Shadow Cave (5 page)

“
Well, telling her you guys were going on a
two
day
hiking
-
camping trip would have been a good start.
”

“
Oh my
God
.
”
I choked on my drink.
“
That
’
s right
,
we didn
’
t tell her.
How could I have forgotten that?
”
I murmured.
My thoughts strayed to Mike
’
s notes again
, to
what he
’
d written at the end of the first book, about me and Indian summers.
I remembered our hike through the woods that day, so long ago
,
yet so clear now that Megan and I were talking about it.

“
He was always looking for the next adventure.
I guess I was too, at that age
,
”
I mused.
“
I remember we walked for what seemed like forever that day.
We ended up climbing this big
,
sturdy old tree.
We shared a candy bar and a bottle of warm soda that we had smuggled into our backpacks the night before.
Said we were on this great adventure
; we
were on our way to slay a horrible dragon.
”
I laughed.
“
We were going to a castle high on a hill to slay the dragon
,
of course.
Only our dragon wasn
’
t green and he didn
’
t breathe fire.
He was this
were
-dragon who spit poison.
One hit and bam
,
you died.
But the
were
-dragon could shape shift and look like anyone most of the time to trick his unsuspecting victims.
”

“
God, you guys had imagination
s
.
”
Megan shook her head.

“
Yes. What imagination
s,
”
I murmured.

***

I spent the next three days poring over Mike
’
s notebooks.
I have to say not much of it made sense.
For the most part, I stood by my earlier assessment that Mike had apparently developed a fondness for fairy tales.
The notebooks were a very detailed story about a…a what?
A made
up land?
The land was under the rule of
—
what else
—
an evil force of some sort.
Neither Mike
’
s research nor the pages and pages about the legend mentioned anything about princesses or good triumphing evil.
For that I was immensely grateful.
The whole thing sounded hokey enough.
I closed the last book and sat back, propping one foot on the windowsill and enjoying the view.
I would have twirled the pen around my hands, but my fingers were so badly cramped I didn
’
t think that I would so much as hold a pen again anytime soon.

So the suit brigade thought that Mike time travelled to this mythological land.
Right.
Try as I might, I still couldn
’
t wrap my head around that theory.
That was probably because, well
—
it was crazy.
Part of me kept expecting my brother to pop out of a closet, yell
‘
surprise
,
’
and tell me this was all a big prank.
Mike loved pranks and jokes more than most people I knew.
There were only two things wrong with that idea.
John wasn
’
t funny
,
and no one would go to this much trouble for a laugh.

I glanced down at the box of notebooks in the corner of the sitting room and shook my head, resigned.
No, an entire box of notes written in code was not a joke.
Whatever was going on and wherever Mike had taken off to was serious enough to him.
So I would take it seriously as well.
I couldn
’
t afford to forget, though, that my number one priority was tracking down Mike.
Not for a second did I believe that he time travelled his way to far and distant lands.
No, there had to be a more logical explanation that that
...there
just had to be.
Actually, I wasn
’
t sure if time travelled was even the right track.
His notes hadn
’
t mentioned anything about that.
In fact, he hadn
’
t mentioned anything at all about going to the land he described or about how one would even begin to go about that.
I could see his desire and his curiosity, though.

I shook my head again, frowning as I sat back and tried to think about things that were more solid than alternate universes.
I thought back once more to the last night I had seen my brother.
His visit had been short and tense.
No, I corrected, not so much tense as scared.
Mike had looked scared.
I realized that for what it was now, although I didn
’
t think much of it at the time. He was cryptic, I recalled
; said
he was leaving on
an
expedition for an extended period of time
;
gave
me the spare key to his apartment
;
looked over his shoulder again
;
smiled
,
and left.
The key.

Actually, it was several keys on a thin silver ring.
I dashed into my bedroom and yanked the drawer open to grab them.
I wondered what the other keys were.
I knew the largest medium sized key on the ring was to his apartment
,
b
ut I never asked him what the other two were for.
Under more ordinary circumstances, I wouldn
’
t have thought that detail was important.
Now, however, I was beginning to realize that every bit of information counted.
It all pointed to something.
Like a trail of breadcrumbs through a forest, Mike had left clues for me to follow.
I checked the clock on the nightstand.
It was eleven o
’
clock at night.
What the heck
, I shrugged and grabbed my keys and jacket.

