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Dad never let anyone look in that drawer, not even Mom. He said he forbade himself from opening it as well. All anyone really knew about its contents was that something important was in there, something Dad didn’t want to think about but couldn’t get rid of, so we left it alone.
Until I got curious.
Dad had been dead for six years and still ignored all my attempts to reach out, even after he taught me how to speak with the deceased, so it wasn’t like he’d care to return if I opened it. Or maybe I was hoping, just a little bit, that he’d feel the invasion of privacy and finally appear to stop his son from snooping. Regardless, the dresser was right there in my room as it had been for the past half decade, with that one top drawer boarded up and locked shut while the rest were free to open. Curiosity was killing me, and I have never been much better than a cat when it comes to restraint.
When my mom wasn’t home and my sister was off at school, I seized the opportunity. I went at the lock with an unfolded paper clip hoping that the minimal amount of instruction from a long-dead thief would allow me to pick the lock. To my surprise, it sprung open, and the next step was to get the boards off with a set of tools I’d taken from the neighbors that I hardly knew how to use. The screws and nails had been there a while, probably since before I was born, but were still removable, and after an embarrassing amount of time they finally gave in.
At first, the result was disappointing, to say the least. With how much he seemed to fear the contents, a couple photos looked like nothing. I’d expected at least a journal of secrets or an extracted memory, why would someone be so defensive about this?
As I looked closer into the items, I noticed an envelope that seemed to have been deliberately shoved to the back of the drawer, which seemed a bit more promising. The original green seal had been broken, but a red one went over it, as if it had been closed a second time. The red seal matched the design Dad would use exclusively on letters to friends, jokingly over-the-top and fancy, while the green one seemed to be embossed with little cracks like rivers, a pattern that felt vaguely familiar but evaded my memory.
I heard my mother’s footsteps coming up the stairs, and quickly grabbed the envelope and pushed the drawer shut. By the time she knocked on my bedroom door, the letter was in my pocket, but the boards were still strewn across the floor.
I opened the door.
“Hey, Ma!” I exclaimed with what may have been a little too much excitement.
“Hi, Bee,” she chuckled. “What’s with the enthusiasm?”
My throat felt like it was closing up. “Uh. I just… am in a good mood today.”
“Sure,” my mom smiled. Then, she looked around and sighed when she noticed my impromptu carpentry.
I braced myself, ready for questioning that never came.
All she said was, “Volych, don’t do anything stupid,” and left.
Now, I’m typically a rule follower, and ‘don’t be dumb’ is a pretty reasonable ask, but that unfortunately didn’t mean I was going to listen.
I fished the letter out of my pocket and opened it carefully, trying not to break my dad’s seal. A bit of the excess wax broke off, but for the most part it stayed intact.
Inside, I found not one message, but three.
The lettering on notes were neat, as if typed, though very distinctly handwritten. The pages they were on had been permanently creased by years spent folded in my dad’s drawer, and as much as I tried to clear off the dust it never seemed to fully leave, as though it was now ingrained into the paper. I sat down on my bed and began with the one at the front of the envelope.
Dear Falcon,
I am pleased to hear you are doing well since your departure from our team. Many of us, myself included, miss you greatly, but we respect your decision to leave.
I do, however, have some questions.
Does your wife know? Do your siblings? Your friends? If you have told anyone outside the approved confidants that you were ever involved with us, we may need to discuss what to do with their memories of the reveal. And if you do not tell us truthfully (and we will know if you don’t), a meeting with myself and the directors may be in order. Rest assured, we are only looking for honesty, though the consequences will be dire if we do not get it.
Sincerely,
Your friend, Eagle
I must have reread the letter a dozen times. I didn’t know anyone who called my dad Falcon, and no one who I could remember being called Eagle. I checked for a date, and found in the top right corner, 58 Pn. 07. Exactly four years and one day before I was born. If I remembered correctly, that would only be a month or so after my parents got married.
