Gaping in surprise, I gawked at the three of them, not knowing what to do or expect. They didn’t seem to mean me any harm, but what exactly did they want? “That’s . . . a coincidence,” I finally managed to say, staring at the container in a mixture of awe and confusion.
“Not really.” Lucy stared at me pointedly.
“You can’t be serious,” I half laughed. “Of course it’s not for me! That doesn’t even make any sense.”
Clearing her throat, Rebecca slid on some gloves and pulled another object off her lap. This time, it was an old piece of paper in a plastic sleeve. Donning a pair of reading glasses, she spoke loud and clearly.
“One box. One foot by six inches. Wooden. To be delivered, late in the year two thousand and sixteen, to one Scott Williams, whose name is etched in the wood. None else shall see the contents or die. Signed, WM, GM.” Turning the letter toward me, she pointed to the bottom, left-hand corner, where someone had written additional information. “That’s your address, is it not?”
The laugh I emitted was nervous this time. “Anyone could fake that,” I said unconvincingly.
“Here, have a look at it yourself.” Pulling a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket, she offered them to me, along with the paper. “Take it out of the sleeve. You know ancient artifacts. If anyone can spot a fake, it’s you.”
Hesitantly, I took the gloves and slid them on, handling the plastic covered paper with care. After a moment, I reached through the opening and gently removed the letter. It was so brittle, I worried it might crumble under my touch. As I glanced over it, I felt my heart sink. If this was a recreation, it was a very good one. The paper was of the right thickness and material, the ink old and cracked. It appeared that, at one point, the parchment had been rolled and stored with others, some residual ink from other items dotting the backside.
“It’s not a fake,” Peter said roughly. “You’re taking damn forever to accept what’s right in front of you.”
“What would you expect me to do,” I snapped, suddenly feeling very ostracized and alone, not to mention scared of what was being presented to me. “Accept it without question? Did you? Or do you blindly believe whatever is said to you?”
“Watch your mouth old man,” he growled.
“He has a point, Peter,” Lucy offered, casually. “You know that outsiders typically have a hard time accepting what we know.”
“But this outsider has a three hundred year old box with his name on it. He knows something.” Peter glowered at me, crossing his arms again.
“What’s in the box?” I asked him. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”
“We don’t know what’s inside.” Lucy sounded miffed. “No one has opened it since it was added to our treasury.”
“Why not?” I asked, surprised.
“It’s cursed,” Rebecca said simply. “If anyone but you opens it, they’ll die. That’s what the letter means when it says ‘or die.’ You’re the only one.”
“Cursed,” I scoffed. “Knights Templar. This is ridiculous.” Handing the letter back to her, I shook my head. “What’s really going on? Why did you break into a police station and kidnap me? I want the truth, not this fairytale crap you’re trying to sell me.”
“It is not fairytale crap,” Lucy replied sternly. “It is real. Your extraction was not from a police station, it was from a Black Knight base. Black Knights are the reverse of our order, determined to destroy the world as we know it. They are evil, evil people. Trust me when I say, if we hadn’t pulled you out, you never would have left that bunker except in a body bag.”
“We’ve been trying to locate the base for years. We knew it was somewhere in Phoenix, but every undercover agent we sent it was discovered before they could relay the location to us. When we saw that you were on the move, it looked like the perfect opportunity to finally find out the truth.” Peter smiled, as if this revelation brought him great joy.
“What do you mean? You’ve been watching me?” Staring at the three of them, I felt my face flush. Kidnappers and spies? Just what had they been watching me do? What had they learned about me without my knowledge?
“Of course we were watching you,” Rebecca said. “We have a three hundred year old box with your name on it and instructions to give it to you.”
“Why not sooner, then? Why wait until I was in Phoenix?”
“There was some . . . argument, about whether we should alert you to our presence.” Lucy shared a glance with Peter. “By the time we deemed it late enough in the year to give it the go ahead, you were in Arizona.”
“We saw a known Black Knight talking with you and decided to see where he took you.” Peter sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. “There were more of them there than we anticipated.”
“Hold on,” I butted in. “Are you saying you used me as bait to find where the base was?” Anger pricked at me through the haze of confusion, disbelief, terror, and curiosity.
“It’s not like we were going to leave ya there for dead,” Peter replied defensively. “We got you out. Patched you up.”
My mouth was gaping again, this time in outrage. Turning to Rebecca, I motioned for the box. “Give it to me,” I said roughly.
“Just like that?” She was surprised.
“You want me to open an old cursed box? Fine, I’ll do it. Maybe then the lot of you will get the hell out of my life and I can forget this ever happened.”
Taking the item from her, I set it gently on the table and slid my finger under the lid. It opened easily, with almost no effort. Ignoring the flinches of those around me as the lid popped up, I took in the contents of the box with even more surprise.
“It’s a letter,” Rebecca said, watching over my shoulder.
“Two,” I corrected her.
The pair were set on top of a silk bed, the fabric old and worn as the box it had been kept in. The folded papers seemed ancient as well, yellow with age and the edges showing signs of deterioration.
Carefully, I picked up the first, observing the wax seal holding it shut.
