New Beginnings by Marcia Gaines
Chapter Two
"Mrs. Frederic. You're alive." Artie's voice was filled with awe. Mrs. Frederic died the same day as the Warehouse explosion, her death seemingly tied directly to that event in some unknown way.
"Yes," was her only response. "And now we have work to do." She laid a manila folder on the desk and flipped open the file.
"But… but, how?" asked Leena as she intently studied Mrs. Frederic's face. "We watched you die."
"Wait!" Claudia's face filled with excitement. "If you're alive does that mean Steve is alive, too?"
Mrs. Frederick turned her gaze to Claudia, as she spoke. "Not all deaths are as they seem." Claudia's face fell and she swore under her breath. She and Steve were as close as Myka and Pete, and she did not accept the finality of the circumstances until Johann Maelzel's Metronome failed to bring him back. She hoped it would extend his life in the same way it had for Marcus Diamond, but when it did not she realized the Metronome could only extend life rather than restore it.
"Then how?" asked Leena as she studied Mrs. Frederic's face intently.
"That is not important." She said flatly.
"The hell it isn't!" exclaimed Pete. "You died, lady. You shriveled up like an old prune and…" he stopped when Mrs. Frederic stared at him. "Died…" he finished before adding meekly, "I'm, I'm, you know. I'm just sayin…" he turned to Myka and whispered emphatically, "I hate it when she gives me "scary-eye", it's just creepy." Myka gave him a sympathizing look.
"All you need to know is precautions were taken before I arrived at Leena's." She placed a small corroded metal object next to the open file. "Strong precautions."
Artie gasped and leaned over the desk to carefully eye the ancient bronze curiosity. "Of course." He said thoughtfully, "The Antikythera Mechanism." He gave her a quick look of concern.
"The Anti-whatitha?" asked Pete. He looked from Mrs. Frederic to Artie, his confusion was more than evident on his face.
"The Antikythera Mechanism," repeated Artie. "No one knows where it came from originally. It was recovered from an ancient shipwreck near Crete in 1900." He grabbed a purple glove and held it out as he spoke. "The writing on the outer case dates it circa 2nd Century B.C., but tests determined it had working gears inside that could not possibly have existed before The Renaissance." He examined the artifact more closely. Claudia's interests were piqued by the mechanical implications and she moved in for a closer look.
"Wicked," she said with appreciation. "The mechanics of this thing are seriously complex. It's like looking at the first analog computer." No one else understood the implication so she added, "It's like you're Barney Rubble and somehow you managed to put together an iPod."
"Ah!" Pete and Myka said in unison.
Artie moved his glasses to get a better look at the object and expounded further, "Years ago we thought it primarily helped calculate astronomical movements…" his voice trailed off as he continued his examination. A moment later he continued, "But it turns out it did much more than that. The precise movements of the gears helped it align not just to the stars, but also to someone's personal electro-magnetic field." He sat back and finished his thought, "Essentially, it has the ability to protect a person, in some way we have yet to fully understand, from an artifact-induced death… but at a terrible cost to the person using it." He gave Mrs. Frederic a long look. "It shortens the person's lifespan by decades." He grew somber as he spoke and directed a question to Mrs. Frederic. "How many years did you lose?" he asked.
"More than I care to know," she answered. "Suffice it to say there is no time to waste." She picked up a photograph from the open file and handed it to him. He turned his attention to it as he sat in his chair. The photograph looked to be taken in the early 1940s. Two of the men were older and wore dark suits and fedoras and were holding cigars. The third man was younger and was dressed in a military uniform in use during World War 2. He wore dark horn-rimmed glasses, and his nameplate said "Jones". The woman's face was obscured by smoke from the cigars, but she had long wavy hair and wore an elegant looking evening dress.
"What's this?" he asked inquisitively.
"We are looking for an artifact, a locker, belonging to this man." She pointed at the photograph. "Former Corporal, David Q. Jones the 4th." She answered.
"Wait. Seriously?" inquired Claudia. "David Jones' locker? As in Davy Jones' Locker? You're kidding me, right?" She glanced at Pete who raised his eyebrows.
"I do not kid, Ms. Donovon," responded Mrs. Frederic. Claudia pursed her lips in response. "It is essential we recover that locker. Lives depend upon it."
"Okay," said Myka in a drawn out tone. "Where do we start? What does it do? Whose lives depend on it?" Her questions came out rapid-fire as she walked over to Artie and looked over his shoulder at the photograph.
"Davy Jones' Locker has been around since the 1600s. Earliest known references to it come from nautical legends and memoirs of old sailors and pirates," Artie said. "It's been on the most-wanted list for Warehouses since the days of Warehouse 11 in Melbourne."
