one get verified?”

  “One either goes to their local depositary, or one asks a delivery person to come to them.”

  “So let’s go to the depositary,” I said.

  Her mouth fell open. “You’re actually going to open your soul line collection?”

  Just last week, when Bob dropped off my membership package and I learned that a soul line collection was waiting for me, I told Val I wasn’t ready to open it. So I couldn’t fault her for being surprised. But with no other clues to help Archie figure out who broke in, I had to get myself into the depositary.

  “I’m actually going to do it,” I said. It was time, anyway.

  “You want me to come?”

  “Of course.”

  We headed upstairs together.

  sixteen

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  I smiled at the lady behind the acrylic window. “You were here last year.”

  “I remember you, Mr. Waverly,” she said. “You came in with Mr. Morgan. Now what can I do for you?”

  I leaned on the countertop. “I’d like to see my own soul line collection.”

  She pulled her yellow keyboard in front of her. “Account number?”

  I passed her my membership card, and she started typing. After a minute, she looked up at me. “I’m ready to verify your identity,” she said.

  I put on the goggles and looked at the blinking red light. “Can I blink?” I asked.

  “Of course you can…okay, Mr. Waverly, take them off. You’re verified.”

  I pointed at Val. “I’m bringing her with me.”

  The lady slid me an index card. “After you complete this waiver.”

  I filled it out, and she slid a smart card under the window. “Room six, through the door and on your left.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “How long will it take to dig up my collection?”

  She smiled. “We’ve been expecting your visit, so only a minute or two.” She pressed a buzzer, and the door to her right swung open.

  Val and I headed down the hall to room six. I inserted the card in the door. We entered, and the door hissed as it closed behind us.

  I put the card into the slot on the wall and closed my eyes. After we were disinfected, we sat down at the small table.

  Val sat across from me. “What did she mean, they were expe
cting your visit?”

  I shrugged. “Ann probably told them I was in town.”

  “Lots of people are in town.”

  Good point. “Maybe I have a really special soul line collection, and it’s stuffed full of riches.”

  “That would be nice.” She smiled. “Are you nervous?”

  “Of course.”

  After a few minutes, the interior door opened, and a middle-aged lady in a green lab coat wheeled a metal cart into the room. “Your soul line collection, sir,” she said. She held out a clipboard.

  I signed “John Doe” in the box.

  She looked at my signature and frowned. “You may think this is a big joke, buster, but I’m not amused. Sign it correctly, or I throw you and your friend out of here.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know that’s not my real signature?”

  She glared right back at me. Then she flipped the papers on her clipboard. “I’ve got your real signature right here, Mr. Waverly.” She held it up so I could see it. “And if you would scribble something that comes close to resembling it, you can get on with your business, and I can get on with mine. It’s a busy day today.”

  I signed, this time with my real signature.

  She glanced at the clipboard and nodded. “Much better. Just remove your card when you’re ready to go, and I’ll be back to put everything away.” She closed the door behind her as she left.

  Val laughed. “She’s got your number.”

  “Yeah. Nice to see they’re taking it seriously.” I looked at the cart and took a deep breath.

  It was pretty exciting to think that somebody years before had left articles for me to find. Maybe I’d learn something that would change my life.

  Or maybe I’d discover my previous soul line carrier was a creep or a criminal, like the poor person who one day would open the collection left behind by Hermann Goering. I shivered, and hoped that wasn’t me.

  Time to do it. “Let’s start with the proof sheets,” I said. I lifted the slim wooden case off the top of the box and laid it on the table. I opened it and took out two sheets of paper encased in stiff plastic holders.

  “Two sheets—you’re a level two member,” Val said. She tapped the top sheet. “These brown eyes are yours. I’d know them anywhere.”

  I nodded. “And what about these bright blue eyes?” I slid it over and read, “Edward ‘Ned’ Callaghan. New South Wales, Australia.”

  Val ran her finger down the proof sheet. “He joined way back in 1912,” she said.

  I laid one proof sheet on top of the other, like Archie showed me last year, and I flipped on the tabletop light. The soul identities at the bottom of each sheet aligned perfectly.

  I looked up at Val, and saw her staring at me with shining eyes. I reached over and squeezed her hand.

  It was time to find out what Ned Callaghan had sent to the future. I put the proof sheets back in the wooden box and opened the cart’s side door. A piece of paper and a small hammer sat on the shelves.

  I passed the hammer to Val, then pulled out the paper and laid it flat on the table. On it were just a handful of sentences, which I read out loud:

  If you are reading this, you are luckyer then me.

  My wife and baby boy are both dead from tyfuss. Doc sed it was the water, so don’t drink it if you come here.

  I am quittin White Cliffs and depositing me hammer, becos its all I have left. The opal mine bought me 2 caskets and 4 bottles of rum. Sorrie I cant leave more.

  Ned

  I set the paper down. “I hope this wasn’t the high point in Ned’s life,” I said.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t,” Val said. She examined the hammer. “He carved his name in the handle.”

  I took it from her, ran my fingers over the “Ned C,” and sighed. “So Ned’s opal hammer is my inheritance?”

  “And his letter.”

