Dashiell Hammett, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who'd allegedly believed in ghosts. There were a few others of various genres, plays by Ibsen and George Bernard Shaw, the collected works of Dickens and Shakespeare, a few novels which had spawned movies and movie franchises. Owen selected a book at random, The Dice Man by Luke Reinhart, and was about to retrieve it when the small metallic chiming drew his attention again.
Tucked in among the books was a pendant on a thin chain. He recognized it right away: Lori's necklace . The unicorn hung loose against the clasp, but when he pulled the rest of it free, the crucifix was nowhere to be found. The chain had broken, snapped at three-quarters its length, and was still clasped. The crucifix must have fallen off, lost somewhere in the house. He pulled down a book, with a shiny black cover, that held the chain in place, newer than the rest of the dusty volumes and almost twice as tall as the paperbacks. Then he pushed the others aside to feel around to the back of the dusty shelf for the trinket, but he came up empty-handed.
Maybe she kept it with her , he thought. Ward off evil.
It didn't work though, did it? Why did you put this here? Was it for me to find? Did you make it rattle so I'd find it?
"Are you here with me?" he asked the eerily quiet house, and peered around himself, suddenly certain he'd find Lori standing in the second floor hall, dressed in the damp white gown from his dream. But the house was empty. In the kitchen, the fridge ticked away in place of the stopped clock, while an animal chewed on the underside of the house.
Owen slipped the necklace and pendant into his pocket, then happened to glance down at the table where he'd left the book he'd pulled down to hunt for Lori's crucifix.
It was a notebook. His breath caught in his throat when he recognized the handwriting on the first page. His knees buckled.
" Lori ," he said, dropping down into the recliner. Too excited now to go back to bed, despite his exhaustion, Owen began to read:
June 8, 2014
First things first, I feel I should apologize for how I left things with you and Mom. I was under a lot of stress, and if you read on, you'll understand why—
His heartbeat quickened. She wrote this for me . She'd put it where he might find it, and he'd found the treasure without their usual game of clues. I am on a dusty shelf , he mused, and read on.
—I have so many things to tell you, and hopefully this won't have all been for nothing. It's my first day in the house, but it took a fair bit of recon to get me here. Fisherman's Wharf, they call it. The realtor, with the incredibly silly name of Skip Wickman, told me why they called it that, but I'm sure he's told you, so I won't repeat it here. Needless to say, there's a lot of local colour, and that's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg, I'm sure. I'm looking forward to talking with some of the people who were here before the flood, see what they think of it all. I've got a feeling I should be cautious, though; there's likely still some sour grapes about the whole deal. I mean, wouldn't you be pissed if the government took your home or your farm because it happened to be in a deep enough valley along a river some consultant said would make a suitable source for a hydroelectric dam?
I know talk like this might bug you, Owns, considering you might've had to expropriate land for a few of your own projects. I'm thinking about the wind farm, in particular. I know there's been quite a bit of protest against it, but you have to remember, in cases like that, the end justifies the means . And I guess I should remember that here. They may have lost their land, but because of it, hundreds of thousands of people don't have to rely on fossil fuels to power their smart fridges and cell phones. That's pretty amazing, dontcha think?!
Owen ran a hand through his hair. Having never really looked at the wind farm issue from the community's perspective,
Tucked in among the books was a pendant on a thin chain. He recognized it right away: Lori's necklace . The unicorn hung loose against the clasp, but when he pulled the rest of it free, the crucifix was nowhere to be found. The chain had broken, snapped at three-quarters its length, and was still clasped. The crucifix must have fallen off, lost somewhere in the house. He pulled down a book, with a shiny black cover, that held the chain in place, newer than the rest of the dusty volumes and almost twice as tall as the paperbacks. Then he pushed the others aside to feel around to the back of the dusty shelf for the trinket, but he came up empty-handed.
Maybe she kept it with her , he thought. Ward off evil.
It didn't work though, did it? Why did you put this here? Was it for me to find? Did you make it rattle so I'd find it?
"Are you here with me?" he asked the eerily quiet house, and peered around himself, suddenly certain he'd find Lori standing in the second floor hall, dressed in the damp white gown from his dream. But the house was empty. In the kitchen, the fridge ticked away in place of the stopped clock, while an animal chewed on the underside of the house.
Owen slipped the necklace and pendant into his pocket, then happened to glance down at the table where he'd left the book he'd pulled down to hunt for Lori's crucifix.
It was a notebook. His breath caught in his throat when he recognized the handwriting on the first page. His knees buckled.
" Lori ," he said, dropping down into the recliner. Too excited now to go back to bed, despite his exhaustion, Owen began to read:
June 8, 2014
First things first, I feel I should apologize for how I left things with you and Mom. I was under a lot of stress, and if you read on, you'll understand why—
His heartbeat quickened. She wrote this for me . She'd put it where he might find it, and he'd found the treasure without their usual game of clues. I am on a dusty shelf , he mused, and read on.
—I have so many things to tell you, and hopefully this won't have all been for nothing. It's my first day in the house, but it took a fair bit of recon to get me here. Fisherman's Wharf, they call it. The realtor, with the incredibly silly name of Skip Wickman, told me why they called it that, but I'm sure he's told you, so I won't repeat it here. Needless to say, there's a lot of local colour, and that's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg, I'm sure. I'm looking forward to talking with some of the people who were here before the flood, see what they think of it all. I've got a feeling I should be cautious, though; there's likely still some sour grapes about the whole deal. I mean, wouldn't you be pissed if the government took your home or your farm because it happened to be in a deep enough valley along a river some consultant said would make a suitable source for a hydroelectric dam?
I know talk like this might bug you, Owns, considering you might've had to expropriate land for a few of your own projects. I'm thinking about the wind farm, in particular. I know there's been quite a bit of protest against it, but you have to remember, in cases like that, the end justifies the means . And I guess I should remember that here. They may have lost their land, but because of it, hundreds of thousands of people don't have to rely on fossil fuels to power their smart fridges and cell phones. That's pretty amazing, dontcha think?!
Owen ran a hand through his hair. Having never really looked at the wind farm issue from the community's perspective,
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