The Triangle

by Jennifer Victores

“Viking funeral? Why not!”

  Mark paused a moment and sniffed before the tears started streaming down his face again. “Come with me.”

  Dave shook his head as a small sob escaped him. “You know I can’t leave my family and my friends. This place has become home, more than anywhere else I’ve ever been.”

  “I love you, man.”

  “Love you, too. Now get out of here before we both start blubbering.”

  Mark nodded. “I think we already are.”

  “Come on, Abraham, it’s time for Uncle Mark to go,” Dave said, scooping up the boy. “Past time, actually,” he said, staring at Mark and giving him a small smile.

  “Hopefully even though I got a late start I’ll still get there on time,” Mark said.

  “Godspeed your way my friend. My brother.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “And you,” Dave said.

  They stood for a moment, the achingly painful goodbye too impossible for words. Finally Dave turned and disembarked, hugging his son tightly to his chest.

  Mark watched them go with a heavy heart. And in that moment, he realized the terrible truth.

  For the first time in his life, he was truly alone. And it was very likely that he was about to die alone, as well.

  ~

  Mark set sail. The ship was light and fast, the best that money could buy. It was a fitting chariot to sail him into heaven or hell, depending on which he found out on the sea. He had barely made it to open water when he got his first glimpse of the clouds starting to cover the sun. It was nine in the morning, but it was rapidly becoming as dark as a moonless night.

  Electricity crackled in the air all around him. The faint scent of ozone suggested that lightning had already struck somewhere nearby, though he had seen no flash of light nor heard the boom of thunder. He kept going, even though his heart pounded in fear. As desperately as he wanted to make it back to Sally and the children, he knew there was a large possibility that in moments he would lose everything he had ever worked for or loved. He might even lose his own life.

  The risk was worth it. As long as there was breath in his body, he would keep trying to get back to her. She was his angel, his light, his northern star. Without her, there was nothing. He was nothing, as these last ten years had proven.

  With her, there was everything. At the end of the day, there was no choice to be made.

  He had tried to be more prepared this time. He had packed the boat with a lot of food and emergency supplies. He was also carrying a small fortune in gold doubloons which would serve him well no matter what time period he ended up in. He’d even brought souvenirs for Sally and the children. That had actually been Dave’s idea. The man had more parenting experience now than Mark had and he insisted Mark take home some trinkets, as if he had been on some long, extended business trip and had not been a castaway trapped in the past.

  Forward in time, backward in time, shipwrecked and stranded--he had tried to prepare for every eventuality. At least, as best as anyone could prepare for such a thing. And if the worst should happen…well, he’d prepared for that, too.

  At last he was where he wanted to be, which was, as near as he could tell, close to where he and Dave had been sucked back into time. At least it was, after years of discussion and debate, their best guess as to the exact location.

  He lowered the sails, sat down, pulled his compass out of his pocket, checked it and then began watching the skies. Again the sick, chilling sensation he’d had that morning washed over him, leaving him shaking.

  Something was wrong.

  He tried to tell himself it was just the ocean and atmospheric conditions. He tried to tell himself it was because nature was out of balance thanks to a coming vortex, which was exactly what he was waiting for.

  None of it helped.

  Though ten years had passed, he still remembered the events of their fateful fishing trip with complete clarity. Some things simply couldn’t be forgotten. He still had nightmares about it all and would wake up screaming.

  The wind suddenly stopped. The boat no longer rocked and creaked to its buffeting. The waves had died down with no wind to ruffle them and the ocean was as still as glass. The air hung heavy around him, pressing in against him as though trying to smother him. Each breath became a struggle and he did his best to keep himself calm. Panicking would just make it worse.

  He glanced down at the compass in his hand. The needle was oscillating slowly back and forth as though it couldn’t find north. He sucked in his breath. For the last ten years that he’d been trying to get home, the compass had never behaved in that fashion. It had always been perfectly true north.

  The fog descended without warning. It closed in around him until he could barely make out the compass, which started spinning wildly. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and the scent of ozone became overpowering.

  Here we go.

  25

  Sally had been reading through all of Dave’s books, trying to find more information about what had happened to him and Mark. She also read everything she could find about him as an author. Apparently, he had married a woman named Rosalyn and had a great many children and grandchildren.

  Huh. Who would have thought it?

  She had just about finished reading the last of his books when her phone rang.

  “Mrs. White?” a deep male voice asked.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Frank Howard of the Howard, Prescott, and Stein law firm here in St. Augustine. I’m contacting you on behalf of our firm. Some items have been left in care of our firm for you.”

  “Items? What items?” she asked.

  She’d never heard of the law firm before. They didn’t represent any of Mark’s business interests.