"Hah. G'day matey, argh!" joked Pete in a mimicking voice. Claudia stifled a laugh and Myka rolled her eyes. "What? C'mon, like I was the only one thinking it," he said.
"You were," Artie retorted.
"Where you start is with the current address of Mr. Jones, Agent Bering" said Mrs. Frederic. "I assume Ms. Donovon can assist you with that?" she said in a questioning tone as she looked at Claudia.
"Can I assist with that? Dude, does Mario want a one-up?" Claudia replied, and immediately began typing on her laptop. A few moments later she announced an address located in Valencia, California.
"Okay, so we're off to California," said Pete. "Care to fill us in on what this thing does besides hold old clothes and smell like seawater?"
"The Locker stores the souls of all who have died as a result of an artifact." Artie stated without hesitation.
"Whoa." Said Claudia. "That's gotta be one seriously full Locker."
"Yeah, but if all it does is store souls, how does someone's life depend on us getting it? I mean, isn't the person whose soul is in there already dead?" Pete asked with a confused look.
"Yes, Agent Lattimer, you are correct. The Locker stores souls of those who have already died. As for the lives depending upon your successful retrieval, that information won't really matter until we have the Locker back here." Mrs. Frederic finished her sentence and looked at Myka and Pete expectantly. Her look indicated they should begin their preparations for the trip to California.
"Right. Well, okay, I guess we're off to Val-en-ci-a" he said, emphasizing each syllable. Myka stared at him. "What? I just like the way it sounds. Val-en-ci-a. Try it." She shook her head and walked toward the door to the inner-Warehouse.
"I'll meet you in a minute; I just want to take care of something." She gave him a quick smile and walked out of the office onto the catwalk and down the flight of stairs to the floor. A few minutes later she located the containment area in the center of the Warehouse. She stood outside and reminisced back to the day of the explosion and let the memories fill her mind. She remembered the sense of dread she had when H.G. Wells asserted her intention to allow Pete to destroy the Janus Coin. The idea of losing such an incredible person was something that still hit her hard. It may have only been a few months ago, but it still felt like a lifetime since those events. I could never have done it, she thought, I could never have let Pete destroy that coin. She took in a deep breath as she considered her intentions when she double-backed that day in the forest.
Luckily she never had to confront Pete or force the confrontation over the coin. By the time she returned to where she left him, a whole different scenario was playing itself out in the clearing. A twinge of guilt swept through her as she remembered how grateful she felt when she found out Marcus and Steve recovered the coin – knowing H.G. would survive meant more to her than trying to prevent Sykes from fulfilling his plan. If only I had known what his plan really was, she thought. Would I have made a different choice? Myka did not know the answer to her question, and it troubled her to realize she may have still made the same decisions.
She ended up losing H.G. anyway, and the only comfort in the memory was in knowing H.G. made the choice willingly. Whatever doubt anyone might have had about her in that moment, her sacrifice for the sake of another did not go unnoticed. Even Artie softened his position, though whether that was from a new appreciation for her strength of character or from the freedom he had to no longer worry about her intentions remained to be seen. For Myka, though, the memory of H.G.'s smile, and the connection they shared in those final moments were with her forever.
She felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes she always felt when she thought of that day, and she reached into her left-pocket without thinking. The locket always calmed her in such moments, and this was no exception. She felt the metal against her finger just as the first tear fell. Somehow standing in front of the location where H.G. died made everything feel so much more intense, and she wondered whether it was a good idea to enter. She closed her eyes and instinctively wrapped her hand around the locket.
"Ow!" she exclaimed, and pulled her hand out of the pocket. A small red bead dotted her left index finger. "Damn," she muttered and sucked at the drop of blood. It had already stopped bleeding, but she inspected her finger anyway before gingerly reaching into the pocket, again. Her fingers brushed the side of the locket and she found the offending point that pricked her. A small area on one of the corners was damaged. The Philosopher's Stone, she thought. It hit me on my left side. She expanded her fingers against the pocket and felt a small hole. Yep, that's what did it. She made a mental note to file the edge down in order to prevent another injury.
Myka took another look at the containment area and decided with how intensely she was emotionally reeling that this was, perhaps, not the best time to try to confront her feelings about losing H.G.; just standing here was more difficult than she imagined. As she walked away she saw the image of H.G. moments before the explosion as it invaded her thoughts. The sadness in H.G.'s eyes, Myka's realization she was about to lose her, and the horrific moment when Myka saw the flash of light – the memories triggered her deepest emotions and they washed over her with such pointedness she had to stop walking in order to support herself against one of the shelves. She closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing, but it took a few minutes before the flood of images dissipated. She looked back at the containment area and sighed. "Goodbye, Helena," she said as she turned and headed back to prepare for her upcoming mission.
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