by Lysa Daley
The door seemingly creaks open on its own, which causes me a moment’s confusion until I look down to see the top of a gray balding head. A very small man trudges forward. He's a dead ringer for an escapee from Munchkin-land.
“This better be good,“ he snarls, struggling to put on his wire-rimmed glasses. With his pointed salt and pepper beard and his broad face, he looks like a walking, talking elf. “We don’t open until 5 am. Is it already 5 am?”
“No sir,” I answer. “It’s almost 4:30.”
“4:30! How rude. Go away,” he turns to leave. “And don’t come back. We don’t have a room for the likes of you.”
“But sir—“
“Do you want me to call the cops!” He flips off the light, returning to the back room.
Standing in the dark, I don’t know what to do. Fitz told me not to talk to anyone until we got to the safe house. This doesn’t feel like any sort of safe house.
Finally, I just blurt out, “Fitz gave me this.”
After a silent beat, the light comes back on, and he reappears. “Give me that.”
I hand him the piece of paper Fitz gave me. Below the directions, there are a few scribbled words in a language I can’t identify.
His eyes widen with shock as he reads whatever’s written. He now addresses me in a formal voice. “Your highness, do forgive me.”
“Did Mr. Fitzgerald tell you I was coming?”
“Old Fitz? Nah. Too dangerous,” he shakes his head. “The world has many ears. Nothing’s safe anymore,” he adds while performing a formal little bow.
Wow. Having someone actually bow, like you’re the queen of England or something, is super weird. “Please don’t bow… to me. “
“As you wish, m’lady.” He straightens up. “You are in need of a room to refresh yourself?”
“Yes.”
He pivots, climbs up on a stool in front of an old fashion pegboard where over-sized brass keys hang down. But he doesn’t select one of the keys. Instead, he pulls down a small navy blue satin pouch with a gold drawstring. “Got just the place for you, Highness. A wee bit more secure than the other room.”
“Secure sounds good.”
“By the way, Orin’s the name.”
“Nice to meet you, Orin.” I follow him out of the office and down the sidewalk in front of the rooms.
“Um, there are three of us.” I nod, unsure of how much information I should provide. Do I tell him my uncle is injured? Or that the Horlocks are after us. Should I mention Tom? Pets probably aren’t allowed. What about regular old humans like Ruby?
I decide just to keep it all to myself.
But he says, “Any companion of yours is a friend and welcome guest to me.” Then he bows again.
We amble past a row of what were probably once brightly painted red motel room doors, but are now faded and peeling. Turning a corner, we come to a bank of rundown out-of-date machines filled with sugary soda, cigarettes and stale tuna sandwiches.
Orin cautiously looks both ways to make sure no one is watching, then pulls a silver dollar out of his blue satin pouch. He inserts the coin into the center vending machine filled with candy and snacks.
I’m waiting for him to select the plastic container with the deviled egg or the salami-on-rye, but instead, he takes a step back as the machine repeatedly clicks, then steam rolls out from beneath it. Some sort of hissing hydraulic platform rises up moving the machines up and away from the dirty stucco wall.
When it stops, the entrance to a large and modern secret room hidden behind it has been revealed.
Chapter 10
“Welcome to the honeymoon suite,” Orin smiles proudly, ushering me through the entrance. “Hope it will be to your liking.”
“Whoa! This is fantastic.” I step into the secret chamber. It’s all creamy beiges and warm lighting with elegant linens and overstuffed furniture. There’s even a crackling fireplace in the corner. An enormous flat screen TV hangs on the wall, and a sleek laptop sits on a credenza next to a high-end sound system.
It’s like House Beautiful meets Science Digest.
“Orin, this place is cush! But do you get a lot of honeymooners out here.”
“Even in this remote quadrant of the galaxy, you’d be surprised how many we still get.” Orin winks. “Let’s go get your luggage.”
“Oh, hang on,” I step in front of him. “Let me talk to my friends first.”
“Wait? What happened?” Ruby asks when I get back to the truck. “Who’s the short guy? Is this even the right place?”
“Oh, it’s the right place for sure.” When I explain about the secret room behind the vending machine, she shrugs one shoulder and says, “Okay, and that’s not even the weirdest thing that happened today.”
It takes me, Ruby and Orin working together to get my Uncle out of the backseat and into the motel room. My uncle is crazy-heavy because of his alien bone density.
“Get him on the bed,” I say to Ruby as we barely make it inside with him. By the time we get him comfortably propped up, we’re all exhausted.
But his large almond-shaped blue eyes flutter open, which seems like a good sign.
Orin tentatively steps forward, examining my uncle. After a moment, he speaks words that almost don’t sound like words.
My uncle nods and replies in this strange alien language. Still, he seems comforted by whatever Orin said as he falls back to sleep.
“What did you tell him?” Ruby asks.
“I promised that I would keep the princess and her maid safe this day,” Orin states proudly.
“Maid?” Ruby spits back. “I ain’t no damn maid.”
“She’s my friend,” I quickly intervene before Ruby can fully go off on him. “She’s not a servant.”
“Oh. Alright,” Orin sounds skeptical. “You’re not Pleiadian then?”
