Dateline: Atlantis

by LYNN VOEDISCH

  “Did they ever find out what happened to Cruz out there?” She still is certain that vital parts of the story are missing. The Navy already bought an uneasy truce with her by promising not to prosecute Thorgeld, Shoshanna, and her in exchange for no mention of the Nav-Tech tower in anything they write. It’s against all her principles, but she has no choice but to agree. She hopes Sybil never finds out. But she will. The good part is that the Navy will allow Amaryllis to keep the digital chips with their murky images of the tower’s engravings. She just has to say they are from “somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle.”

  “Cruz,” Danny says, as if uttering a curse word. “What a scumbag. He had a rap sheet a mile long and so many aliases I couldn’t keep them all straight. His body washed up on a beach south of town. Witnesses said he was on the launch when Pitch set off to sea. Guess the murder count goes up for Pitch.”

  “Three homicides to prosecute then,” she says, hoping for a cool breeze to swirl in from the ocean.

  “Nuh-uh, not me. The FBI’s doing all that. I’m rid of it. My sole role was to bring you home safe as a pearl.” He looks over at her for a second, his brows squeezed together.

  “I’d like to strangle that Gabriel character,” he continues. His sanguine mood isn’t wearing off, and Amaryllis puts a hand to her perspiring forehead.

  “He didn’t do anything to me, Donny,” she says, trying not to show her lying eyes. “He’s the one who showed me the ruins in the first place. But he was just obsessed with that crystal. He can’t let go.”

  “Yes, I know.” Donny is silent for a few frozen seconds, and her mind races for answers to this new puzzling mood. “I know, because he held the crystal, too. That’s quite a remarkable piece of quartz you discovered. Every person who touches it leaves an imprint. I know what Gabriel was all about.”

  Now, she suffers a burning heat spreading across her face. “Maybe you can explain him to me then,” she mumbles, looking down at the leather car seat.

  They move into a clear lane nearly free of traffic, and Donny’s shoulder muscles lose their rigid set. He reaches over and squeezes her hand.

  “I have to say that it told me more about your parents than the FBI ever did. I saw their whole story in that globe. And there always was a small, worried girl in the background.”

  Amaryllis looks at him with surprise, but he is busy turning into the lot of their hotel. He leaps out of the car when they reach the valet and accepts the small piece of paper in return.

  “I’ll tell you all about it inside,” he says and then runs around the car and opens the passenger door and helps her onto the curb. “Or, I should say, the crystal and I will tell you together.”

  #

  Donny’s room is enormous as tourist accommodations go. Beyond the king-sized bed is a bathroom with a Jacuzzi, a bathtub, and a separate shower stall. A walk-in closet stands nearby, although Amaryllis can’t imagine having enough clothing in her suitcase to fill a space that vast. Donny’s business suits and dress shirts hang in an orderly row on one side.

  She turns on the plush carpeting and sees Donny pouring a drink of designer water for her. She is still too dehydrated for any alcohol, so he joins her in a hearty glass of H2O.

  “I think I learned more about myself than I did about your parents,” he says as he reaches into a drawer and retrieves the globe. He holds it so that it catches light from the window and turns golden yellow. “It’s an amazing device; it’s a storage unit, but it learns, too. The minute someone touches it, it links your mind with everyone else who has held it. And that means you have access to their research and designs…”

  “…And their dreams,” Amaryllis finishes for him. “And yet some people seem completely unfazed by it. There was a Mexican policeman…”

  “I saw him, too, through your eyes. He probably didn’t know what he was seeing when he picked it up. Some people can will themselves to be blind to extraordinary things.”

  Donny sits on the bed and stares straight ahead, his face a blur of changing emotions. Amaryllis sips her water until he’s ready to communicate with her.

  “You see, when I was growing up, I just had Mom—and she was always working,” he says. “What was a mother to me, except someone who sacrifices? And my father, I wanted to blow his brains out at the first available opportunity. I even bought a handgun for that express purpose.”

