Compulsion

I should start by saying that I’m not usually this type of person. The type to quit their job at a law firm, put their house on the market, and get on standby at the airport for whatever the next flight is out of the country. That’s not me. However, on this one blustery, rainy day in Seattle in late October, I was exactly that person. Before I could control this urge, this driving compulsion pushing me headlong into the unknown, I was halfway across the Atlantic heading to Croatia. I landed at the Zadar Airport and searched the directory for the next bus to an island, any island. Island. I thought to myself. I need to be on an island. Just before I got on the bus, a tall woman in a mismatched suit stopped me. Her pink hat with her lime green suit made her standout amongst the bustle of people going about their business.

“Evo, ovo je za tebe.” She said, extending her hand with a small, black Moleskine notebook and an envelope filled with something.

I shook my head, not understanding her foreign tongue.

“It is for you.” She said in accented English.

She then dropped the notebook and envelope, leaving me scrabbling to catch it before it hit the ground. As I regained my composure with the items in hand, I looked around for her, deeming this to be a misunderstanding, and determined to return her belongings. She was nowhere to be seen. Surely a woman that tall in a pink hat would be hard to miss but even from my height of 5’10”, I could not find her in the crowd.

“Shit.” I muttered under my breath as I scanned for an employee or a directory that would point me toward a lost and found.

“Last bus to Pag Island. Posljednji autobus za Otok Pag.” Boomed over the speakers above.

“Double shit.” I was exasperated, jet-lagged, and bewildered at the day's events.

I opted to get on the bus, determined to open the notebook and find some information that identified the woman so I could mail the items back to her. Sitting down in the old bus seats that reeked of sweat and old air freshener, I was still aghast at my actions. What was I thinking? I didn’t know anyone here, let alone speak a lick of the language. What bizarre spirit possessed me to come this far, to leave everything I’ve ever known and come to this foreign world?

Before I could examine the peculiar items, a man came down the row to collect my ticket. I fumbled to find my ticket as the man waited. I could feel his eyes appraising me and my belongings. I handed him my ticket and he smiled. A cold feeling shot down my spine.

“Good luck.” He muttered.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“I said, have a good day.” He stated and continued on down the aisle.

Odd. Why would he say good luck? I thought as I returned my attention to the notebook and envelope lying in my lap. Again, I felt the driving compulsion to open them and learn their secrets. I took a deep breath and opened the notebook. Its small black size made me believe that it was an address book. Strange in the modern world but not abnormal. I soon learned I was wrong. The first page was blank, with nothing written on the inside of the cover either. The second page was blank, the third blank, blank, blank, blank. I furiously flipped through the notebook, trying to find anything, anything at all, written. I continued to turn the pages and only realized I had flipped past some writing after several seconds. I turned the pages back. The air around me went still and the noise of the bus and its passengers retreated into the background.

Coordinates. The notebook contained coordinates.

What the hell?

I turned my attention to the envelope. It was not a standard envelope but more like one that was sent interoffice back at the law firm in Seattle. It was heavy, like it contained a particularly long report. I peered inside and quickly shut the envelope. I stashed it away in my backpack and promised myself I would not look at it again until I was alone.

The bus reached the island center and I stepped off, getting my first look at Pag: salty sweet air, gorgeous ocean, and tanned, young bodies everywhere. I looked at a taxi and quickly found one, giving the driver the address for Hotel Meridijan. I could not wait to be alone so I could begin to unpack everything that had led me to this point.

At last, after a lengthy check-in process, the door closed behind me and I was alone in my hotel room. I dropped my bag and opened my backpack onto the bed, spilling its normal and peculiar contents everywhere. The envelope. I could fully examine the contents now. I cleared the bed of my other belongings and put the small black notebook near the head of the bed. The envelope contained money. Lots and lots of money, though not American money. And a set of old-fashioned-looking keys. It was Croatian money, Kona. I had exchanged for some back at the airport. But nothing close to this amount. This amount was staggering. I began to count it out into piles on the bed.

124790.00 HRK.

That’s a lot of Kuna. I thought and snorted at how funny the phrase was.

Glad for my international data plan that I had hastily upgraded while at Seatac, I found an app that would convert foreign money into U.S. dollars so I could understand how much I was dealing with here.

