The Chronicler and Mr Smith

by Angie Martin

  When I glanced up, I spied the security cameras near the ceiling at various intervals around the room. Five in total, all unhidden. Ducking back into my room, I scanned the ceilings for signs of surveillance, but discovered none. At least they weren’t watching me sleep or shower.

  Who were these people?

  I left the room again and took in the setting. The center of the room had couches, a coffee pot, even magazines on side tables and plants in the corners. A waiting room of sorts. I walked to the center of the room and looked up. Five stories between myself and the ceiling, with nothing in the round center. Hallways wrapped around the middle of each level, with columns for support – I could only liken the structure to a hive. I appeared to be on the ground floor, but something told me that other levels stretched out beneath my feet. Nothing about this place seemed normal.

  So, why did something about it put me at ease? As if I were… home?

  I shook the strange thought away. That combined with my feelings of friendship toward Keira would put me at a disadvantage around my alleged captors – if they could be called that. They did save my life.

  The sight of Keira walking toward me from one of the alcoves relieved my confusion. Maybe, she would provide me with answers. She had mentioned something about a tour and a history lesson. She had also said that, in the past, she’d been exactly where I was.

  “Hey, Mads,” she said, a bit of a skip lifting her feet as she strode toward me. “Feeling better?”

  “Definitely.” A truthful response. Somehow, a hot shower and a fresh pair of clothes had changed most of my outlook on the recent events.

  “I figured it wouldn’t take long,” she said when she reached me. “Your mark must be fully developed now.”

  I realized I hadn’t scratched the base of my skull nor had it burned since I woke up. She had mentioned it earlier, and I assumed it must be the annoying thing on the back of my head. “What is this ‘mark?’”

  “There are two ways you get here. You’re either born into this life or you’re called to it. Garrett and Spencer were both born into it. You and I were called. All of us have a mark. For them, developing your mark isn’t a big deal, but for those of us who are chosen as adults, it can be alarming.”

  Chosen? The only thing I had ever been chosen for was being a writer – and that talent came with enough headaches as it was. “I was chosen? How?”

  “Lineage,” she said. “The mark can skip hundreds of years, but at some point, back in time, one of my relatives – and one of yours – were part of The Order.”

  Though mention of The Order raised questions, my brain stuck on the idea of the mark and what it looked like.

  As if she read my mind, she turned around and moved her ponytail out of the way. “You can look at mine, though it’s hard to see under all the hair.”

  I stepped up to her and parted the blonde strands of hair, right around the same spot where I had felt my mark. Raised, red lines appeared to create a picture of sorts, but I couldn’t tell what it was since I couldn’t see the lines all at the same time.

  “What is it? What does it mean?”

  “It’s a way of identifying others like us. When the mark comes in, it means you’ve been called to duty. But, it also protects you in a way. I came here the same as you, with an itchy, burning skull and no clue as to what was happening. After my mark finished forming, I wasn’t as scared anymore. It connected me to the others here and to this place.”

  Her explanation made a weird kind of sense, but it left me with even more questions. “You said last night something about signals. What are those?”

  “The mark is magical, powerful. When it first comes in, it sends out a homing beacon of sorts. It’s how we found you, how we find anyone who’s called into the life. But, we had to find you before others did.”

  “Others like the ones who broke into my hotel room? Mr. Smith said they were there to kill me.”

  “You’re extremely important to us and what we do, Mads. Much more important than people like me, Garrett, and Spencer. We have the numbers in our order, but yours… well, there’s only fourteen others of your kind in the world. The blood seekers would do anything to get their hands on you. In here, you’re safe. Though your mark was still forming while you slept, its signals were weaker with you unconscious, and now that it’s formed, it won’t send out any other signals. Even if you woke up and it hadn’t come in all the way, the signals can’t penetrate these walls, so they couldn’t have found you.”

  My eyes seemed to cross as my thoughts spun with the barrage of strange information. “I understood maybe ten percent of what you just said.”

  Keira chuckled. “I know, it’s a lot. But, it will all make sense the more you learn.”

  I looked up at one of the security cameras, and the idea of being trapped clutched my throat, strangling my emotions. “I’m not going home, am I?”

  She sighed, a bit of regret, even empathy blowing out with her breath. “If you leave here now, you’re dead within a day. Even though your mark has stopped sending out signals, they still know who you are. You’re much too famous to disappear out in that world. They’d find you, fast.”

  Twinges of pain lanced my heart. “I can’t stay here, though. I mean, my family, Liz… Oh, no! Liz! She’s probably losing her mind right now. I have to let her know I’m okay. I’m supposed to be at a book signing right now, and—”

  “Dead, Mads. You’d be dead, and you might bring death to your loved ones, too.”

  Dizziness swirled the room around me, and I stumbled back to the nearest sofa. Grasping the armrest with a clammy hand, I landed on the soft cushion, my glassy vision fixated on the floor.

  Keira sat next to me and rested her comforting hand on my forearm. “This is the hardest part of this life,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had to go through it, too, and though my family was quite broken, it was still difficult.”

