And not that I must defend my decisions to anyone—or that you would ask me to— but, Tristan O’Rourke is everything I could have wanted in a husband, despite the fact that he has no idea what The Declaration of Independence, Germany, or a movie is. But, he knows how to be a husband. How to take care of matters of politics, secrecy, strength, and compassion. Matters of the heart. He has known hardships and stared his trials in the eye, never backing down from a fight. I love him so very much and have caused him so much pain and frustration. It’s a wonder he doesn’t declare he’s tired of me and run away. I think he needs a little saving himself now and then, though, and I’m proud to say that I can do that for him.
This last year was so awful. What I would give to go back and do it all over. To avoid all the horrors that befell my family. To save Tristan and myself the heartache that we feel now. To erase the horrible, awful, heartbreaking things that I was forced to suffer through alone.
Thank heavens for Mark. I know he’s had a horrible time of it, too, stuck here for the past ten years, with no idea of how he’d made it to this time or that I’d traveled as well. It was shocking, when we found each other. Without him, though, I don’t think I would have survived the things that happened to me.
I think maybe I saved him some, too.
The vase, though. It’s Pandora’s Box, Scott. You must find it and protect it. Give it to The Order. They will take care of it and assure that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. Whatever you do, though do not open it. I’ll not go into the whole story of how I found out what it was, but it is quite literally a life and death situation. Do not, do not, do not open it! Don’t let anyone else do it, either. If the vase doesn’t find them worthy, it will suck the life out of them right there. I’ve seen it happen. That’s not a risk I think you’re willing to take.
That’s the real purpose of this letter. Not to tell you I’m alive and happy, or that I’m on some strange adventure. I need you to get that vase. Whatever it takes. There are people in this world who would try to abuse it, or unknowingly put themselves in harm’s way. Give it to the The Order and wash your hands of it. Wash your hands of the whole thing. Oak Isle is not something you should get wrapped up in any longer. My wish for you is that this letter will bring you some closure on that part of life as well.
Thank you for being my friend. I’m sorry that I disappeared without a trace. I’m sorry that you thought I was dead. I guess, technically, I am.
That’s all I have to say, I think. Anything more would result in an entire novel’s worth of story and explanation. I wish it were as simple as picking up the phone and filling you in, but it’s not. I know you’re a good man, one who can help with this important issue, though. Not to sound cliché, but the fate of the world is practically resting on your shoulders. Get the vase to The Order.
Please do this for me. Please.
Love,
Samantha
Scott~
You’re probably worried sick about me by now. Sorry about that. Honestly, if I could have done it any different, I would have at least gotten that damn vase to Stevens for you. But, who knows. Maybe he would have been the one to end up here, alone.
I don’t know if you’ve already read Sammy’s letter or not. I bet you’re freaked out that some random people brought you an old box of letters, claiming they were over three hundred years old. It seems like a joke, maybe pulled by McCreary or some other sap trying to mess with you.
It’s not.
Do you remember December 2013? You and I were at the university library together, reading up on local history and searching for any clues about the island. You told me that you’d been diagnosed with cancer, but that it was only a small mole on your hand. The doctor had already removed it and you’d told everyone that you’d cut it chopping firewood. I was the only one who knew the truth.
Now you know that it’s really me, not some jerk face trying to string you along.
I traveled through time. It was an accident, of course. I opened that stupid vase to see if there was anything inside. There was a sand storm then, and I got caught outside. When it cleared, I was in the desert, with no idea of how I’d gotten there. It took me a while, but I eventually realized I was in a different century.
I lived with the Apache for a few years, then, in Mexico City. Eventually, I made my way to the coast and got a job on one of the merchant ships. We were taken over by a crew of Black Knights—I trust The Order has already told you about them—and I was pressed into their service.
That’s where I found Sammy. The captain of my ship, Thomas Randall, has a history with her and her husband, Tristan. It was so awful when we ran into each other, Scott. Randall and his men had kidnapped and beaten her so much that I almost didn’t even recognize her.
So much more has happened since then. It was almost all bad. But, you should know, Tristan came for her. I was almost killed in the process because he thought I was a Black Knight, but I survived the gunshot.
It feels like I’m telling you some magnificent story I came up with. It’s almost funny, trying to write this for you. It’s been ten years since I last saw you, can you believe that? Ten years. It’s probably only been a month or two for you. I couldn’t remember the exact date from when I traveled, so I had to guess. We didn’t want these letters getting to you while I was still there. It would confuse the timelines too much, maybe even stopping me from coming. As horrible and lonely that the past decade has been, I wouldn’t wish that I never came here.
Samantha needed me. I would choose this path every single time if it meant that I could help ease her suffering.
The main reason we both decided to write you is because of the vase. Sammy says it’s Pandora’s Box—apparently, she had some opium with a Greek priestess and they were visited by Zeus (yeah, I hardly believe it, too. I’d think she was crazy if I hadn’t traveled myself)—and it’s very dangerous. There’s literally a fifty/fifty chance that you could die if you open it.
