Yearning, page 13
“Yes? See something you can interpret?”
“Those signs,” Darian managed to say as her gaze flew
across the symbols. “They’re almost glowing. So clear.”
After moving the box out of the way, she tugged the scroll
closer. “I don’t know what you saw or how much you could,
well, read, but this is kind of scary.”
“Tell me. And yes, I’m filming.”
Darian didn’t take her eyes off the scroll. “Instructions.”
“What? It says that? Instructions?” Samantha’s voice
sounded distant, and, unsettled by that sensation, Darian
reached out and placed her hand on Samantha’s knee.
“Yes. Or perhaps not instructions exactly. I think…
manual. Yes. Or guide.”
“I get it. The words are related. Keep going.” Samantha’s
voice was now closer, as if her lips were against Darian’s
ear.
“There’s a large paragraph where I can make sense of
only a few signs, but then there’s the next header. Aptitude.
Predisposition. Establish.”
“So damn cryptic,” Samantha muttered. “Will this
document establish the user’s predisposition—in that case,
for what?”
“We most likely won’t know until we place it where it’s
supposed to go. It probably has to attach to our head to
read our minds or something. As morbid as that sounds.”
Darian let her finger guide her down the rows of strange
signs. And then she froze. “That can’t be right.” She felt
along where the symbols made up three words. To her, their
meaning was obvious.
“Dar?” Samantha’s lips actually touched the shell of
Darian’s ear this time, bringing her out of her reverie.
“See here?” She pointed at the symbols. “It says star
chart, exploration, and velocity.”
“Star chart?” Samantha whispered.
Darian looked up from the scroll. “Am I losing my marbles
or…does this suggest that what we’re messing with is—”
“Extraterrestrial.” Samantha’s eyes had darkened, or
perhaps it was an optical illusion in the old basement.
“That’s the only thing that makes sense. These things have
been stored down here for God knows how long. And even if
they were just put here, think about it. This technology
doesn’t exist, to my knowledge. The language, or whatever
the symbols represent, is certainly nothing I’ve come
across.”
Darian chuckled weakly. “You’re saying that the Mayans
or some Sanskrit-typing people haven’t been up here in the
mountains and invented this?”
Getting to her feet, Samantha began pacing. “That’s
what I’m saying. This just got a whole lot more complicated.
If I thought of any chance we could share this, at this point,
with more people than we first agreed on, I know we’d all be
considered mentally impaired and, at best, a laughingstock.
I mean, really. Aliens? Back in the 1700s?”
“Come back here. I can try for a few more words.”
Concerned at Samantha becoming agitated, which didn’t
feel like her at all, Darian patted the stool next to her.
“I’ll do one better. I’ll put the other one on my wrist, like
you.”
“Glad you don’t insist on your head. We would have had
words.” Darian watched Samantha open the other scroll box
and attach the oval. Once it was in place, Samantha turned
on the filming feature on her phone again and leaned
against Darian, who wrapped her free arm around
Samantha’s waist.
Samantha pressed the ends of the scroll, and the
document shot out. “Let’s see,” she muttered. “Oh. Yes.
You’re absolutely right.”
“Can you make out the smaller symbols?” Darian
directed Samantha’s attention to the densely packed
paragraphs.
“No. Not really. Their meaning feels just barely out of
reach, though.”
“Exactly.”
They kept looking for the bigger symbols together. Darian
thought her senses might overload, part of her mind
focusing on the signs and the rest of it acutely aware of
Samantha’s presence.
“Here. Synaptic charge,” Darian said after staring at a
particular row of symbols for a good half minute.
“What could that mean?” Samantha huffed. “I suppose
we won’t know more until we can put them on the right way.
Which I refuse to have anyone, including myself, do before
we can have a physician present.”
“Agreed. Have anyone in mind?” Darian said
absentmindedly. She had spotted two other emphasized
words.
“We have a small clinic in Dennamore, which has been
run by the same doctor since I was little. He has two
colleagues working with him, and the youngest is freshly
returned from New York, where he worked at one of the free
clinics. He’s a voracious reader of everything science
fiction.” Samantha glanced down at Darian’s finger. “What
does it say?”
Darian moved her finger out of the way.
Samantha bent closer. “Extinction Prevention.” She
jerked. “Is that what you got as well?”
“Yes. That sounds ominous.” Darian rubbed an aching
spot between her eyes. “I need to take this thing off. Not
sure how you feel, but my forehead’s beginning to ache.”
“I’ve had a headache for a few minutes, yes.” Samantha
straightened and pulled at her device, which let go with a
soft pop. Darian pulled at hers and began to get nervous
when it took two attempts before it dislodged.
