Ms. Sinclair pushed Milo out of the elevator and shut the door swiftly behind him. Alarmed, he turned around and caught sight of her gently waving at him before she disappeared into the floor. Milo had never felt more alone.
The room he had been left in was tall and dark. A fish tank of some sort spanned almost an entire wall. Opposite the tank was a fireplace with a massive painting above it. It depicted two men, shanking hands. One of the men in the painting bore a striking resemblance to Milo's grandfather.
"Grandpa?" he said aloud, as though the painting should respond to him.
"Finest explorer I ever met," answered a voice from the darkness.
Milo jumped and searched for the source of the voice. A small man with tufts of white hair sat cross-legged on a mat by the fireplace. He introduced himself as Preston Whitmore while doing various yoga poses.
"Did you really know my grandfather?" Milo asked. He winced as Mr. Whitmore cracked his toes.
"Oh, yeah. Met old Thaddeus back in Georgetown. Class of '66. We stayed close friends 'til the end of his days."
Milo felt more at ease since the man, although strange, knew his grandfather. He glanced up at the painting again and smiled.
"Thatch was crazy as a fruit bat, he was. He spoke of you often," continued Mr. Whitmore.
"Funny. He…he never mentioned you."
"Oh, he wouldn't," Mr. Whitmore laughed, turning over and lifting himself into a handstand. His robe flopped down over his face. "He knew how much I liked my privacy. I keep a low profile-"
"Mr. Whitmore, should I be wondering why I'm here?" Milo interrupted. The since of peace he'd felt moments before was quickly melting into frustration.
"Look on that table," Mr. Whitmore said. He climbed off his mat and walked behind a changing screen.
On the small table next to Mr. Whitmore's yoga mat was a large rectangular parcel. It was addressed to Milo. He gasped quietly and picket it up.
"It's…it's from my grandfather."
"He brought that package to me years ago. He said if anything were to happen to him, I should give it to you when you were ready," said Mr. Whitmore. He poked his head out from behind the screen and added "whatever that means."
Nervous, Milo unwrapped the parcel. Inside, he found a book with a swirled insignia on the top. He could hardly breathe.
"It can't be," Milo said, looking at the painting of his grandfather once more. "It's the Shepherd's Journal."
Eleanor positioned herself behind the fish tank. She was trying to decide when to make an appearance. This evening was not about her, but she knew that as soon as she revealed herself, the dynamics would change.
Be gentle, Grandpa, she thought desperately. Don't scare him away.
She listened to the conversation through the glass, only catching a few words.
"…a fake."
"My grandfather would have known…I will stake everything…"
Eleanor rolled her eyes. This hiding place would not work. She stepped around the fish tank and settled herself behind a fern in a tall pot. She felt as though she were a little girl again, playing hide-and-seek with her grandfather.
"I'll get funding. I mean, I'll…the museum!" Milo stuttered. She could tell that he was once again fueled by the passion for Atlantis that he'd had earlier that day.
"They'll never believe you," Grandpa said calmly. She could see his smirk through the leaves.
Milo only faltered for a minute.
"I'll show them. I will make them believe!"
"Like you did today…"
"Yes! Well, no. How did you…" Milo stopped. "How did you know about that?"
Eleanor held her breath. She could hardly hear over the blood rushing to her ears.
"Your grandfather wanted me to give you that package when you were ready," Grandpa started. He raised out of the chair and looked into the fish tank. "How would I know when you were ready if I didn't keep an eye on you?"
"You mean…you mean you've been spying on me?"
That was her cue. Eleanor rose and stepped out from behind the fern. Milo was so angry, though, that he didn't even see her.
"No, Milo," she said hesitantly. "I've been spying on you."