staircase every single day of every single week. I’d slip past the enormous doors and find myself in a whole other world. A world of adventure. A world of danger.
Sometimes, I’d stay past dinnertime. Curling up in the lecture hall, I’d drift off to sleep, dreaming of far off, exotic places. Inevitably, I’d wake up back at home, tucked under the covers. My mother, God bless her soul, never complained. I don’t know why. Maybe she just liked seeing a smile on my face.
The building held many fine memories for me. I still felt pride when I recalled the day I finally received one of its exclusive memberships.
But much had changed over the last three years. The Society was different now and so was I. And as I examined every inch of the imposing edifice, it no longer seemed like a second home. Rather, it felt aloof and hostile.
Gritting my teeth, I tossed my satchel around my neck. No one knew where to find me. Not Walker, not anyone. And even if they did, gridlock would slow them down.
Although I felt in sync with the energy around me, I still felt out of place. I wanted to reconnect with my surroundings and there was only one person who could help me do that.
Lowering my head, I marched up the staircase to a pair of heavy oak doors. I traced my finger along the grooves for a moment, trying to recall the magic I felt as a child. But it wasn’t the same. Emitting a deep sigh, I shoved the door open and stepped into the building.
My heart soared as I walked into the Great Hall of the Explorer’s Society. Tall ornamental columns rose from the ground to the ceiling, forming elevated arches high above. Dark wood paneling covered the walls and floor. Crisp oriental carpets lay in several locations, their unique colors blending together to create a seamless fit. Centuries old stuffed heads hung from the walls, displaying animals that no longer existed.
A little smile crossed my face. Even after three years, the Great Hall still took my breath away.
My gaze swept the room, taking in the familiar wood and glass display cases. The extraordinary objects they held caused excitement to boil within me.
I saw Lewis and Clark’s journals. A frozen case of liquor recovered from Ernest Shackleton’s Nimrod Expedition. A hat that belonged to Ponce de León.
But the longer I studied the objects, the more my enthusiasm waned. As a kid, they inspired me. Now, they served as painful reminders of a life gone far off the rails.
I turned toward the back of the Great Hall. For the first time, I noticed a crowd of well-dressed men and women standing in tight groups. They laughed and chatted, oblivious to my presence.
I recognized some of the faces. Dale Hearns, the world-renowned anthropologist. Betsy Reese, the mountaineer. Mitch Lander, the ethnographer and writer.
My palms began to sweat. I hadn’t talked to a single one of them since the incident. The thought of being surrounded by all of them was disconcerting, to say the least.
I saw a large sign behind the crowd. It advertised the lecture for that day, “Treasure Hunters: The Scourge of Archaeology.”
A jolt of annoyance shot through my body.
Can this possibly get any more awkward?
Blocking my face, I forged through the crowd. I felt ashamed of myself and yet annoyed with my shame.
After jostling my way to the back of the room, I turned right and strode down a long hallway. Framed paintings adorned the walls, displaying the annual winners of the prestigious Explorer of the Year award. Once upon a time, I’d imagined that my visage would someday adorn those walls.
A painting came into view and my feet slid to a stop in front of it. Surprise filled me as I stared at the 2010 winner. It depicted a woman standing on a red carpet against a plain brown backdrop. She displayed a pretty face, perfect posture, a beautiful curvy body, and long, luxurious blonde hair. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief and I found myself momentarily transfixed by them. I knew her.
I knew her
Sometimes, I’d stay past dinnertime. Curling up in the lecture hall, I’d drift off to sleep, dreaming of far off, exotic places. Inevitably, I’d wake up back at home, tucked under the covers. My mother, God bless her soul, never complained. I don’t know why. Maybe she just liked seeing a smile on my face.
The building held many fine memories for me. I still felt pride when I recalled the day I finally received one of its exclusive memberships.
But much had changed over the last three years. The Society was different now and so was I. And as I examined every inch of the imposing edifice, it no longer seemed like a second home. Rather, it felt aloof and hostile.
Gritting my teeth, I tossed my satchel around my neck. No one knew where to find me. Not Walker, not anyone. And even if they did, gridlock would slow them down.
Although I felt in sync with the energy around me, I still felt out of place. I wanted to reconnect with my surroundings and there was only one person who could help me do that.
Lowering my head, I marched up the staircase to a pair of heavy oak doors. I traced my finger along the grooves for a moment, trying to recall the magic I felt as a child. But it wasn’t the same. Emitting a deep sigh, I shoved the door open and stepped into the building.
My heart soared as I walked into the Great Hall of the Explorer’s Society. Tall ornamental columns rose from the ground to the ceiling, forming elevated arches high above. Dark wood paneling covered the walls and floor. Crisp oriental carpets lay in several locations, their unique colors blending together to create a seamless fit. Centuries old stuffed heads hung from the walls, displaying animals that no longer existed.
A little smile crossed my face. Even after three years, the Great Hall still took my breath away.
My gaze swept the room, taking in the familiar wood and glass display cases. The extraordinary objects they held caused excitement to boil within me.
I saw Lewis and Clark’s journals. A frozen case of liquor recovered from Ernest Shackleton’s Nimrod Expedition. A hat that belonged to Ponce de León.
But the longer I studied the objects, the more my enthusiasm waned. As a kid, they inspired me. Now, they served as painful reminders of a life gone far off the rails.
I turned toward the back of the Great Hall. For the first time, I noticed a crowd of well-dressed men and women standing in tight groups. They laughed and chatted, oblivious to my presence.
I recognized some of the faces. Dale Hearns, the world-renowned anthropologist. Betsy Reese, the mountaineer. Mitch Lander, the ethnographer and writer.
My palms began to sweat. I hadn’t talked to a single one of them since the incident. The thought of being surrounded by all of them was disconcerting, to say the least.
I saw a large sign behind the crowd. It advertised the lecture for that day, “Treasure Hunters: The Scourge of Archaeology.”
A jolt of annoyance shot through my body.
Can this possibly get any more awkward?
Blocking my face, I forged through the crowd. I felt ashamed of myself and yet annoyed with my shame.
After jostling my way to the back of the room, I turned right and strode down a long hallway. Framed paintings adorned the walls, displaying the annual winners of the prestigious Explorer of the Year award. Once upon a time, I’d imagined that my visage would someday adorn those walls.
A painting came into view and my feet slid to a stop in front of it. Surprise filled me as I stared at the 2010 winner. It depicted a woman standing on a red carpet against a plain brown backdrop. She displayed a pretty face, perfect posture, a beautiful curvy body, and long, luxurious blonde hair. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief and I found myself momentarily transfixed by them. I knew her.
I knew her
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