  Amaryllis shrinks back at this astonishing admission. As a child, Donny had been dancing with his demons far more than she had realized.

  “But your uncle and Freya,” he continues. “They provided me with a template of a functional family. Still, deep down, I didn’t think I knew what love was until this.”

  He places her hand on the orb, and she surrenders to the familiar whirring of the ordinary world and the sensation of a holographic movie surrounding her. A strange music plays behind her eardrums. All about her are images of her parents writing, teaching classes, researching in the library and the lab.

  The blonde woman is holding a small child, and the tall man is talking about a trip he must take into the field.

  He will return to take care of her. She laughs and says she’ll manage fine by herself.

  The scene whirls, and the woman is surrounded by flames. It’s the middle of the night, and the woman comes down the stairs, screaming. The home office is an inferno, papers turning to ash in seconds, artifacts sinking into the soot, books burning red like logs in a fireplace. The child is crying. The woman grabs her and phones the fire department. “Where are you?”

  “I’m always there to protect you. Always there.” By the time she has makes the phone call, the fire rages to other rooms, burning furniture blocking the door. She hears the firefighters but doesn’t think they will make it in time. The heat is cooking the mother and child alive.

  “Take it,” yells a man’s voice and the woman reaches out to grab a hand. The man reaches across the burning debris and pulls both the woman and the tiny child to safety. His arm is burned, but he ignores the pain. He only holds his family close, saying over and over he knew there was a reason he returned home early.

  Donny removes Amaryllis’ hand with a gentle touch.

  “Do you want to see to the end?”

  She nods her head, not sure if she has the stomach to watch.

  “Just think your way there.”

  Bubbles mingle under the sea, ascending to the surface as the explorers travel downward. The light dims as they approach an undersea temple. They trace the lines of writing together. The woman nods her head—this is the one. They swim about the periphery, suddenly finding a doorway. There is a wash of sand, schools of fish, and discarded shells as a force pushes them deeply into the structure.

  A villain, lean as a whippet, backs away toward the doorway, as the man advances on him with his diving knife. More swirling and washed-up detritus mar the scene. Then the man stands unarmed as the door closes upon the couple. In the murderer’s hand is the knife, inscribed with K.L. in the hilt.

  The blackness drops upon them like a coating of opaque paint. It smothers their silent screams as they flail to find each other’s arms. Yet, a light peeks like a tiny child through the gloom, slowly growing in boldness and offering a bit of hope. At first, their movement is frantic, uncontrolled, beating like a crazed drum on a door that won’t budge. But as time dribbles away, the bodies sink to the seafloor—spent, doomed. He takes her hand and holds it close to his heart. They both think with one mind: our love is enduring, for our child exists. Then, the black takes over, becoming unforgiving night.

  “No,” Amaryllis says as she pulls her hand from the jewel. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

  “Don’t worry,” Donny says coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. “There is no more to see.”

  He turns her around and gazes into her eyes. “I learned what I never knew about love from those scenes and many more that came before these. That’s why I came back to Florida. I, like your father, was never going
to let the love of my life go without a fight.”

  Her stomach quickens as she recognizes the adoration that shines from Donny’s eyes. It matches her own thoughts with exquisite symmetry.

  “Let’s see what else it can tell us,” she says, swallowing deeply.

  Donny holds out the crystal, beckoning Amaryllis to move forward. She touches it with both hands and, in an instant, the hotel room is gone and she sees everything in Donny’s mind. She senses his thoughts snapping through his brain, his dreams nestling in the dark background, his physical needs pressing at the edges of his skin. Together, they see a large landmass, standing high above the sea. It’s the area they now call the Bahamas, Cuba, Hispaniola, and a wide swath of land leading to the Yucatan. It’s all above water, all forming one massive island.