I don’t know what happened to the vase, though. I imagine it’s in the hotel’s lost and found. I was staying at the something Garden in Phoenix. Maybe it started with a “w” or an “h?” I can’t remember exactly, sorry. They should, hopefully, still have it. Stevens was going to come pick it up in the morning, I don’t know if they would have given it to him. Wherever it is, though, you need to find it. Don’t let anyone open it, for any reason. The Order will be able to protect it, if they are anything like they are now in our time. Get it to them and then stay far away.
I know you’re dedicated to getting to the bottom of the Treasure Pit. Having seen what I’ve seen, I can’t even imagine how glorious it would be to find what is hidden down there. You would be a household name. The Knights Templar are dangerous people at times, though. I don’t know if they would even allow you to get down there. Here’s my honest advice and you can take it or leave it: stay away from Oak Isle. You don’t want or need to draw these warring factions into your life. God willing, there won’t be an active group of Black Knights while you’re living. If there is, though, you don’t want to be anywhere near either side.
I have so much more I want to say to you, but I don’t know how to fit it all into one letter. I’ve missed you. Often, I feel guilty for disappearing. You’re one of my best friends in the world, my colleague, my go-to man for advice and compassion. You are such a kind soul, Scott. I know you’ve been trying to find out where I am and if I’m okay. Now that you know, I hope you will rest easy. Don’t be sad that I am gone, or that I will have been dead for centuries by the time you get this. In this world, you haven’t even been born yet, but you are still alive to me. I hope you can think the same of me.
Take care of yourself. Above all, I just want you to be happy. I hope this revelation can help some in that. My only wish would be that Michael had somehow managed to travel as well, instead of being buried alive. Then we would all be alive and together here and you wouldn’t have anyone to mourn.
Live a good, l
ong life, my friend.
Mark
The knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts and I turned away from my research covered table, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just past ten in the evening and rather late for company. The last time someone had come over at this hour, I’d found out Mark was missing.
Swallowing a bit uncomfortably, I rose and went to the door, thinking over and over that a visitor after ten didn’t automatically mean bad news.
“Hey Scott!” Eric beamed at me from the other side, holding a tiny package in his hand, his restaurant shirt sporting some flour residue and a tiny spot of pizza sauce. “Long time, no see!”
“Eric, what a surprise!” Reaching through the doorway, I pulled him into a hug, feeling genuinely happy to see him. I’d missed the twins very much since they’d set out on their own, though I did enjoy seeing their updates on their lives online.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been over sooner, but actually owning and running a restaurant by yourself has turned out to be more work than I thought it would be.” Laughing, he came into the living room, peering around at the artifacts with a smile.
“I could have told you that,” I joked, shutting the door and turning to face him. “How are you, though? It’s all going well?”
“Of course.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “A lot of it just has to do with Kevin taking off a few weeks ago. We haven’t ever really been apart. I miss him like crazy.” He seemed embarrassed at that and cleared his throat, holding up the box he’d brought along.
“I actually came over because you had something delivered to the restaurant. It looks like it came from that carbon dating company. You must have forgotten to change your address with them when you moved everything over here.” He shrugged, holding it out to me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I must have.” Taking the small container from him, I felt a few butterflies in my stomach. It wouldn’t matter if he had opened it or not, but I didn’t want him to ask questions about what I was having dated. “Thank you for bringing it over.”
“Sorry it’s so late. I had to wait until the shop was closed up.”
“No, no, I completely understand.”
In the kitchen, the kettle on the stove began to whistle. I’d forgotten I was making tea and looked down the hall, frowning.
“I’ll get it,” Eric stated, laughing. “You open your box and find out how old whatever’s inside is.” He turned and strolled down the hall, putting his hands in his pockets.
As soon as he disappeared around the corner, I pried open the box, pulling out the sheet of information inside. One month ago, after reading the letters given to me, I’d carefully cut a small portion of each, including ink samples, and sent them off to be dated. Given the circumstances in which I’d received the correspondence and the information they contained, I’d decided to treat them as I would any other artifact and run them through some tests.
Once the samples had been sent, I went to the library, checking out naval histories, family genealogies, and subscribing to many sites that would help me look back through time. Learning about The Knights Templar had been a must. I’d also studied Free Masonry and any other links that I could get my hands on.
I’d first discovered the name Tristan O’Rourke in an old ship’s log, through the online catalog at the New York Library. Thomas Randall had appeared as well. It wasn’t until a few days later that I found Samantha’s name, in connection with her husband.
Mark was much harder to locate. Finally, after what felt like years’ worth of searching, I found his name listed among the crew of a French privateer vessel, captained by a man named William MacDonald.
Tristan O’Rourke was also listed among the crew.
Still, it could have all been simple coincidence, couldn’t it? Someone else could have done this research and tied it together as a prank. However, I was willing to admit that it was a large amount of work to do for a plain, practical joke.