“No,” Ruby replies. “Just a regular old Earthling.”
“I see,” Orin nods unimpressed.
“Are you… like him?” I ask, my eyes darting to my uncle.
Orin barks out a laugh. “Do I look like an over-sized blue oaf?” Then, realizing what just came out of his mouth might be offensive, he sheepishly glances at my sleeping uncle. “No offense, General, sir.”
“It’s just, we’re not exactly up to speed on how the alien cloaking disguise thing works,” I reply.
Orin spins a circle and transforms into a 4-foot-tall, two-legged hamster-like creature with a ridged back and a horned tail. He gives us a big square-toothed smile, “I realize this is a whole lot of handsome for you girls to take in, but try to contain yourselves.”
“Gosh, I don’t know. You’re asking an awful lot from us, Orin,” Ruby plays along.
Orin turns himself back into the elfish little human he was before.
I pull the second piece of paper from my pocket and show it to him. “Do you have any idea what these two sequences of numbers mean?”
He studies it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry. No idea.”
“Is someone else coming?” I ask, wondering how exactly we’re supposed to figure out where to go next. “Someone else who can help us?”
“Not that I know of,” Orin laughs, turning toward the door. “But I’ll be back later this morning with donuts, medical supplies and cat food. Do you girls need anything?”
“I’ll take a double-chocolate glazed with a strong coffee if they have it,” Ruby says.
“I’d love any donut as long as it's not filled with fruit. I hate fruit filled pastries.”
“Obviously,” Orin heads out the door. “Fruit filling! Disgusting. We’re not cretins out here.”
When Ruby discovers that the big glass shower in the massive upscale bathroom has eight shower heads, she immediate excuses herself to take a nice hot shower. Can’t say I blame her.
Meanwhile, I sit in an overstuffed easy chair by the window and study the paper that Fitz gave me. This is somehow supposed to lead us to the medical care that my uncle desperately needs.
There are two sequences of ten digit numbers written on it. Each chain of numbers ends with double zero.
My first thought is that they’re phone numbers. I pull out the disposable cell phone that Fitz gave me and stare at it in my hand. Should I call the numbers or not?
Finally, I decide -- what the heck. I dial. After three rings, a sleepy Spanish speaking person answers.
“Um… Buenos dias,” I begin, then fumble my way through a conversation using my two years of middle school Spanish. It doesn’t take long to figure out that I’ve called someplace in Mexico. I’m pretty sure it’s an auto oil changing garage, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. I apologize and hang up.
The second set of numbers just gives me the “this number is not in service” recording.
Either way, it doesn’t seem like they’re phone numbers.
While I wait, I flip on the flat screen television to see what’s on the news. I’m not sure what exactly I’m expecting, but needless to say, there’s no big story on the Today Show about an alien spacecraft landing in the foothills of Central California.
As I’m watching Al do the weather, I hear a voice behind me.
“You have the key?”
I turn to find my uncle trying to sit up, but wincing with pain. He’s pointing at the seven-sided star necklace that I’m currently absently twirling with my fingers.
“Hey!” I say, tucking the necklace back inside my shirt and dashing to his side. “Take it easy there. Lay back down.”
“You have the key,” he repeats. “You have the sword. Why did you not go through the Stargate?”
I hesitate, then say, “The Stargate will open two more times.”
As understanding sinks in, his face grows solemn. “Tell me you didn’t come back for me?”
“Of course I came back for you! What kind of intergalactic warrior princess would I be if I let them take the man who raised and protected me all these years to the boiling acid mines of Valderay?”
A shadow crosses his face, and even in his injured state, I can see that he’s winding up to give me a speech. “Astrid, we talked —“
“Stop,” I say with as much authority in my voice as I can muster. “We’ll talk about all of this later. Right now you need to get some rest, and I need to figure out where we’re supposed to go.” I grab the paper with the strange numbers off the table and show it to him. “Do you know what this means?
He motions for me to hold it closer. Squinting to read the strange numerical sequence, he mumbles something.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
He musters up the energy to say, “Location… It’s a location.” Then his eyes flutter closed.
Location? I look at the string of numbers again. Suddenly, it hits me. It all makes sense. I open the laptop on the credenza.
By the time, Ruby gets out of the shower I’ve figured it out.
”These aren’t phone numbers. It’s a location. Longitude and latitude. In the deep woods of Oregon.”
“Wait, what?” she says, towel drying her hair as she ambles over to peer at the screen.
I show her the map of northern California and southern Oregon that I’ve pulled up. “At first, I thought they were phone numbers. But then my uncle saw them and said it was a location. I’m pretty sure that it’s longitude and latitude.”
“Astrid!” Ruby practically squeals. “You’re a genius.”
“The only problem with my theory is that longitude and latitude designations have two fewer numbers than a phone number.”
“Oh,” Ruby sags.
“But then I remembered that both sets of numbers end in a double zero. So I dropped the zeros and — voila! — we have longitude and latitude.”
“You really are a total genius!”
“Thanks,” I smile feeling pretty proud of myself.
“So what’s at this location?” she asks, looking at the map on the screen. “A hospital? A research facility?”
“Nothing,” I reply.