  To the east are other large islands. Where the Azores stand, now is a mighty kingdom, linked islands, filled with seaports. The Canary Islands are a larger country, as are the Cape Verde Islands and other landmasses near Spain. What some call Atlantis was nothing more than the submerged coastlines of our modern world. Amaryllis thinks, we’ve found the answer.

  Look around you and you will see us everywhere.

  She opens her eyes and watches Donny. She knows he has seen all that was revealed to her.

  Look for us everywhere. To forget us is to doom us.

  They put down the crystal and fall with closed eyes to the bed. She has never felt as much sweetness as she senses emanating from this man, her Adonis. She slips into his arms, and they begin to make love without effort, their bodies gliding together, their every move as natural as the rising of the dawn. Without a word, they seal their coupling with a promise, bounded in spirit, that they never shall leave each other. The crystal consecrates their love, and after exhausting themselves physically, they drop into the sweetest sleep of their lives. The sleep of requited rapture.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: OUT OF AMNESIA

  Fiona and Amaryllis have nearly killed a bottle of wine when the cell phone goes off. Amaryllis doesn’t even guess as to who it is.

  “What now?” she says into the mouthpiece. She really shouldn’t drink. It goes to her head so fast and makes her a bit of a brat.

  “When were you planning to tell me you were home?” Wright barks. “I spent plenty of money on that trip, and I want a full report.”

  “Gee, ‘How are you? That must have been terrifying when that British guy tried to kill you,’“ Amaryllis is really cruising on sarcasm now and enjoying it to the hilt. “Can’t you think of anything sympathetic to say?”

  “Okay, okay, I was in a bit of a rush,” Wright apologizes. “But when I heard you were back, I expected to hear from you right away.”

  “Well, give me a chance to decompress. I have a friend over, and we’re drinking wine.”

  “How about if I join you?”

  Amaryllis frowns. This is not normal. Editors never invade a reporter’s personal space. But, she supposes this is a special case.

  “Well, all right. But I can’t be responsible for my actions. I’ve had two glasses of wine and that’s about my limit. I may fall asleep on you.”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Wright says and snaps off the connection.

  Amaryllis gazes at Fiona with disappointment in her eyes. They hadn’t been talking about the big story at all. Instead, Amaryllis was filling her friend in on Donny and the dazzling romance that came out of a simple trip back to her girlhood home. Fiona is entranced by the glamour of it all. She can’t wait to meet him but isn’t exactly about to go to Chicago to do it. The two women were just getting to the part where Donny and Amaryllis would be jetting back and forth on weekends for a while, when Wright broke the mood.

  “Wright’s coming over, and we’re going to have to switch gears,” Amaryllis says. “We’ve got to talk about my story. I’m sure you’ll find it just as fascinating as Donny Gregorios.”

  “Hardly likely,” Fiona sniffs. “And I don’t like that boss of yours barging in whenever he wants to.”

  “He smells a Pulitzer,” Amaryllis says with a shrug. “And he doesn’t know that I’ll be moving back to Chicago when we finish with the story.”

  “Won’t that be a crusher? Can’t wait to see it.”

  Fiona, who can hold liquor better than anyone Amaryllis knows, goes into the kitchen and opens another bottle of wine. While they are arguing over Wright’s motives, the doorbell rings and Amaryllis buzzes him into the outer doors of her apartment building. Within seconds, he’s standing, panting like a bear on the run, at her front door. He must have jogged all the way from the parking lot. He’s dressed down this evening in khakis and a lime-green polo shirt, looking exactly as if he were ready for a few holes of golf. Amaryllis is shabby in her old Northwestern University sweatshirt and blue jeans. He doesn’t notice. True to form, he doesn’t even sit down before firing questions at her.

  In calm reporter fashion, she tells him the whole story from Gabriel showing Garret and her the caves to the close call at the Nav-Tech tower. She leaves out the story of the orb. She and Donny have agreed that the crystal will never be mentioned; it’s too personal and its potential for misuse is so great that it will remain their little secret. But, Amaryllis has thought about telling the Navy to check out the crystal in their own tower. It’s a likely twin to the one she possesses, and it might keep their scientists busy. Who knows? There even could be ancient inventions they could rediscover.

