Raven Rise (15 page)

“Excuse me?” Patrick said, totally lost.

Courtney laughed. “I actually understood that.”

“Then please explain it to me,” Patrick pleaded.

“No problem,” Courtney answered. “If you're going to be part of this, you're going to have to get up to speed fast.”

A voice called to them from across the room, saying, “Your waffles are ready.”

Everyone looked at the oven.

Mark said, “I'm not going to get used to this.”

The plan was for Courtney and Patrick to stay at the house while Mark went to the bank. Courtney's job was to fill Patrick in on all that had happened with KEM and DADO and Forge, while searching the house for clothes that would help them blend in on Second Earth. Mark put on some of his own clothes. He chose jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of old running shoes. Mark never went running. He just liked the way they felt. He decided to leave his hair combed back in the style from First Earth in case anybody might recognize him. It helped that he wore a pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses he got on First Earth and put on a navy blue, short golf jacket of his father's. That completed the transformation from Mark, to not-Mark. He looked in the mirror and barely recognized himself.

Courtney's comment was, “You look like some old-dude banker from the 'burbs. Perfect.”

Mark was afraid that an “old-dude banker” would look odd riding a bike, so he chose to make his way to the bank on Stony Brook Avenue on foot. It was only a few miles, and he wanted to take the opportunity to observe any other changes that might have occurred on Second Earth.

Most of the walk was through suburban streets that didn't look any different from what he remembered. The houses looked exactly the same. The lawns. The sidewalks. The cars. Pretty much everything. Though something did feel different to him, and it took him a mile of walking before he realized what it was. All the telephone poles were gone. Every last one. His neighborhood used to be full of overhead lines that carried power, telephone, and cable TV. Not anymore. He was surprised that he didn't realize it right away, but figured he was looking for something new, not something that wasn't there. Once it clicked, it was obvious. He wondered what had replaced them. Was everything underground? Or was it all sent through signals in the air? Since the main changes on Second Earth were about technology, he figured that anything was possible.

Though he did wonder where the birds were going to hang out.

Stony Brook Avenue looked pretty much the same as well. It was the closest thing that Stony Brook, Connecticut, had to a “main street.” It was lined with shops and restaurants. The cool kids used to hang out there, which was why Mark didn't. He'd go to the Garden Poultry Deli, get his daily dose of fries and Mountain Dew, and eat as he walked home. He was never a “hanging around” kind of guy.

Mark was also pleased to see that his old friend Ms. Jane Jansen still worked at the bank. Every time he saw something that hadn't changed about Second Earth, it gave him hope that things weren't really as bad as he feared. He was a little nervous though that the woman might recognize him and start asking difficult questions about where he'd been so he made a point of going to another bank officer to get the key to his safe-deposit box.

The bank had just opened for business for the day and was next to empty. In no time Mark was in the vault, peering at the journals that he and Courtney had put there for safekeeping. There were two items of note that he hadn't seen before. One was a journal from Bobby: #28. Courtney had placed it there on First Earth. He was tempted to read it right then and there, but was sure that Courtney had already filled him in on everything Bobby had written. The other item was what he had come for. It was a deposit slip. An old one. It had been sitting in the vault for so long, it had turned yellow. It didn't matter. All Mark needed was the account number. His dad had deposited twenty thousand dollars. Back then it was a fortune. It wasn't so bad on Second Earth either. It would be plenty.

Attached to the slip was a handwritten note. It said, “We love you. Good luck. Mom and Dad.” Mark smiled and slipped the note into his pocket. He closed up the box and walked back to the lobby to fill out a withdrawal slip. He didn't want to raise suspicion, so he decided not to take out a big amount. He figured that four hundred dollars would be enough to start. He could always come back for more. Mark filled out the slip and went to a bank teller he didn't know. He picked a pretty blond girl wearing a turtleneck. She looked as though she might go to Davis Gregory High, but Mark never hung out with pretty blond girls in turtlenecks, so he figured she wouldn't recognize him.