Glancing over the findings of the carbon dating, I felt a strange, excited flip in my stomach, as well as dread.
The letters were real.
According to these results, the paper had dated to around the end of the seventeenth century. The ink was tagged at almost seventeen hundred exactly.
Mark and Samantha were alive, three hundred years in the past.
Sitting down on the couch in shock, I stared at the floor, feeling a million thoughts race through my mind. How? If what they’d stated in their letters was true, the vase had taken them there. Why? I had no idea. What was I supposed to do with this information? Everything I knew about the world was wrong. Magic was real, so were gods, it would appear. The Knights Templar had a treasure.
A person could travel through time.
Dazed, I suddenly remembered Eric in the kitchen and froze. All of my research was laid out for anyone to see, including the letters. If he read them . . .
Rising quickly, I hurried to the kitchen, feeling my heart stop as I caught sight of him, standing at the table, one of the letters in his hand. Eyes wide, he looked like a statue, his mouth open in a small “o” shape as he read. The research on the table had been moved around, books not where I’d left them. Several of the notecards I’d filled with information were laying scattered over the top of my computer, obviously having been looked at as well.
“I can explain,” I said softly, coming to stand beside him.
“Scott . . . what is all of this?” He sounded like he might be worried I was crazy, or that he was crazy for having even seen everything laid out here.
“It’s a long story.” I sighed. “But I promise, there is an explanation. For all of this.”
“The letters are cut.” His voice was slow and filled with wonder, his eyes moving to look at me. “You had them dated?”
“I did.”
Swallowing hard, he looked back down at the paper in his hand. It was part of Mark’s letter, the page that had stated Samantha was kidnapped and beaten. “What did the test say?”
Hesitating, I glanced over everything on the table. It was obvious that I was legitimately pursuing the idea that the letters were real and that Samantha and Mark had traveled through time.
“They’re as old as they claim to be.”
The statement made us both take a deep breath, an uncomfortable air brushing through the room.
“And all this? You found proof elsewhere?” He sounded scared now, perhaps intrigued. Whatever he was feeling, he was doing a good job of keeping the emotion off his face.
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between us as he read the letter again, and then again. “How?” he finally whispered, looking at me with concern in his eyes. “How did you get these?”
“I was . . . ah . . . kidnapped. So to speak.”
The whole story came out then. I told him of Mark’s disappearance and my decision to keep it from him and his brother. I explained my video call with the professor and my subsequent trip to Arizona, leading up to the ambush at the Black Knight base and subsequent meeting with The Knights Templar in Washington D.C.
“It seemed crazy,” I confessed. “More than crazy. But once I’d read the letters, I knew I had to find out if they were real or not. And they are!”
“What are you going to do?” Eric had taken a seat at the table, a glass of tea in his hands that I’d poured while sharing the story.
“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to try and find the vase. If it was so important that the two of them felt they needed to reach through time to get to me, I can’t ignore it.”
“Will you give it to The Order?”
“No,” I replied sharply. “I know that’s what Samantha and Mark asked me to do, but I don’t trust them. They used me as bait. I could have been killed! Mark warned that they were dangerous, as well. I’m going to have to come up with another plan on my own to keep it safe and away from those who would abuse it.”
“You can’t do it alone,” he said suddenly, standing. “No way. You need
my help.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Instantly interrupting him, I held up a hand. “You just got out of this mess. If you try and help me, you’ll be putting yourself right back in the middle of the problem. You read the letters; they don’t want us to mess around with any of this more than we have to.”
“I don’t care,” he insisted. “I know all of this, too, now. You can’t deny me the chance to help my friends. This is important, Scott. I can feel it in my bones. Besides, you ended up kidnapped last time. You need someone with a little more muscle to come along and make sure you’re okay.”
“What about the restaurant?” I inquired. “You’re the owner now. Kevin is away at school. Your parents have moved away to enjoy their early retirement. You can’t just leave it behind.”
Thinking, he shook his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do. But I do know you’re not doing this without me.”
“Eric, I—”
There was another knock at the door and I turned toward it in surprise. “Who on earth could that be?”
The pounding occurred again, this time accompanied by shouting.
“It’s Rebecca O’Rourke, Mister Williams! I need you to open the door. Right now!”
Eyebrows rising in surprise, I shared a look with Eric and then moved to let the Templar Knight inside. No sooner had I opened the door, did she shove herself inside and lock it, leaning against it, breathing heavily.
“We need to leave,” she stated crisply. “Gather everything you deem necessary.”
“What’s going on?” Eric asked in confusion, gawking at her like a deer in headlights.
She regarded him for half a second, smiling in a friendly manner, and then pushed past us, opening the coat closet in the hall and removing my jacket.
“The Black Knights are on their way. Someone let it leak that you had been given letters of importance.”
Tossing the coat to me, she turned and went into the kitchen. “Eric is going to have to come, too,” she called over her shoulder. “They know he was involved with your search for the treasure and has seen the vase. He won’t be safe here anymore.”
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 6