  “I have to let them know I’m okay.”

  “You can’t. I’m sorry, Mads.”

  “But, my dad… my dad…” Our conversation from the night before resounded in my mind. Did he somehow know it would be the last time we’d talk?

  “We never know what might happen tomorrow…”

  He knew. He always had a knack for those things, sensing the worst of the worst.

  Tears brimmed my eyes, but I somehow managed to keep them from spilling over my lids. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

  “We’re not keeping you here. You can do whatever you want. Leave at any time.” She lifted her hand from my arm and slid back against the couch cushion. “You’re not a prisoner.”

  I swung my gaze toward her. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

  “You will. And, when you do, you won’t want to leave. None of us ever do.”

  “So, I just disappear, and my family always wonders what happened to me?”

  “Not exactly,” Keira said, standing up. “Let me introduce you to the others and show you around.”

  Chapter Eight

  W e started the tour on the main floor, where my bedroom was. There were four other doors in the round lobby, each leading to someone else’s bedroom – according to Keira. She pointed down two other hallways leading to additional bedrooms in the front and back of the complex. She also showed me the outlet that contained three elevators.

  We took the middle elevator up to the second floor, which Keira explained was the level containing the kitchen, dining area, and a fully-equipped gym.

  “How many others are here?” I asked as we left the kitchen.

  “There are eight others here like me, but no one else like you.” She pressed the up button for the elevator. “There are also two who handle computer technology, one who coordinates and shares information with the other complexes, a chef, and three others in the cleaning and maintenance department. Then, we have two in our medical department, a doctor and a nurse.”

  “Quite the operation,” I said. The
elevator door slid open, and I followed her inside. “What do you mean, ‘like you?’”

  Pressing the button for the third floor, she said, “There are three Orders, and each of us are called into only one of them.”

  “Orders? Sounds like the Templar Knights or something.”

  “It is, but we’re older than they are by about a couple thousand years, give or take. And, we tackle things the Templar Knights couldn’t ever imagine.”

  Her response caught me off-guard. “What are the Orders?”

  “There is The Order, which is where everyone who doesn’t fit into the other two fall. That also includes our high council, which oversees all the complexes and our activities. I’m part of the Order of the Night Stalker.”

  “Night stalker?”

  “Fancy way of calling us hunters.” She turned left into a room. “Garrett and Spencer are also night stalkers.”

  Before I could ask any other questions, the computer monitors in the room caught my attention. My author headshot from my most recent book was plastered on one of them, while another contained basic stats about me. My age, place of birth, current and previous residences, medical information, and more. The other screens showed various news stations, a cacophony of overlapping newscaster voices filled the air. Several steps down led to a hub in the center of the room where the two dark-haired occupants of the room, both behind computer screens, typed furiously on their keyboards.

  I followed Keira down the steps. She cleared her throat, getting the attention of the other two. When they whirled around in their chairs and saw me, they leapt to their feet, one female, one male. The man was just a few inches above my five-foot-five stature, while the woman was several inches shorter than I. The woman’s warm smile reminded me of Keira, though this girl’s mass of frizzy, dark curls with the original streak of red tried to burst out of the hair clip holding it back. The man’s hair touched his shoulders, framing his unblemished olive complexion.

  “You’re here,” the woman said. “I mean, I know you’re here, but you’re here.”

  “This is Jiong Chen and Sandra Molina,” Keira said. “They are the computer geeks for the complex.”

  “And, you’re the new chronicler,” Jiong said, walking toward me. His excited eyes searched my face as if he were inspecting a new toy.

  My brow narrowed. “The new what?”

  “Chronicler,” Keira said. “You belong to the Order of the Chronicler.”

  “Chronicler?” A huff came out under my breath. “You’d think someone could come up with an easier name to say.”

  Sandra turned to Keira. “Oh, I like this one.”

  I stepped past them and stared at the monitor with my information on it. “What is all this?”

  Jiong walked up beside me. “This is our current project, which is you. We’re working on your cover for disappearing. Right now, there are no media reports of your disappearance. Your publicist filed a police report, but there hasn’t been any other movement.”

  “Liz filed a police report?” My head swirled with thoughts of her worrying about me. “I’ve been pretty open to everything,” I said to Keira, “but I have to let her know I’m okay. I don’t want her telling my family I’m missing.”

  “You’ll put her in immediate danger,” Keira said.

  “We’ve got your cover under control,” Sandra said, walking back to her computer screen. “I found two unclaimed corpses that will work.”

  “Corpses?” I asked, numbness creeping over my body. “Corpses that will work for what?”

  “Your death,” Keira said. “Anyone who is called into this life has to have their death faked. It’s the easiest way to—”

  “Fake my death?” I wobbled a bit and grasped the back of a chair to steady myself. “I can’t… die.”

  “We already switched out your DNA with that of the female corpse,” Sandra said.

  I shook my head, trying to digest all the new information. “How did you get my DNA?”