Setting the first note down beside me, I unfolded the next letter, this time paying attention to the date.
26 Lo. 07,
Dear Ex-Falcon,
You haven’t reached out. Perhaps I simply didn’t get your letter? Let’s both hope you sent one, and that it just got lost in the mail.
We’ve sent scouts. We know you received my last message. I think you’ll find it a wise decision to respond if you haven’t already.
A new Falcon has arrived to take your place. I think you’ll be interested to hear that he decided to swear in after just four days. I suspect he’ll be far more loyal than you were to this research.
Respond by Locale 47, three weeks from now, lest these messages become less civil.
Sincerely,
Eagle
“Well, that doesn’t answer anything,” I grumbled to myself before reaching for the last piece of paper.
This one was dated much more recently, and I gasped upon seeing when it was written.
32 Ch. 19. Exactly three weeks before Dad died. This one didn’t have an opener, or a “sincerely”, or anything of the sort. All it said was:
Hotel stop #15, the one on the coast of Oulvyx. There’s an old factory half a league southwest from there. Meet at exactly noon on Chrono 41. No earlier, no later. We’ll discuss your contributions to our project.
I remembered with a start that just days before he was admitted to the hospital, Dad had returned from what he called “a meeting with an old friend”. He’d never told us where he went, just that he was getting there via the traveling hotel. Shoving the third note into my pocket, I ran downstairs to the kitchen, where my mom was making dinner.
“Ma, do you know where the hotel is?”
My mother looked at the calendar, then walked over and tapped it once. The squares for each day lit up with a different number between one and twenty.
“Stop number thirteen, Hynolxel.”
She turned to give me a suspicious look.
“Why do you ask?”
I took a deep inhale before asking my question.
“Can I go? I need to get to fifteen.”
“Vol, is this about your father’s drawer?”
I contemplated lying and saying that I was just going to visit a friend, but decided against it. I didn’t even have friends in Oulvyx.
“It is.”
Mom sighed and made her way towards me.
“Bee. Listen to me.”
“Ma, I have to go.”
“No, you don’t. You want to go. That’s not the same.”
“It might give us answers–”
My mother put a hand on my shoulder as she held back tears.
“Volych Fytenni, listen. You can’t. I’ve already lost your father, I can’t lose you too.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
“I… alright,” I finally whispered. I felt horrible about lying, but I wasn’t going to stop until I discovered what really happened to Dad. I went back to my room as I heard my little sister, Achaia, open the front door, and looked over all three of the letters again.
The remainder of the day couldn’t seem to pass by any slower, as my mother and I kept exchanging mournful glances before hiding them behind smiles for Achaia, an old habit we’d grown quite used to. Over dinner, hers was the only day discussed as I sat in silence, waiting for the cover of night, all the while pretending I wasn’t going to make a reckless decision. Afterwards, the next few hours were spent packing a backpack for the next nine days and fishing through my old stuff for the slip my mom had signed two years prior giving me permission to check in by myself.
When I was sure both my mother and sister were asleep, I wrote a note and set it down on the kitchen table on my way out the door.
I’m sorry. I need answers.
If the letters in the drawer were somehow connected to Dad’s passing, I had to investigate. It would feel like betraying him if I didn’t. So, even if my mother disagreed, I was going to Oulvyx.
Running to the nearest foundation, thankfully not too far from my house at stop two, I felt my pocket once more for the letter with the meeting spot and my permission slip, keeping my hand firmly there to ensure I didn’t lose either. When I finally got to the foundation, deep and square with lights lining the perimeter, heat from its traveling enchantment emanating from the inside, I paused.
Was I really going to do this?
Y’know what? Screw it all, I was.
With a deep breath, one hand in my pocket and the other firmly grasping the strap of my backpack, and a thirst for knowledge my mother would surely regret fostering, I jumped, and after a moment of falling, landed in the hotel’s lobby.
They had just finished teleporting to stop fourteen. According to the schedule, we’d be in Oulvyx the next day.