  “I’m still working through all of that. I apologize. We should have reached out to you sooner, but Mr. Prescott, who was in charge of handling these matters, passed away suddenly a couple of months ago. We’re still sorting through all of his files and I wanted to contact you as soon as possible to let you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Would it be possible for you to come up here sometime in the next few days to go over everything? I’ll be up to speed by that time and we can speak about it then.”

  “Um, yes, I believe I can.”

  “Fantastic. Shall we say Thursday at 11 a.m.?”

  “Yes, that will be fine.”

  She wrote down the address he gave her and then hung up. She wondered what on earth they could have that belonged to her.

  Maybe Mark took out a life insurance policy or something and never told me about it, she mused to herself.

  She’d arrange for her parents to watch Emma and Jayne for one day. She planned to book an early morning flight to St. Augustine then fly back the same day so she wouldn’t have to be away overnight.

  ~

  By the time Thursday arrived, Sally’s curiosity was overwhelming her. She was at the airport at 4:30 am. When she arrived in St. Augustine she rented a car and was at the attorney’s office right on time. The secretary showed her right in and she soon found herself sitting across a desk form Mr. Howard. He was an older man with silver hair at his temples and a kindly gaze. He welcomed her warmly.

  “Again, I would sincerely like to apologize on behalf of the entire firm. I’ve gone through all the files, and it appears that Chuck Prescott, one of the partners of the firm, was meant to contact you about six weeks ago. Unfortunately, he was in a car accident eight weeks ago and passed away. He was what we like to call old school, and it took us a while to decipher his personal notes and files. I am very sorry for any difficulty this may have caused.”

  “Can you please just tell me what all this is about?” she asked, wanting to get past the pleasantries and into finding out whatever it was Mark had left her. After all, she didn’t have any relatives in this part of the state. It had to be something to do with Mark.


  “Well, it appears a relative of yours somehow anticipated your…existence…and left a significant estate for you.”

  It was an odd way to phrase it, and his expression was a little bewildered.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” he admitted.

  “Can you tell me what the estate is?”

  “I think it’s better if I show it to you, if that would be okay with you.”

  It all felt very mysterious, but something about the man seemed quite earnest.

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “Great. We’re going two blocks. Would you like to drive or walk?”

  “Walk,” she said.

  He nodded, and three minutes later they were outside heading down the street.

  “This is the oldest part of town,” he said. “This law firm is actually the oldest in the state. It was founded by one of my ancestors and his business partner, who was Chuck’s ancestor.”

  “That’s a lot of history,” she said, admiring the architecture of the buildings they walked by. “My husband and I used to come here for a weekend getaway every once in a while.”

  Memories flooded her. She and Mark had walked this street a dozen times.

  “There’s one house up here we always loved to look at,” she said. “I always thought it helped inspire some of his architectural designs.”

  The truth was that when they were first married, they used to daydream about someday moving here and buying that house. They would make up stories about the people who lived there and what their lives were like. By the time they’d had enough money to even think about doing something like that, they’d both been well-established in their careers and lives in Miami.

  They crossed the street. Halfway up the block, she slowed as the house came into view. It tugged at her heart as all the memories of their daydreams came flooding back to her.

  “Here we are,” Frank said, stopping in front of the house.

  “Here we are what?” she asked.

  He gestured to the house. “This is yours.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, sure she hadn’t heard him right.

  “This house was willed to you.”

  “This house?”

  “Yes.”

  “This house was willed to me?”

  “Yes, Mrs. White, it was.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “By whom?”

  “The house’s builder and original owner.”

  “What? How is that possible? I thought this house was really old.”

  “One hundred and fifty years old.”

  “Then how could this have been willed to me?”

  “That is one of many mysteries surrounding this entire transaction. Why don’t we discuss it inside,” he said.

  He produced a key from his pocket/ He unlocked the entrance gate and she followed him up the steps to the front door. He unlocked it and they went inside. The foyer was beautiful, with polished marble everywhere. He closed the door and then led her into a formal living room. All of the furniture in it was antique and looked as if it was the original furniture in the house.

  He motioned her to a seat on one of the chairs and took a seat himself. He laced his fingers together and leaned forward.

  “As I understand it, in September 1877, the owner of this house sat down with his attorney, the original Mr. Prescott, and made his final arrangements. He revealed to William Prescott that he was going to be taking a voyage and was concerned about what would happen if he didn’t make it back. He stipulated that his entire estate, including this house, was to go into trust for Sally White. Your birthdate and address were given. He told William something that is only referenced in the papers as the Secret of The Guardians. Whatever it was it convinced William to help him. He apparently passed the file and The Secret down to his son, who then passed it on to his son all the way down to Chuck. In his appointment book, Chuck had written down Sally White – Secret of The Guardians on September 17th. It took us until a few days ago to find your file. He had it in a personal safe no one else in the office knew about.”