“That’s my family crest,” Rebecca said quietly.
Gently breaking the wax, I unfolded the sheets, feeling my heart stop as I stared at the writing inside.
“I recognize this penmanship,” I said softly. “But it’s not possible.” Thumbing through to the back page, I inspected the signature, one I had seen many times on the paperwork for the Oak Isle Treasure Trove Company.
“Samantha Greene O’Rourke,” Rebecca read, leaning in close to scrutinize it. “That’s my however many times great grandmother.
“The wife of Tristan O’Rourke?” Lucy asked sharply.
“Yes.” Rebecca gave her a look of complete astonishment. “The rumors were true! I mean, I didn’t ever not believe them, but still. They were true!”
“Who is the second letter from?” Peter demanded, standing to better see what was inside the case.
Putting the unimaginable letter down, I picked up the second, broke the seal, and gazed at the signature on the last page. “Mark Bell,” I stated thickly.
Falling back into my chair, I surveyed the papers in my hand and the one in the box. There was no way—none at all. This was some kind of cruel joke, played by a harsh group of people who had no heart.
“This isn’t funny,” I said quietly, glaring at them all together. “Do you hear me? This is not funny. Samantha died not long ago. This kind of practical joke dishonors her memory. Mark is missing. He could be dead, too, for all I know. I don’t appreciate being brought here, under these circumstances no less, to be made fun of. I don’t know who you work for, or why they would go to such lengths as this, but I demand you take me home this instant. I never want to see any of you ever again.” Hating that my eyes had teared up, I looked down, hands shaking.
“It’s not a joke, Scott.” Lucy’s voice was suddenly very consoling and understanding. “We are as surprised as you. We’ve heard rumors of the O’Rourke’s and where they came from, but I
never imagined that they were true. This box has been the only thing that made me think they might be, and you’ve just proven our suspicions by opening it.”
“Rumors of what?” I demanded, glaring at her once more.
“Read the letters. I imagine they will share the whole story with you.”
“I will not,” I replied vehemently.
“Please, Scott,” Rebecca said, her voice catching for some reason. “Read them. Tristan and Samantha were some of the most influential people in our Order. Mark, too. The fact that you’ve been given this is highly important and a changing point for us.”
“Then you read them.” Tossing “Mark’s” letter back in the box with the other, I closed the lid and shoved it toward her. “I don’t want anything to do with your Order.”
“Are you sure, Scott?” Lucy asked.
“Let the bloke go home,” Peter piped up, nodding once. “He doesn’t want anything to do with it? Fine. Whatever is in those letters obviously isn’t going to be any help to him if he refuses to believe they’re real.”
“If you truly want nothing to do with it, Mister Williams, I am more than happy to arrange a flight home for you. We can get you a room here for you to rest in until your transportation is ready.” Lucy sounded like she was back to business as usual, her eyes scanning my face thoughtfully.
“Nothing would make me happier.”
“Fine. Peter, show him the door, will you? All you need do Mister Williams is go to the front desk and tell them that Cavanaugh is calling. You’ll have a room before you can blink.”
Grumpily, Peter stood and went to the wall, tilting one picture to the side. It was apparently hiding a trap door mechanism, because the door opened right up, swinging over to reveal a long hall, filled with more artwork, statues, and curious objects.
“Thank you.” Giving the box on the table one last shaky look, I stood and left the room, jumping as the entrance shut tight behind me. Even though I’d just passed through it, the door was shut tight, hiding its existence from even the most determined of sleuths.
Breathing a great sigh of relief, I glanced around, surprised by the sheer number of artifacts here. Some of them looked old, others new. They ranged from the magnificent to the strange, a few of the items recognizable as reproductions. Others appeared to be the real things, like a small Greek statue that couldn’t have been less than a thousand years old. It was in a glass case, a price tag attached to the outside of the glass. Upon further inspection, it appeared that everything here was for sale.
Slowly, I made my way through the space, examining everything. Eventually, I came to a cross with another hall. Not sure which way to go, I picked blindly and continued on with my perusal, interested in practically every single thing I saw.
It seemed like at least an hour had passed before I finally stumbled on the front desk. True to Lucy’s word, as soon as I’d uttered the phrase she said, I had a small room down three halls and around two corners, decorated in the same fashion as the rest of the place. Looking at the key in my hand, I read the name of the establishment.
“The Mansion on O Street,” I mumbled, feeling like I’d heard the name somewhere. Maybe on the Travel Channel? That was it. I remembered because they claimed that secret societies met in their hidden rooms.
Apparently, that part hadn’t been a bit for the Travel Channel special.
Sighing, I flopped onto the bed. The letters couldn’t be real, could they? It was impossible! But so was The Order of The Knights Templar, here in D.C. So was a group of people walking into a police station and destroying it. So was the fact that I was here, under these circumstances.
Restless, I left my room, hoping to distract myself with more of the artifacts. Moving slowly, I checked the price of each item, mentally deciding if it was something I would buy or pass on. Eventually, I came to a case full of jewelry. One of the rings caught my attention, causing my stomach to drop again.