  “You used one of those genetic testing kits you send through the mail,” Jiong said. “It was easy to hack into their system and swap out your DNA results for that of the corpse. When they test her DNA, it will match the one the genetic testing company has on file for you.”

  My mother, I thought. She had given us all DNA tests for Christmas the previous year. She was curious to know if Miller and I took more after her or Dad. As expected, the results came back that Miller and Mom shared more traits, while Dad and I were practically the same person. Not that we needed DNA tests to know that.

  “Your dental records and blood type were also switched out to match hers,” Sandra said.

  “The official story,” Jiong said, “is you took an Uber in the middle of the night to the store for some cough medicine. Feeling a bit under the weather is what your late-night text to your publicist said. There was a mechanical issue with the brakes. The driver missed a curve and ended up off the road, down a large hill, and into a ditch. You were thrown from the car when it rammed into a tree, and you died instantly. No suffering. The fake Uber driver also died.”

  “They haven’t found the car yet,” Sandra said. “It may be another day or more since we hid it in a heavily treed area.”

  Out of everything they said, I latched onto an inconsequential tidbit. “An Uber? But, I didn’t hire an Uber.”

  “We hacked your phone to make it look like you did hire one, and we already transferred the money out of your account last night,” Jiong said. “According to your bank, it was paid to Uber. You were a pretty generous tipper, too.”

  “Oh,” I said, still not fully grasping the more important parts of the conversation. “That’s good to know. I do like to tip extra, especially to the friendlier, chatty drivers.”

  “Um, Mads,” Keira said, “why don’t we continue on the tour?”

  “Sure,” I said. “We’ll let these two get back to faking my death with a random corpse. And, then maybe later, we can write my eulogy.”

  “Is she okay?” Sandra asked, though her question didn’t deter the swirling of my thoughts.

  “I wonder where my parents will bury the fake me,” I said. The rambling in my brain exited through my mouth without concern for how others might view my temporary insanity. “We never really had that conversation about my impending death, given that I’m only twenty-eight. I don’t even know what their after-death wishes are. Maybe I should ask them next time we talk.”

  “Did you break her?” I heard Jiong ask, but I didn’t react. My mind seemed to be, indeed, broken.

  “I tried not to,” Keira said, slipping her hand around my arm. “Mads, why don’t we go back downstairs and let you rest for a bit?” Her tone rose slightly, as if speaking to a child.

  Like the obedient non-prisoner I was, I followed her out the door and to the elevator. As we rode down to the main floor, Keira spoke quite a bit. Asked questions, made statements. Every word entered my ears, but failed to penetrate anything else. Even as we exited the elevator and I paced behind a couch in the lobby area, I didn’t pay her much mind. All I could think about was my family learning of my death. Would my dad’s heart hold out? It had only been three years since his second heart attack. Another one could—

  “…Xanax,” Keira said, bringing me out of my thoughts. I had stopped pacing at some point during her spiel, and she stood in front of me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I took a lot of Xanax when I first got here. Helped me through those first few weeks. Definitely helped when I learned about my fake death. I still take some from time-to-time. It’s the only thing that will get me to sleep after some of our outings.”

  I stepped back a few paces. “Your death was faked, too?”

  She chuckled. “Those who are born into this life have it so much easier than ones like us. They aren’t on the grid to begin with, so they get to keep every bit of their lives. Ones like us… well, we have to disappear from society to keep our loved ones safe.”

  For the firs
t time since that morning, what she said made me realize that she was trying to help me. That she had truly been in my position in the past, and she wanted to get me through everything I had to face.

  “Why did you stay here?” I asked. “Why did you agree to them faking your death?”

  “For the same reason none of us called into this world ever leave it. There’s so much you still have to learn, but when you do, you’ll want to stay, too.”

  My gaze dropped to the white-tiled floor as I considered her words. All of them. Everything she had said since we first met last night under extraordinary circumstances. Even Mr. Smith’s voice reverberated through my mind. The things he had hinted about, things he didn’t say. The further I spiraled down the black hole of the unknown, the more surreal the world became.

  “Xanax would be great tonight,” I said.

  “I’ll add it to the menu.”

  I walked around to one of the couches to rest for a moment. Looking up at Keira, I watched her take apart her ponytail and redo it. The simple act brought me back to reality. I’d always had a tendency to ramble about nothing when stress consumed my veins. I must have appeared to the others to be a complete mess, possibly unhinged. Most likely insane.

  Yet, despite everything, something inside of me remained calm. As if learning about my impending, public death didn’t matter. It was almost expected, and I had no understanding as to why.

  “Keira,” I said. I slouched over, my palms resting on my knees.

  She sat on the couch catty-corner to me. A long moment passed as we stared at each other, comfortably seated in silence, as if we’d known each other a lifetime.

  Her lips curled up on the left side, her kind eyes dropping a tad, as if determining what to say.

  I beat her to it. “I’m sorry I’m such a jerk.”

  Her eyes widened with an audible gasp, and she touched the back of my hand. “You’re not a jerk. You’re actually handling this better than I did.” A chuckle rolled across her lips. “At least, so far.”