“You both are now the owners of the contents of safe deposit box number 15-224. I will leave you alone to inspect the contents. When you are finished, please relock the box and return the key to me. Any questions?” ”I’m kind of confused,” said Mark. “Who set this up?”
“I told you, a Mr. Robert Pendragon.”
Courtney asked, “He came in here? Did you see him?”
The look on Ms. Jansen’s face got even more pinched, if that were possible.
“I know you consider me to be a fossil, Ms. Chetwynde, but I assure you, this account was opened long before I was employed here at National Bank.”
“So when was that?” asked Mark.
“I’ll have to double check the exact date, but I believe it was sometime in May.”
“He was here three months ago?” shouted Courtney in surprise.
“Please, Ms. Chetwynde,” said Jansen testily. “I’m not a fool, so do not try to play me for one. This account was opened in May of 1937.”
Mark and Courtney went into stunned brain lock.
“Do you have any more questions?”
Both Mark and Courtney could only shake their heads.
“Then I’ll be at my desk.”
Jansen gave them a last annoyed look and hurried off.
Mark and Courtney couldn’t move. They both tried desperately to get their minds around the incredible information.
“Is it possible?” Courtney finally asked.
“There’s one way to find out,” answered Mark.
He inserted the key into the deposit box marked 15-224. This was one of the larger boxes compared to the others. It looked to be about two feet high. The door hinged outward, revealing a handle attached to a steel box. While Mark held the door open, Courtney pulled on the handle. The steel box slid out easily. It was roughly the size of two shoe boxes. ”Take it over there,” said Mark.
Built into one wall was a row of four desks set up with partitions between them, kind of like the study carrels in the library at school. These wooden desks looked ancient, just like everything else at this bank. Courtney put the box down on one of the old desks and they each pulled up a chair. Mark was happy nobody else was here.
The two looked at the steel box. The lid was still closed so they couldn’t see what was inside. Mark’s heart was racing. He knew Courtney’s was too.
“I can’t breathe,” Mark said finally.
“Then open it. This is killing me!”
Mark reached for the lid, hesitated a moment, then lifted it up.
They saw that the deep box was mostly empty. But lying on the bottom was a stack of four books, each bound in dark red leather. They were about the size of a piece of computer paper: 8x10 inches. Each looked to be about a half-inch thick. The weird thing was that they didn’t have any titles. There were no markings on the covers whatsoever.
There was something else in the box too. Sandwiched next to the stack of books was an envelope. Mark’s hands were shaking as he pulled it out. It was a business-size envelope with a printed return address in the upper left corner. It was the name and address of the bank. Whoever wrote this letter wrote it here in the bank. There was something else on the envelope. In Bobby’s handwriting were the words: “Mark and Courtney.”
“That’s us,” said Courtney with a weak smile.
Mark nervously opened the envelope and pulled out the single page inside. He unfolded it to reveal a letter written on National Bank of Stony Brook stationery. The words were written in Bobby’s handwriting. Dear Mark and Courtney,
I gotta make this fast. I don’t have much time. Here’s the deal. I lost my ring. I haven’t had it for months now. That’s why you haven’t been getting my journals. I’ve been writing though. Every thing that’s happened I put down on paper, just like always. But it’s been making me crazy. I hate having all the journals together. They’re not safe with me. I can’t believe it took me as long as it did to come up with a solution.
I came to Stony Brook. I knew the National Bank was around forever and sure enough, here it is. What a rush. The Ave is a totally different place, though. I was kind of hoping Garden Poultry was here to grab a quick box of fries, but no such luck. You know what’s there instead? A barbershop. Same building, different business. Weird.
I could go on forever about how strange this is, but I don’t have time. If my plan works, and I can’t think of why it won’t, you’ll be sitting in the same spot where I am right now, reading this letter.
I’ve put all four journals in the safe deposit box. The whole adventure is contained here. Hopefully, the next time you hear from me it will be through the rings. I think I might know where mine is now, and that’s where I’m headed.
Thank you, guys. I miss you.
Bobby
May 31, 1937
P.S. If they still have these wooden desks in the vault, look under the one to the far right. Courtney and Mark both read the letter a few times to make sure they understood. Somehow Bobby got here in 1937 and left his journals. It made sense. Bobby knew the National Bank would still be here in the present, so there was no reason why it wouldn’t work. The bigger question was, how the heck did he get to 1937? It began to raise all sorts of questions about the flumes sending Travelers through time as well as territories.
They both turned their attention to the desk they were sitting at. They looked pretty old and were probably the same desks that Bobby had sat at. They both got down on their knees to look under the desk on the far right. They had no idea what they should be looking for until
“Oh, man, look!” Courtney said.
She pointed to a spot underneath the desk. Something was carved into the woodwork. The only way you could see it was to be down on the floor, looking straight up. The words said: “Happy Birthday, Mark.”
As they lay on their backs, looking up, Mark and Courtney started to laugh. This was so perfectly Bobby. Mark wished he had a camera with him so he could take a shot and keep it with the journals. He planned on coming back and doing just that.
The two then pulled themselves out from under the desk and stood up. They stared at the open safety deposit box and the four journals inside.
“I can’t believe there’s a whole story here,” said Courtney.
“We should bring them home,” Mark said.
“Yeah,” agreed Courtney, “but this is killing me. Let’s just look at the first page.”
Mark couldn’t think of a reason not to, so he reached inside and took the first journal off the pile. It was nicely bound, like a book that had never been opened.
“Not exactly old parchment papers,” Mark said. He then carefully opened the cover to the first page.
Unlike the stories from Denduron and Cloral, Bobby had typed this journal. The pages were the size of regular computer printer paper, but they were heavier and cream colored. Also, the typing looked all messy. This wasn’t like a clean page from a printer. This had actually been typed on an old-fashioned typewriter. Neither of them had ever seen something like this — it was like looking at a piece of history. In a way, that’s exactly what it was.
“Let’s at least see where he was,” said Courtney.
“Okay,” agreed Mark.
The two sat down at the desk and began to read. to be continued
FIRST EARTH
That’s where I am. First Earth. Veelox was a misdirection. Spader and I flumed to Veelox, but found the action wasn’t there. It was here on First Earth.
Where is First Earth? The better question is, whenis First Earth? I’m in New York City and it’s 1937. March of 1937 to be exact. To bereallyexact, it’s March 11 of 1937. I’m writing this on my birthday. Here’s a weird thought: If I’m in 1937 and it’s my birthday, did I still turn fifteen? Kind of freaky, no?
I’ll begin this new journal by telling you I stumbled into the most bizarro, confusing, dangerous situation yet. But then again, haven’t I said that before? Let me give you a little taste of what happened in only the first few minutes since I got here…