“Damn. Let go, already,” she muttered. Returning it to its
case, where it folded its filaments neatly into the slots, she
sighed and carefully tipped her head to the side a few times.
“Ah, better. I wonder if it’ll do that to us when we snap those
suckers in at the back of our heads.”
“Either that, or they’ll work better when we use them
correctly.” Samantha gently rolled her shoulders. “Ow.”
Darian wanted nothing but to jump up and massage
Samantha’s shoulders, but she was afraid such a move
would seem too intrusive. She was still not over how close
they’d been sitting, and the touching…even if it hadn’t been
in a romantic, or a passionate sense…was still engraved in
her mind. Samantha smelled so good, Darian could barely
detect the dust and old, musty books and items around
them.
“How big is your backpack?” Samantha, who clearly
hadn’t been lost in thought about any touching, asked.
“Pretty standard.” Darian forced herself to focus and
lifted the backpack from the floor. “Here.”
Samantha took it and opened it. “Empty. Good. We
should be able to fit in five or six of the scroll boxes.”
Darian could hardly believe her ears. “We’re stealing
more?” Samantha had been adamant about them being
careful. This didn’t spell cautious approach to her.
“Stealing? I prefer to see it as borrowing,” Samantha said
firmly. “And I’m the head librarian. I know Council Chairman
Miller thinks he owns this town in general, and Town Hall in
particular, but he’s wrong. Not very many people have read
this town’s rules and regulations, but I have. When I became
a librarian, before my great-aunt retired, I made it my
business to know what my duties and rights were when I
one day would take over. I hadn’t even seen the door to this
part of the archive then. So perhaps that was a hunch. And I
do have the right to bring items out of the archives to be
catalogued and for Phileas Beresford to examine, but not to
take them home with me.” Her green eyes became opaque.
“This is something extraordinary, and it’s part of the
Dennamore history. The scroll boxes, the fact that someone
managed to build this basement into bedrock two hundred
and fifty years ago and, not to mention, build whatever the
strange glowing rocks in your basement are, and the
potential tunnel…and let’s add the seasonal lake lights as
well.”
“You think they’re all connected.” Darian didn’t offer her
own opinion just yet.
“I do. I can’t even begin to fathom how, but it’s one of
the few things that seems logical.” Samantha raised her
chin. “And you?”
“Hell, yeah. With me, you’re preaching to the choir. You
know so much more about this town than I, or even Camilla,
do. If you’d asked me just the other day, my pragmatic ass
would have deemed you beautiful, but eccentric.”
“And today?” Samantha murmured.
“Today you’re beautiful and brave.” Darian caressed
Samantha’s reddened cheekbone without realizing that’s
what she’d meant to do. “So very beautiful, inside and out.”
“Darian.”
Feeling that Samantha made her name sound like the
prelude to a rejection, Darian wished she had used more
caution. “We better tuck the scroll boxes into your backpack
and get out of here,” she said huskily.
“All right. These two and three more?” Darian walked
over to the shelves. “Any of them?”
“No. Wait. Let’s take the ones from the far end. I know
we’ve disturbed the dust already, but it might be less
obvious all the same.”
Darian carried the boxes over to Samantha and saw she
had made the document retract again and was already
packing up. After adding the last three scroll boxes, Darian
tugged at the drawstring, but then she changed her mind
and pulled her sweatshirt off, tucking it on top and around
the boxes.
“Probably won’t do us much good, but it’ll at least not be
too obvious.” She shrugged.
“Agreed.” Samantha replaced the stools and then
scooped up some dust from a corner shelf and blew it across
the empty shelf they’d just used as a desk. “As you were
saying.”
After making their way through the entire archive and
locking everything behind them, they stood in the basement
for a few moments, listening. The library was closed, and
everything was quiet.
“The alarm is on, but I have my code, so we’ll be able to
get out. But it’ll show that I was here this late. They can’t
know that I simply didn’t just work late in my office though.
The only lock that logs our presence is the one at the front
door, thank God.”
“Sounds good. Do you often stay late?” Darian walked
next to Samantha but slipped in behind her when they
reached the lobby.
“Five or six times a month, perhaps. Mainly I take work
home.” Samantha halted at the top of the stairs. “Empty. We
only have a security firm that checks Town Hall on a
schedule at nights. Let’s just go.”
Crossing the lobby, Darian glanced around her, not
seeing anything or anyone. “When you think about it…why
are Miller and the Elder Council so adamant about
Dennamore’s old artifacts staying tucked away? I mean,
why not open a museum and display stuff like every other
normal small town? Just like the lake light is a tourist
attraction, I mean. It’s strange. Not logical, I mean.”