It was gold, with a cross etched into it, a black dot in the middle. Just like Professor Stevens’ ring.
“What happened to you Mark?” I asked quietly.
“It’s an interesting ring, isn’t it?” Rebecca stopped beside me, a large, manila envelope in her hands. “Pretty, even. Too bad it has such a horrible history.”
“What do you mean?” I sighed, not knowing what to think of this whole ordeal.
“That symbol is the mark of The Black Knights of The Order of the Templars. Even today, they still use it to help identify each other with. Of course, three hundred years ago, they used to brand the mark on their actual bodies. Then they realized that was a good way to get caught by the Templars and the went with the rings instead.” She laughed, looking at me with sparkling eyes. “Easier to get rid of in a pinch.”
“This is the symbol of the bad guys?” I asked, hesitantly remembering my negative feelings for the professor.
“It is. You probably didn’t see it when you were in their base, if they were masquerading as law enforcement.”
Silence stretched between us, myself staring hard at the ring and wondering if Mark had fallen to these so called Black Knights. If he had, it would be my fault. All because I wanted to know how old the vase was and was too cheap to send it off myself.
“Do you know where the vase is?” I asked suddenly. “The one I gave to Mark? Was it your group that stole it?”
Surprised, she shook her head. “No. It’s disappeared out of thin air, it would seem. We were worried the Black Knights had seized it, but they appear to be searching for it just as desperately as we are.”
Nodding, I fell silent once more, thinking over the revelation. I still knew nothing about what had happened to my friend.
Clearing her throat, as if she’d sensed I was thinking of my friends once more, Rebecca offered the envelope to me. “I know you don’t want to read them, but you might. Someday. It didn’t seem right to keep them from you. Samantha and Mark wanted you specifically to have them. I’ve already made copies—these are the originals. Don’t tell Lucy or Peter, though. They’d have me court marshalled.” She laughed lightly then, shaking her head. “These are yours, though. They can’t argue with that.”
Peering down at the offering, I swallowed hard. “Thank you.” The reply was soft and quiet, but she heard it, passing the file to me with ease.
“Stay safe,” she cautioned. “If you ever need any help, my number is in there. Don’t hesitate to call.”
The house seemed strangely empty when I finally arrived at home, late that night. It was as if all the joy had been sucked out of my life.
The envelope, still unopened, rested on the dining room table, like a siren calling me to it. I didn’t want to read the letters, though. What if they were a cruel prank? Or worse.
What if they were real?
Sighing, I slumped down in the kitchen chair, running my hand over the container, trying to decide what to do.
“This is ridiculous,” I laughed to myself. “Of course they aren’t real!”
The package seemed huge as I stared at it, like it contained some life altering secrets I would never be able to unlearn once I’d seen them.
What could be the worst that would happen, though? I could read the letters and discover that they were a joke. Then the issue would be over.
My gut was telling me I had something important here, though. Why go through all the trouble if it was just a joke? I’d seen Lucy kill someone. That wasn’t fake. The Mansion on O Street wasn’t fake. The two letters sitting here, now, could very well be real as well.
Seized upon by a moment of decision, I opened the flap and pulled out the top letter, which had been carefully slid inside several plastic sheets, now tied together in the corner, through a hole punched through the protective covering. The second letter had also been prepared in the same fashion and I removed it from the folder as well, setting the two items on the table before me.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled the one written in Samantha’s handwriting toward myse
lf and began to read.
Dear Scott,
I don’t even know how or where to begin. I’ve started this letter at least one hundred times, but it never seems to come out right. The odds that you’ll even receive it are not very good. On top of that, I’d never assumed that I would have to tell someone from my own time what happened to me. Mark changed all of that, though. He had more understanding of what I’d gone through, since he did it as well. For some reason, it feels harder, telling someone who has no idea. Even more so, telling someone who won’t hear what I have to say until I’ve been dead for three hundred years.
Look, this is going to be confusing. I feel as though I’m simply spewing my thoughts out on the paper, with no rhyme or reason. I hope you’ll forgive my nervousness and uncertainty.
I’ve traveled back in time. Really and truly. I’ve been here for a few years now, in fact. When I first arrived, it was sixteen ninety-five. That was just over two years ago. So much has happened between now and then. A lot of it was great and a good portion of it was . . . bad.
I know you’ve seen the video of me climbing into the Treasure Pit. Mark told me you all thought I had died. However, once I got inside the treasure vault at the bottom, I opened a vase—the one you gave to Mark—that transported me through time. I hate to tell you, but Dad was right about what’s down there. It’s the treasure of The Knights Templar, and it holds terrifyingly powerful things. I’ve seen it in both times now. If I’d known what was actually down there, what those things could do, I don’t think I ever would have agreed to help Dad with it at all.
Either way, the Pit flooded, and I thought I’d drowned. Instead, I woke up on the beach, surrounded by pirates, and soon found myself carried off by one of them. Ironically, that man would become my husband, Tristan. He’s not just a pirate, by the way. He’s a member of The Knights Templar. He oversaw hiding the treasure on Oak Isle before everything happened.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 5