  “So what is the Secret of The Guardians?” Sally asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. It looks like it was never written down, only passed on verbally. What I can give you is the deed to this house and ownership papers related to a number of other properties and bank accounts. There’s also some papers that I’ll be giving you.”

  Her mouth had gone completely dry and her heart was beating painfully fast. “The original owner, what was his name?”

  “Mark Gregory White.”

  “That’s my husband!” she gasped.

  26

  Sally was shaking from head to toe. It was Frank’s turn to stare at her. “What do you mean he was your husband?”

  “Mark Gregory White was my husband. He disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle a few weeks ago, on September 16th. His ship was named The Guardians.”

  Frank passed a hand over his face and muttered something under his breath.

  “You don’t believe me,” she said.

  “No, actually, I think I just might. I’ve seen some strange things in my time. But this… How many children do you have?”

  “Two girls and I’m pregnant with our third child,” she said.

  “Come with me,” he said, standing and walking toward the foyer.

  He began to speak as they walked through the house. “Mark Gregory White’s life was fairly well-documented for ten years. Nothing is known about him before he showed up in St. Augustine, rescued off a deserted island by a fisherman along with a friend of his who became a famous local author. Mark White never married, so when I was inventorying the house I found something that seemed rather strange to me.”

  He led her into a study with a large, carved desk. He stopped and pointed to a portrait on the wall. It was massive, at least five feet tall, of a family dressed all in mid-nineteenth century clothing.

  “When you showed up in my office, I thought it was an uncanny coincidence, but now I’m thinking it’s not,” Frank said.

  She stared up at the portrait. There were five people in it. There was Mark, Emma, Jayne, and her, and in her arms was a baby.

  She sank to her knees, and as she hit the ground, she noticed the mosaic tile that dominated the floor in the room. It was two intertwined hearts, exactly like the two intertwined hearts Mark had made for their bedroom.

  Mark had made it.

  She knew it as surely as if he was standing there telling her it was him.

  “Are you okay?”

  She heard Frank’s voice coming from what seemed like a great distance.

  “My husband, he made all this. He made it for me. He’s never coming home.”

  Frank frowned in concern. “I’ll give you a few minutes. I’ll be in the other room when you need me. I believe he left something for you in the desk.”

  She listened for Frank’s footsteps to retreat before moving. She sat there shaking in the middle of the intertwined hearts. The house they’d always loved had been theirs all along.

  She finally got up and made it to the desk, where she fell heavily into the chair. She stared ahead at the room. This was the view Mark would have seen for years.

  How many years?

  When had he died?

  The questions began to burn within her, one followed by another.

  How did he die?

  Frank had said something about the desk. She opened the drawers but found nothing other than faded paper and some quill pens. Finally, the bottom door on the right revealed a safe. She stared at it for a moment. Then she slowly spun the dials, using their anniversary as the combination.

  The lock clicked and she opened the door, which creaked from age and disuse. She reached inside and pulled out a very old book. She set it carefully in the middle of the desk.

  For a moment she just stared at it, fascinated. It mesmerized her so that she c
ouldn’t look away. It also terrified her. She didn’t want to open it, but she knew that she had to.

  She took a deep breath and opened the cover. There on the first page in Mark’s handwriting was a simple message.

  To my beloved, Sally, this is my account of everything I have done to get back to you. Forever yours, Mark.

  She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes so that they wouldn’t fall on the pages and mar them.

  She turned to the next page.

  January 4, 1867

  Just writing that date is hard to do. It seems impossibly hard to believe that some horrific twist of fate has thrown Dave and I into the past. It is our hope that we might find a way back to our own time through an encounter with a similar storm. Truth be told, we don’t know if it was the storm or the fog or which of the supernatural elements we encountered were the actual cause of our time-traveling. We don’t even know if we can get the phenomenon to repeat, whether it would even put us back in our own time or just throw us even farther back into the past.

  We must try.

  Dave’s foot is healing from the break. He is almost well. As soon as he is, we will borrow a boat and head back out onto the sea.

  January 23, 1867

  The storm we encountered was horrific, but just a normal storm. Our boat was smashed to bits and Dave saved my life. We agreed that we have to acquire money to fund our expeditions, as we don’t know how long it will take to encounter the anomaly again, and we’re fairly certain no one else around here is likely to lend us another boat.

  I can’t express my anguish over being parted from Sally, Emma, Jayne, and the baby. Sally is pregnant. I can feel it. I can feel her. The only other times this has happened were when she was pregnant with Emma and Jayne. That’s why I’m so certain. It kills me that I’m not there with all of them. I swear when I make it back I’ll never leave Sally’s side again, not even for an hour.

  The pages went on and on, hundreds of them. Some had sketches and snatches of poetry. Many had the intertwined hearts on corners. She would go through it all later, cherish every word written. Now, though, she had to know. She flipped to the last entry.