  “I was hoping for more of a life lesson than ‘don’t drink the water in White Cliffs.’”

  She tilted her head. “Are you disappointed?”

  That was a question I couldn’t really answer without sounding shallow.

  “I guess I was hoping for something a little more meaningful.” Maybe I dodged that bullet.

  “At least you have somebody in your soul line. Ned was right—you are luckier than him.”

  Good point. I tried to picture Ned Callaghan, opal miner, his wife and child recently dead, reaching out to Soul Identity in the hopes of leaving a trace of his life for the future. How dare I be disappointed?

  I’d have to find out more about Ned, so I could honor his memory. I turned the paper over and saw more writing on the back. “Hold on,” I said, “there’s more.”

  Surviveing a mine cavein

  Last year at full moon I et me tucker and headed back to me claim, as the opal bug was biting me hard. I clumb down the hole with pick and shovel, and found a ratter named Raddy scratchin my walls trying to pinch my opals. Fair dinkum.

  I was sore, so I swung me pick at him. He swung back, then one of us fell into the main prop and caused a cavein. Next thing I know, all but me boots were berried in potch and stone.

  That ratter pulled me out of the rubbell, but the tunnel was blocked and we were diggin for eight days in the dark with nothin but our own piss to drink and memories to eat.

  The tunnel kept collapseing, so me and Raddy dug out to Old Man Cleats hole fifteen chain away. We were knackered and almost dead, but still manged to scare the piss out of him when we showd up in his claim.

  We staid alive by not quittin. One dug wile the other slept until we got out. The lads say thats how we kept from going batty.

  Now Raddy the ratter and me are mates. He spun a good tale about Soul Identity, and sed this story would do for a memory. Hope it helps.

  I looked up and grinned. “Now that’s a story.” I laid the paper and the hammer in the cart and closed the door.

  Val smiled.

  As I was returning the wooden proof box to the top of the cart, I noticed that it had been sitting on top of a small stack of papers with a Post-it note attached. I pulled off the note and read it out loud.

  “Scott—a copy of the journal I showed you this morning, in case I am prevented from giving you the original—Archie.”

  Son of a gun. I let out a laugh. “We must have been born lucky.”

  “That was pretty clever of Mr. Morgan,” Val said.

  “And it explains why the receptionist said she was expecting me.” I flipped through the stack. Each sheet held a copy of two pages of the now-destroyed journal.

  I put the wooden box away, but I rolled up the copied journal and stuffed it in my pocket. “Score this round for Archie,” I said.

  seventeen

  Present Day

  Sterling, Massachusetts

  We checked into the guesthouse that evening. George and Sue led Val and me to a large, palatial suite on the top floor of the brand-new three story building.

  This guesthouse had been built on the same site as the one Feret’s henchmen had blown up last year.

  “We reopened last month, and we’ve saved this room for you two to break in.” George smiled. “Before you ask, I want you to know I personally verified that the hot water functions properly.”

  “Did you include a gadget room?” I asked.

  He winked. “With an even better couch than before.”

  “Georgie, let’s leave these two alone,” Sue said. She handed us each a key. “We’ll see you at breakfast.”

  We parked ourselves at the dining table. I handed Val the copied journal and fired up my laptop. “Let’s see if we can figure this out,” I said.

  She flipped through the sheets. “Do you think it’s a cipher?”

  “It depends on the audience.”

  She frowned. “Explain.”

  “If it’s a targeted message to somebody else, then it’s encrypted, and it will be a bear for us to break. But if it’s a diary the author wants to re-read someday, it’s either just a
n alphabet and language we don’t recognize, or it’s encoded with a simple substitution scheme.”

  “Which do you think it is?”

  I

  took the journal and flipped through the pages. “It’s Madame Flora’s diary. See this word on the first page?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s also one of the first words on every few pages. It’s probably a date. Any decent encryption algorithm would have randomized it.”

  “Do you think you can figure it out?”

  I smiled. “Of course I can.”

  Famous last words. I glanced up at Val an hour later. “I’ve gotten nowhere,” I said.

  She closed her laptop. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing. I can’t find any system that uses numbers like this.”

  She frowned. “What if they’re letters? Roman numerals use letters.”

  That was interesting. I took a look at the journal again; the word I thought was a date contained characters that were also used in the text.

  I searched the Web for information on letters representing numbers. While Latin used I, V, and X to represent one, five, and ten, the more ancient Hebrew and Greek languages used their first nine letters to represent one through nine, the next nine letters to represent ten through ninety, and the next set to represent one hundred through nine hundred.

  “But these letters aren’t Roman, Greek, or Hebrew,” I said.

  There was a knock at the door, and as Val got up, I tucked the copy of the journal into my laptop bag.

  “Flora, what a surprise,” Val said. “Come on in.”

  Madame Flora frowned. “I need to talk to Scott.” She entered the room and stood in front of me, hands on her hips.

  “Hello, Madame Flora,” I said. I wondered if she felt more in control now that she had destroyed the journal.

  “Stop your investigation,” she said.

  I pointed to the chair next to me. “Let’s talk about it.”

  After she sat, I asked, “Why’s it bothering you?”