SIXTEEN

Present Day

Sterling, Massachusetts

    I smiled at the lady behind the acrylic window. “You were here last year.”

    “I remember you, Mr. Waverly,” she said. “You came in with Mr. Morgan. Now what can I do for you?”

    I leaned on the countertop. “I’d like to see my own soul line collection.”

    She pulled her yellow keyboard in front of her. “Account number?”

    I passed her my membership card, and she started typing. After a minute, she looked up at me. “I’m ready to verify your identity,” she said.

    I put on the goggles and looked at the blinking red light. “Can I blink?” I asked.

    “Of course you can…okay, Mr. Waverly, take them off. You’re verified.”

    I pointed at Val. “I’m bringing her with me.”

    The lady slid me an index card. “After you complete this waiver.”

    I filled it out, and she slid a smart card under the window. “Room six, through the door and on your left.”

    “Thanks,” I said. “How long will it take to dig up my collection?”

    She smiled. “We’ve been expecting your visit, so only a minute or two.” She pressed a buzzer, and the door to her right swung open.

    Val and I headed down the hall to room six. I inserted the card in the door. We entered, and the door hissed as it closed behind us.

    I put the card into the slot on the wall and closed my eyes. After we were disinfected, we sat down at the small table.

    Val sat across from me. “What did she mean, they were expecting your visit?”

    I shrugged. “Ann probably told them I was in town.”

    “Lots of people are in town.”

    Good point. “Maybe I have a really special soul line collection, and it’s stuffed full of riches.”

    “That would be nice.” She smiled. “Are you nervous?”

    “Of course.”

    After a few minutes, the interior door opened, and a middle-aged lady in a green lab coat wheeled a metal cart into the room. “Your soul line collection, sir,” she said. She held out a clipboard.

    I signed “John Doe” in the box.

    She looked at my signature and frowned. “You may think this is a big joke, buster, but I’m not amused. Sign it correctly, or I throw you and your friend out of here.”

    I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know that’s not my real signature?”

    She glared right back at me. Then she flipped the papers on her clipboard. “I’ve got your real signature right here, Mr. Waverly.” She held it up so I could see it. “And if you would scribble something that comes close to resembling it, you can get on with your business, and I can get on with mine. It’s a busy day today.”

    I signed, this time with my real signature.

    She glanced at the clipboard and nodded. “Much better. Just remove your card when you’re ready to go, and I’ll be back to put everything away.” She closed the door behind her as she left.

    Val laughed. “She’s got your number.”

    “Yeah. Nice to see they’re taking it seriously.” I looked at the cart and took a deep breath.

    It was pretty exciting to think that somebody years before had left articles for me to find. Maybe I’d learn something that would change my life.

    Or maybe I’d discover my previous soul line carrier was a creep or a criminal, like the poor person who one day would open the collection left behind by Hermann Goering. I shivered, and hoped that wasn’t me.

    Time to do it. “Let’s start with the proof sheets,” I said. I lifted the slim wooden case off the top of the box and laid it on the table. I opened it and took out two sheets of paper encased in stiff plastic holders.

    “Two sheets-you’re a level two member,” Val said. She tapped the top sheet. “These brown eyes are yours. I’d know them anywhere.”

    I nodded. “And what about these bright blue eyes?” I slid it over and read, “Edward ‘Ned’ Callaghan. New South Wales, Australia.”

    Val ran her finger down the proof sheet. “He joined way back in 1912,” she said.

    I laid one proof sheet on top of the other, like Archie showed me last year, and I flipped on the tabletop light. The soul identities at the bottom of each sheet aligned perfectly.

    I looked up at Val, and saw her staring at me with shining eyes. I reached over and squeezed her hand.

    It was time to find out what Ned Callaghan had sent to the future. I put the proof sheets back in the wooden box and opened the cart’s side door. A piece of paper and a small hammer sat on the shelves.

    I passed the hammer to Val, then pulled out the paper and laid it flat on the table. On it were just a handful of sentences, which I read out loud:

If you are reading this, you are luckyer then me.

My wife and baby boy are both dead from tyfuss. Doc sed it was the water, so don’t drink it if you come here.

I am quittin White Cliffs and depositing me hammer, becos its all I have left. The opal mine bought me 2 caskets and 4 bottles of rum. Sorrie I cant leave more.

Ned

    I set the paper down. “I hope this wasn’t the high point in Ned’s life,” I said.

    “I’m sure it wasn’t,” Val said. She examined the hammer. “He carved his name in the handle.”

    I took it from her, ran my fingers over the “Ned C,” and sighed. “So Ned’s opal hammer is my inheritance?”

    “And his letter.”

    “I was hoping for more of a life lesson than ‘don’t drink the water in White Cliffs.’”

    She tilted her head. “Are you disappointed?”

    That was a question I couldn’t really answer without sounding shallow.

    “I guess I was hoping for something a little more meaningful.” Maybe I dodged that bullet.

    “At least you have somebody in your soul line. Ned was right-you are luckier than him.”

    Good point. I tried to picture Ned Callaghan, opal miner, his wife and child recently dead, reaching out to Soul Identity in the hopes of leaving a trace of his life for the future. How dare I be disappointed?

    I’d have to find out more about Ned, so I could honor his memory. I turned the paper over and saw more writing on the back. “Hold on,” I said, “there’s more.”

Surviveing a mine cavein

Last year at full moon I et me tucker and headed back to me claim, as the opal bug was biting me hard. I clumb down the hole with pick and shovel, and found a ratter named Raddy scratchin my walls trying to pinch my opals. Fair dinkum.

I was sore, so I swung me pick at him. He swung back, then one of us fell into the main prop and caused a cavein. Next thing I know, all but me boots were berried in potch and stone.

That ratter pulled me out of the rubbell, but the tunnel was blocked and we were diggin for eight days in the dark with nothin but our own piss to drink and memories to eat.

The tunnel kept collapseing, so me and Raddy dug out to Old Man Cleats hole fifteen chain away. We were knackered and almost dead, but still manged to scare the piss out of him when we showd up in his claim.

We staid alive by not quittin. One dug wile the other slept until we got out. The lads say thats how we kept from going batty.

Now Raddy the ratter and me are mates. He spun a good tale about Soul Identity, and sed this story would do for a memory. Hope it helps.

    I looked up and grinned. “Now that’s a story.” I laid the paper and the hammer in the cart and closed the door.

    Val smiled.

    As I was returning the wooden proof box to the top of the cart, I noticed that it had been sitting on top of a small stack of papers with a Post-it note attached. I pulled off the note and read it out loud.

    “Scott-a copy of the journal I showed you this morning, in case I am prevented from giving you the original-Archie.”

    Son of a gun. I let out a laugh. “We must have been born lucky.”

    “That was pretty clever of Mr. Morgan,” Val said.

    “And it explains why the receptionist said she was expecting me.” I flipped through the stack. Each sheet held a copy of two pages of the now-destroyed journal.

    I put the wooden box away, but I rolled up the copied journal and stuffed it in my pocket. “Score this round for Archie,” I said.