  Wright sits and starts taking notes as she talks, one foot continually pumping on the floor. Every few seconds, he punctuates her report with “good, good.” Then he keeps on scrawling. When she’s told him every last detail, Amaryllis sits back in her couch and waits for commentary.

  “It’s at least a four-part story,” he says, fingers drumming on the page. “We could start it on Sunday and then continue on to Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Did you get any art when you were down there?”

  Amaryllis produces the two digital camera chips the Navy allowed her to keep. “They won’t do much good. Have they recovered any of Garret’s work?”

  “Yes, they did. Wonderful stuff. I think there were only a couple chips missing, but that wimpy professor in Chicago coughed up most of the work.”

  She sits back and tries to ignore the churning in her stomach. Somehow, being around Wright in these strategy-setting moods gives her fits. The man’s nerves are contagious.

  He takes a few more notes and draws sample page layouts in his notebook, asking Amaryllis how she likes them. She opts for the designs that didn’t take up the entire front page. There are limits to her ego.

  After an hour, in which he hasn’t touched the wine or any of the cheese and crackers, Wright bounds to his feet and makes for the door. His sudden good mood makes him sparkle with good will. He calls to Amaryllis from the doorway and tells her he’ll see her Monday.

  After he leaves, Fiona pretends to fan herself off.

  “What a lout he is,” she says, her face drawn and mouth set in a rigid line. “He didn’t even say who was going to write about the murder attempt.”

  Amaryllis realizes Fiona instincts are correct, but there is no way of changing her boss’ eccentricities. Besides, the Chicago and Miami papers have covered the murder attempt and the Star carried the wire story. She can understand Fiona’s outrage, but it’s time to get down to serious work—her own story.

  #

  Donny calls, as he has every day, before Amaryllis leaves for work. They have agreed to keep a long-distance relationship going until she is done with her reportage and the follow-ups that are certain to come. She’ll give the Star a month, maybe two. He’ll visit her one weekend, she’ll fly out the next, until it’s time for her to pack up and move back to the city of her youth. She finds the prospect of moving exhilarating, not just because of Donny, but because Chicago has changed so much since she had left for L.A. The landscape is so different, it will be almost like settling in a new land. And, the weather? Well, it will be late in the spring by t
he time she arrives. No one ever knows what spring will bring in Chicago. Sometimes, it is freezing rain and ankle-deep mud, other times, a switch suddenly is set to summer. She is hoping for the summer option.

  After they decide that Donny will fly out on Friday night, she sets off for the office, going over the story in her head. No sense wasting any time. The faster she writes this story, the safer they will be from any competitor catching wind of what she had discovered.

  Barney greets her at the security doors to the newsroom with a huge hug. She sees the entire features staff behind him, cheering and waving.

  “There’s my girl,” he says. “We almost lost you. How are you dealing with it?”

  “I’m fine.” She brushes away the question. “The FBI nabbed the guy who tried to off me, and the two who attempted to kidnap me. I identified them in the line-up, and the trial will come up Lord knows when. I suppose I’ll be called as a witness.”

  “I should hope so.” The voice is Hagren’s. The much-beleaguered crime reporter is probably the one assigned to cover Pitch’s trial. He’s looking pretty relieved just knowing that he has a story that won’t be a many-tentacled monster to wrestle. She gives him a big smile. She owes him a good, long debriefing to make his job easier.

  After the greeting and hugs subside, she sits down at her desk—which looks exactly as she had left it three months ago—and realizes she’s forgotten her log-in name. Memory is a strange thing. You remember the same sequence of numbers and letters for years and then, one day, the whole thing vanishes. Barney fixes her up, and it’s time to write. Only she doesn’t, because the cursor on the screen keeps winking at her, and she can’t think of a thing to say. Everything she had planned on her car ride has slipped away.