“I don’t know what information the Elder Council sits on.
Perhaps they know more about these things than we can
imagine? And if they do, perhaps they’re afraid of
Dennamore becoming some weird place that believes in
extraterrestrials. Like Roswell or something.” Samantha
pressed a touchpad next to the front door and slipped
outside. After looking around, she waved for Darian to
follow. She reset the alarm, and then they strode down the
stairs and over to the parking lot where Darian’s car was
parked next to Samantha’s.
“Are you going straight home?” Samantha pulled out her
own car keys.
“Yes. I want to get this backpack placed somewhere
reasonably safe before someone catches me with the
contents.” Darian hesitated but then leaned in and kissed
Samantha on the cheek. “Are you going home too?”
“No. I plan to swing by Phileas Beresford’s first. I’ll call
you when I’m home. Please text me when you’re at the
house?”
Darian smiled and nodded. “Of course.”
Before Darian could react, Samantha cupped her cheek
and lightly kissed her on the lips. “Please be safe.”
Darian momentarily forgot how to breathe. “I will,” she
croaked. “You too.”
Samantha stood by her car until Darian had tucked the
backpack into the passenger seat and started the engine.
As Darian drove off, she saw the headlights on Samantha’s
car switch on. Driving toward Brynden 4, Darian wasn’t
thinking about any extraterrestrial creatures. Instead, her
lips burned from Samantha’s chaste kiss.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Samantha stood outside Phileas Beresford’s log house,
another of the remaining original houses from the first
settlers. As she raised her hand to pull the chain hanging by
the door, it opened, and she found herself staring at the
apron-clad man covered in flour.
“Mr. Beresford. I’m—”
“I know. You’re Ms. Pike.” Beresford tsked. “Well, don’t
just stand there. Come in. I’ve got to mind the oven. It’s got
one temperature, and that’s full speed ahead. My cinnamon
rolls need supervision.”
“Thank you, but I meant to say that I’m sorry to disturb
you this late.” Samantha stepped inside and closed the front
door behind her as Beresford hurried into what had to be
the kitchen. It was at the opposite side compared to
Camilla’s house, so perhaps this was a mirrored version.
Hesitantly, Samantha joined him.
“It smells wonderful, Mr. Beresford.”
“Oh, for the love of everything under the sun, call me
Philber. People do it to my face and behind my back
anyway,” Philber grumbled. He bent and peered into the
oven. “If I miss the time by as much as fifteen seconds,
they’ll be positively nuked.”
“Oh, my. That’s some oven.” As far as Samantha could
see, it was the same kind as the old one in Camilla’s or,
rather, Brandon’s kitchen.
“Tell me about it. My mother burned so many pot roasts
over the years, it wasn’t even funny. Here goes!” Flinging
his hands into large oven mittens that looked like welders’
gloves, Philber pulled out the sheet with the buns. “Ah!
Perfect.”
Samantha counted twenty-five buns, baked to perfection,
judging from their golden-brown color.
Philber put the sheet on a grid on the counter and then
turned off the oven. Removing the mittens and the apron,
he pivoted and squinted at Samantha. He was a large bear
of a man, with thinning gray hair. Dressed in green corduroy
pants and a green-and-blue plaid flannel shirt, he looked like
he was more used to plowing than using his brilliant mind
for scholarly work. “Well?”
Samantha blinked but pulled herself together. “Would
you be interested in helping me sort out a complete mystery
that might affect our town for the foreseeable future?”
Philber’s blond, bushy eyebrows rose. “You, Ms. Pike?”
“Samantha, please.”
“You have discovered some mystery, and you think I
have time for that?” Huffing, Philber made a big production
of slapping flour from his hands.
“I’m not the only one involved in this, and considering
that we’ve stumbled onto hard-core artifacts and evidence
that there’s a lot we don’t know about Dennamore, I think
you, as a scientist with a special interest in our town, would
be interested. At least to a degree where you’ll hear us out.”
“Us. I thought you said it was just you?” Philber began
tidying up his kitchen table, but Samantha had the feeling
he wasn’t as disinterested as he made it sound.
“Would you be interested? I’m not sure I should tell you
who else is part of our research group before you at least let
me know that.” Realizing she was baiting him now, using
the word research and also hinting at that he might not get
a chance to learn the details unless he showed genuine
interest, Samantha hoped she sounded as sincere as she
felt.
“By all means. I’m the local expert. And since nobody
outside of Dennamore gives a rat’s ass about this
godforsaken place, then I’m the only expert.”