***

“
The plot thickens.
”
I announced to no one in particular an hour later.
I had to leap over several piles of laundry to get to the light switch in the apartment.
I blinked at the bright light and surveyed the place in shock.
It was a mess.
Everywhere I looked there were piles of papers, newspapers, clothing, and various odds and ends.
Dishes were piled in the sink.
I shook my head, trying not to think about how long they must have been sitting there.
Months.
Gross.
The condition of the apartment would make my search all the more difficult.

Yet a couple of things occurred to me just then.
The first was that Mike was not a messy person.
The second was that the apartment didn
’
t stink
—not
even a faint unpleasant odor lingered in the air.
I walked over to the kitchen sink and carefully lifted a plate between two fingers for inspection.
Clean.
I dug deeper to find that the rest of the dishes piled in the chrome sink were also clean.

I picked up a shirt from the nearest laundry pile and sniffed, dropping it back down with smug satisfaction.
So someone had gotten to the place before me.
I had to admit whoever scoured the place did a fairly good job of covering their tracks.
To the casual onlooker, it would look as if Mike was simply a lousy housekeeper, the typical bachelor.
At first glance it didn
’
t appear that the place had really been ransacked.

I froze
.
Belatedly I wondered if whoever had searched the place before me had gone.
“
Shit.
”
I whispered.
“
Well, this is a fine time
,
”
I muttered.
My eyes scanned the kitchen, looking in vain for some kind of weapon.
I was imagining gun toting thugs around every corner, so the kitchen knife I grabbed didn
’
t bring me a whole lot of relief.
I dropped it on the Formica table with a bang.

“
Quiet
,
”
I reminded myself.
Without giving myself any more time to think on the virtues of a suitable weapon, I grabbed the nearest frying pan
,
which conveniently still hung from a rack over the oven, and left the kitchen.
I paused in the hallway, sparing a glance at the door.
It occurred to me that there were no other doors along the hallway.
It was just a long
entryway
with the front door at the end of it from where I stood, shaking in my sneakers.
I could just run like hell for that door and come back some other time.
Say, tomorrow when it wasn
’
t twelve thirty in the morning and pitch black outside.

I looked longingly at that door.
I would be safe in my car and on my way home to a bath and a warm bed.
All I had to do was run.
It really was the sensible thing to do.

I pushed my shoulders back and took a deep breath, and turned toward the living room.
Mike wouldn
’
t run I reminded myself as calmly as I could.
Besides, I comforted, if there had been anyone left in the apartment they probably would have finished me off about ten minutes ago while I was ignorantly sniffing the dinner plates in the kitchen.
So I was reasonably safe.
I hoped.

I jumped around every corner of the apartment
—
thank
God
there weren
’
t many.
Each time I brandished my frying pan like a ninja in a bad movie.
Nothing.
I quit holding my breath and dropped down onto the chair in Mike
’
s bedroom.

“
All clear
;
ok
ay
, so...
.
”
I looked around, wondering where to start.
In the end I decided to start by cleaning up the place.
I know it sounds crazy, but I just couldn
’
t stand to see the apartment in such a state of disarray.
It wasn
’
t what Mike would have wanted.
He was a very tidy person.
Not quite fanatic
al
, but close.
I smiled.

Plus, I, who has never been referred to as a cleaning fanatic or organized for that matter, have always found that once you start to clean your house, you find things.
It
’
s true.
You find all sorts of interesting items when you put things away and deep clean a space.
Car keys, lipstick, money, half eaten
...
ah, maybe that was just me…once.
Okay, twice.
Anyway
, I figured that was my best chance of finding anything useful.
And when Mike came back, I was sure he would greatly appreciate my setting things to right.
He was coming back.
I had to believe that.

Two hours later, I stood cursing in the middle of a very clean floor.
My search had turned up absolutely nothing that stood out as odd or unusual.
Books, papers, clothes a couple of candles and some incense did very little to crack the mystery of what in the hell had happened all those months ago and what was going on now.
I
didn
’
t
know what I expected.
I stretched and looked around again.
I guess I had hoped he left me a letter or a note
, something
in plain English that explained what was going on.
But I already knew it wouldn
’
t be that easy.