$20,000. 20k. That's what the app told me.

What was going on here? Why had a random woman approached a tourist like me and dropped these into my life? Money and a weird little black notebook with only coordinates in it? What in the world was I supposed to do with this?

Befuddled, I packed the money back into the envelope. I set it and the notebook on the nightstand and went about my nighttime routine. I flopped into bed, freshly showered and still confused, in a strange town with strange items close to my head. I will take it to the local authorities tomorrow and they’ll know what to do with it. Then it will be out of my hands. I thought. Though, a nagging voice in the back of my head whispered, “Solve the mystery. Follow your instincts. Try to understand.” I told the voice to shut up and rolled over to get some sleep.

--

As sleep slowly faded into the background, I hoped everything that had happened in the past 24 or so hours had all been a dream. I’m home. I’m in my bed in Seattle. The running of feet and hoots of travelers snapped me back to reality. I was not home. I was in a foreign country where I didn’t know the language. Some random woman gave me an odd package I now had to deal with. The look on her face and the way she disappeared so quickly still swam beneath my eyelids in vivid HD quality. What the hell. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell. I gave up on pretending this was a dream and dragged myself out of bed.

After going about my morning routine and scrounging up something to eat other than airport food or plane peanuts, I went to the front desk and asked for the nearest police station. The receptionist looked at me funny but he gave the directions.

“Go out the door. Go right, then left at J&K Autocentar, then a quick right. Look for Coffee Bean and go left. Police will be down that street on the right.” He said.

“Thanks!” I said, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into my voice, and went on my way.

As I walked out the door, I could feel his stare on my back. I looked back and he hurriedly went back to his work. Odd. With that, I made my way toward the police station. The air outside was warm and balmy and filled with the sounds of laughter and four-wheelers, not something I was used to experiencing given Seattle’s ever-present rain, clouds, and roadway congestion. The sun felt good on my skin and I began to cheer up. This quick trip to the station and then I can enjoy some of what this island has to offer. I would look back at this positive moment later and laugh. I was wrong. Very wrong.

--

The police were no help. I showed them the envelope and its contents. They looked at me with disdain and told me to move along. When I tried to plead my case, I was escorted out of the building. I turned back to talk to the officer more but he quickly closed the door and locked it. The stares from her and her partner sent pins and needles down my spine. Okay. What. The. Fuck.

Left with no other feasible options and an odd feeling, I did the only thing I could think of: went to the nearest quad rental (which, mind you, were everywhere) and rented a four-wheeler and a GPS. After using some of the odd package’s money to pay for my rental, I was out on the open road, headed for the first set of coordinates in the little black books: 44.477240 degrees North and 15.070440 degrees West.

A few near misses with other quad riders and many scenic views later, I arrived at the location of the coordinates: a stunning overlook into crystal clear blue water and a very steep, very rocky cliff. Wow. This is gorgeous. But what’s the point? Why have I been brought all the way out here to look at an incredible view of the ocean? Then I noticed it. “It” being a small shovel with a note attached.

DIG. YOU WILL FIND ANSWERS.

So I dug. I wanted answers and that was that. What I found was a buried chest with an old lock on it. The chest hummed in my hands, almost like it had been waiting for me. I fumbled to get the keys out of the envelope. With shaking hands, I began to try each key until one fit. A soft click and the contents of the chest were laid out before me. Some spelunking gear, a water proof bag, a pair of goggles, flippers, a small breathing tank, and another note:

Go down. Straight down. Seek me where there is no sound.

I glanced over the edge directly next to where I found the chest. I stared into the water, wondering if I was seriously considering spelunking and diving down into unknown waters. A glint of something on the seafloor caught my eye. I had come this far and did not want to give up now. When in Rome... or Croatia. I put on the breathing tank and the goggles, strapped the flippers to my pant loop, and put the keys to the quad, the little black book, the money, and the keyring into the waterproof bag. Then I began my descent, my heart racing. What would I find down there? I need answers. It better be answers.

There were no answers. Not for a long time. Only more clues as the mystery slowly unraveled, one as old as the rocks that edged around the island. But, before you go, I should warn you. If this awakened some pull, some niggling voice in the back of your head, ignore it. Don’t go to the airport. Don’t take the plunge into the unknown. You never know what might lurk between the pages of a little black book.