Ruby’s confused. “What do you mean — nothing?”
Chapter 11
“The intersection of the two points is nearly 70 miles from the nearest town in the middle of some seriously rugged mountains.” Taking a closer look at the map, I point to the small marking that reads St. Benedict’s Monastery. “A long time ago, there was an old monastery in the area, but it’s been abandoned for decades.”
“Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go?”
“No,” I say. “But I don’t have a better idea. And it’s only half a day’s drive from here.”
I do a quick internet search then read the results aloud, “The Oregon Historical Society says that St. Benedict’s was run by the Catholic Sisters of Mercy and the Brothers of Peace both of the Order of Saint Benedict. They were a monastic community of Benedictine men and women dedicated to a life of prayer, community and teaching. Founded in 1857, the brothers and sisters follow the rule of Benedict and respond to the needs of the church and the community.”
“So a bunch of nuns and monks live way out here in the forest all by themselves?”
“Sounds like they're not there anymore,” I reply. “According to this, the monastery is now abandoned. After a tuberculosis outbreak at the turn of the last century, the whole place shut down.”
“That seems extreme. To just close it down?”
“Apparently there was a big Catholic school attached to it and a small town, but it closed down too.”
“Was there a hospital too?” Ruby asks.
I shake my head. “Not that I can see.”
Orin finally comes back with clean bandages, donuts and breakfast. He’s never heard of St. Benedicts.
“This coffee is, by far, the best coffee I have ever tasted,” Ruby says, sipping the delicious beverage. “Where did you get it?”
“Oh, I made the coffee,” Orin smiles. “I have a regular customer who smuggles it in from the Centarian Red Dwarf. Best beans in the universe.”
I don’t usually drink coffee unless it’s combined with milk and lots of sugary flavoring, but I take a sip and have to admit that it is incredibly flavorful coffee.
“By the way, you’re not going to need to sleep for a day or so,” Orin says as he heads out the door.
Ruby and I exchange looks, “Well, we haven’t slept much for a day or so anyway.”
After Orin leaves, I jump in the shower. Having eight shower heads soaking you with warm water might be as close to heaven as I have come.
After a good breakfast and a nice shower, I’m starting to feel a whole lot better. But all that good feeling evaporates when I come out of the bathroom to find Ruby mopping my uncle’s forehead with a cloth. His blue skin has faded, and he’s shaking with fever.
“He’s burning up,” Ruby replies. “He’s getting sicker by the minute.”
Chapter 12
No matter what we do, we don’t seem to be able to warm my uncle up. We wrap him up in as many blankets as we can and turn up the heat because he’s shivering so badly.
“I’m going out to the truck.” I grab the keys off the table under the window. “His jacket is still in the backseat. That might help.”
I hurry across the nearly empty parking lot, over to the truck. There’s not a soul around, except for two empty cars at the far end and a cluster of mourning doves pecking at seeds on the pavement.
Just as I’m about to open the passenger side door, I freeze. Someone has tucked a folded piece of paper under the windshield wiper. I’m pretty sure it’s not a random pizza menu.
Still, I spin a circle, looking around. No one is in sight. I hear the distant hum of the interstate and the low cooing of the nearby mourning doves, but that’s it.
Cautiously, I pluck the paper from the windshield. In my hands, the paper feels like fabric. It’s soft and thick, like woven silk.
Unfolding it, I read handwriting penned in neat green pastel ink. It reads —
I would like more sisters, that the
taking out of one, might not leave such stillness.
What the heck does that mean? Does this have something to do with the prophecy of the seven sisters of light?
Suddenly, I feel vulnerable. Watched. Unsafe.
Stuffing the note into my pocket, I sprint back to the room. I fly inside and lock the door as fast as I can.
Still sitting next to my uncle, Ruby frowns at me. “Where’s his jacket?”
“I forgot the jacket.”
For a split second, I’m not sure what I should do. Do I show her the note? Will it freak her out too much?
“What’s wrong?” Ruby reads the panic on my face and stands. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Making a split second decision, I pull the note out of my pocket and hand it to her. “This was on the windshield.”
She reads it then turns it over in her hand. “I can’t tell if this is a death threat or a love letter.”
“What do you mean?” Until that very second, it hadn’t occurred to me that it was anything other than threatening. “The talk of sisters and taking one out that all sounds pretty threatening.”
“Well, it’s creepy. That’s for sure.” I can see she’s trying to remember something. “I’ve heard this before. It’s poetry or something.” She gets up and moves to the computer, quickly typing something. “This is Emily Dickinson. It’s poetry.”
“Someone left poetry on our windshield?” I am confused.
“And no one was out there?” Ruby asks.
“No, “ I reply. “What should we do?”
Ruby stands. “We should get out of here. Like now. And get back on the road.”
“But we don’t even know if this place in the middle of the woods in Oregon is where we’re supposed to go.”
“Your uncle is not getting better. He’s slipping away. I don’t have a better idea,” she says with a helpless shrug. “Do you?”
It takes us five minutes to get packed up.
“Should we tell Orin we’re leaving?” I ask.
Ruby shakes her head. “I don’t think we should tell anyone anything.”
