The Third, But Not The Last

They came for him at midnight. He had shut himself inside a month ago, reading voraciously and only stopping once a day to eat and sleep. Earlier in the afternoon he had finally found the solution, and after checking his work to be sure, he had tattooed his left palm with the answer so many had sought before him. By the time he had finished, he was so exhausted he had collapsed into bed before he could test it.

He was startled awake by someone knocking on his door. It wasn’t a loud BANG BANG BANG, more of an insistent steady tapping. Polite, yet impossible to ignore. He opened the door and the hall lights momentarily blinded him. When he regained his senses he beheld a tall man, thin as a rail and dressed all in black.

“Mr. Rasmussen? Arnold Rasmussen?” The man offered Arnold his stiff leather-gloved right hand. Arnold shook it hesitantly.

“My name is Dalton, and I have been asked to convey you to my employer. Now, if you will, come with me.”

“Who...?” Arnold was shocked to hear the sound of his own voice, which emerged as a dry croak. “Who sent you?”

“Mr. Rasmussen. Please. You are in no position - or condition - to ask questions of me. If you will not come with me of your own accord I have been authorized to use force.”

Arnold gulped. “I need a minute to get dressed.”

And that’s how he found himself standing in front of a long table lit only by candlelight in an abandoned warehouse. The table was set with fine china and elegant cutlery that sparkled in the flickering flames. Every part of him ached: his back from weeks spent bent over in study, his eyes from being forced to stay awake at this ungodly hour, and his feet from standing and waiting for Dalton’s employer. How long had it been since Dalton had led him from the plush limousine? Two hours? Three?

Suddenly he heard the tap… tap... tap... of someone walking towards him across the cement floor on high heels. He caught the scent of cigarette smoke moments before its owner appeared, a woman dressed all in white. She tapped the cigarette, and ash fell to the floor as a thin trail of smoke ascended into the rafters.

“Thank you, Dalton," the woman said to a spot over Arnold's right shoulder. "I need some time alone with our friend. I will send for you if I require your services again tonight. Now, Mr. Rasmussen,” and here she gestured towards the table, “...have a seat.”

Grateful to finally sit down, Arnold slumped into the chair closest to him. The woman sat at the head of the table to his right. She tapped ash onto Arnold’s plate and then leaned in close to him.

“Arnold Rasmussen… one of the world’s foremost scholars in Scandinavian languages and literature. A dozen papers and three books to your name, all published before the age of 25. A tenure track position awaiting you at Reed College when you reach the age of 30. By all counts, a genius. But eleven months ago you abruptly quit your teaching post and traveled to Turkey. Then you fled to Israel and onto Malaysia, before circling back to Norway, where you stayed in a cabin outside Trondheim for three months. Five weeks ago you returned to Portland, where you rented the cheapest apartment you could find and barricaded yourself inside. Clearly, you found something. And I want to know where it is.”

Arnold could feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand up one by one. By this point he was wide awake. His left hand throbbed beneath the table.

“Yes, Arnold. I’ve had my eye on you for some time now. I know what you’ve discovered, and I’d like to make you an offer.”

A bead of sweat dripped off Arnold’s brow and splashed into the ashes from the woman’s cigarette. Another drop, and the ashes turned into a rank paste.

“Wh… what do you want?”

She smiled and lit another cigarette from a lighter inlaid with ivory. The smoke curled up to the ceiling, and even though Arnold hadn’t eaten anything in over 12 hours he had to fight the urge to vomit.

“I want you to abandon your search.” She produced a silver bell from a hidden pocket and rang it three times. Before the echo from the third ring had faded away, another man dressed all in black emerged from the shadows. He was carrying a small black leather duffel bag, which he placed next to Arnold’s right hand before stepping back into the darkness.

“Go ahead. Look inside.”

Arnold peeked into the bag and saw stacks of crisp $20 bills.

“Twenty thousand dollars. All for you. That should be enough for you to get your life back on track. And in exchange…,” and here she blew a smoke ring in Arnold’s face, “you agree to call off your search.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you will never leave here alive.”

She leaned back in her chair and blew another smoke ring up to the ceiling.

“As I’m sure you know, originally there were nine little black notebooks. I acquired books one and two almost five years ago, as their secrets had already been unlocked and widely debated. Yet the remaining seven seemed to have vanished in the sands of time. Recognizing the provenance of the notebooks, I watched your career with great interest. When you gave up your teaching post and left the country, I realized you had probably found a clue to the location of book three. And when you settled in Norway just over four months ago, my suspicions were confirmed.”

At this moment the woman stood up and leaned closer to Arnold, placing her hands on either side of the duffel bag full of cash.

“There’s no escape for you, Arnold. Right now my men are tearing your place apart. If book three is there, they’ll find it and bring it back to me.”

“And if I refuse, you’d kill me? Then my knowledge dies, too.”

The woman stood up and laughed, a clear, bright sound that chilled Arnold to the bone.

“Really, Arnold… I thought you were smarter than that. I told you if you turned down my offer you’d never leave here alive, but that doesn’t mean I’ll kill you right now. No, Arnold… my men have... ways... to coax the locations of the remaining little black notebooks out of you. Their locations, and their secrets.”

Arnold heard a soft buzzing, and the woman answered a thin white phone he hadn’t noticed before. “Yes?”

“Boss… we got it… coming… to you now…”

The woman slid her phone back into the holster on her right leg and smiled. “There is no hope for you, Arnold. If you value your life, take the money now. While you still can.”

Arnold thought of all his research, everything that had led him to this point. No matter how he looked at the choices he had made, he realized this meeting had always been unavoidable. And now all his possible futures hinged on this moment.

“Arnold. My men will be here in minutes. Have you made your decision?”

If he walked out of here with twenty thousand dollars, he’d be a shell of himself. He was certain that if he returned to his research, his next meeting with this woman would end in his disappearance. Or worse.

And if he stayed here and agreed to help her? Then he’d be little more than her slave.

But there was a third option…

He looked at the mess of sweat and ashes on his plate and gritted his teeth. He thought of his hometown outside of Kansas City, and how, a few miles to the west, the prairie seemed to stretch on forever. He remembered lifting his arms to the sky, closing his eyes and facing the sun, and imagining he was living hundreds of years ago, far, far away. How the same sun had shone down on countless people throughout history. And how each of them was bound to the earth by time and place. Even as a child he knew he wanted to study the stories that had shaped cultures since the dawn of time. And now he was about to write the next chapter in one of his own.

Arnold heard tires crunch on gravel outside the warehouse, and he knew what he had to do. He began to mutter the spell to himself as he reached out his right hand for the duffel bag. He heard a door slam and the sound of heavy boots approaching him from behind. He looked up at the woman and said,

"Fire and water, salt of earth, return me to my place of birth.

"Blood of sorrow, heart’s delight, pull me through the depths of night."

The woman’s eyes widened in terror, but before she could do anything Arnold bit his tongue and spat blood onto his plate. He grasped the duffel bag with his right hand, and flashed the tattoo on his left palm to the woman.

“What?! No, NO!”

He slammed his left palm down onto the plate, and Arnold vanished with the bag of cash in a burst of light.