“G'morning!” the girl greeted with a bright smile.

“Hi. Just making a withdrawal. Not a lot. Just four hundred. No biggie, right?” Mark realized he was jabbering.

“No problem,” the girl said. “Can I see your ID?”

Uh-oh. Mark had his wallet with his student ID. He'd taken it from his desk at the last second, but he didn't want to have to flash it. He was the Mark Dimond that people must have been talking about. His parents were killed, and he disappeared three months earlier. Stony Brook was a small town. If she recognized him, it would be all over.

“Y-You sure you need it?” he asked.

The girl gave him an innocent smile. “Yeah, sorry. Policy.”

Mark fumbled through his wallet. “I'm n-not sure what I have.” Mark suddenly wished that the girl was not only cute, but more concerned with being cute and popular than watching news stories about local tragedies. The girl stared at him, the first hint of doubt creeping into her eyes. Mark realized he had to take the chance. He handed her the plastic ID and held his breath.

The girl looked at it and beamed. “Hey, you go to DG?”

“DG?”

“Davis Gregory! I just graduated. What year are you?”

“Uh, senior. I think. I haven't been around much. I've been, uh, traveling.”

“Really? Where?”

Mark figured it was better not to lie. He wasn't a good liar. “New York, mostly. But I was in England.” He left out the part about it being in 1937.

The girl looked at her computer and said clearly, “Mark Dimond.”

Mark didn't get it. Why was she saying his name at the computer? He quickly realized it was the new technology. There was no keyboard. It was all about voice recognition. The girl looked at the screen and scowled. Something was wrong.

“Is there a problem?” Mark asked.

“No. But I have to clear this with my manager.” She looked up and called out, “Ms. Jansen?”

Uh-oh. Mark heard her before he saw her. The sharp sound of quick, clicking heels on the marble floor meant the überefficient Ms. Jane Jansen was incoming. He put his hand up to his face in hopes that she wouldn't get too good a look at him. He figured that surely she must have heard what happened to him and his family. Ms. Jane Jansen was the picture of perfection. She wore a dark, conservative suit, and her hair was tied back so tightly into a bun that Mark wondered how she moved her lips. She looked over her half-glasses at the computer screen and frowned.

“There hasn't been activity on that account for quite some time,” she said with clipped perfection. “Is there a reason for that?”

“It was opened a long time ago,” Mark answered. “By my grandfather. It was kind of a legacy for his grandkids. I'm just starting to use it now.”

Mark had no idea where that semi-made-up story came from, but he was grateful for it, because it seemed to do the trick.

“Very well,” Ms. Jane Jansen said, then added in a loud voice to the computer, “Approved.”

Mark could breathe again. Apparently Ms. Jane Jansen didn't follow the news either. Maybe, he figured, she never left her desk at the bank. Mark didn't care. He was golden. Ms. Jane Jansen took Mark's ID from the cute girl as the teller counted out Mark's money. She eyed it quickly, then held it out for Mark. Mark reached for it, and froze. When Ms. Jane Jansen reached out with the ID, her jacket sleeve ran up her arm. There on her forearm, as plain as could be, was a green tattoo. It was the five-pointed star.

Mark stared at it without moving.

“Here you are, young man,” Ms. Jane Jansen chirped.

“What does that mean?” Mark asked without thinking. “That mark. What does it signify?”

Ms. Jane Jansen looked at Mark coldly. The cute girl seemed to shrink away. Whatever Mark said, it was definitely a faux pas.

“Answering personal questions at a place of business is not part of my job description,” she said coldly. “Good day.”

The woman spun away and clicked off. She was ticked. Or insulted. Or something. Mark didn't know exactly what.

“Here you go,” the cute teller said, handing Mark the money. “I gave you twenties and fifties, is that okay?”

Mark was in a daze, still watching Ms. Jane Jansen. He had to snap himself back to reality.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.” He took the money and stuffed it into his wallet. Mark wanted to get out of there and get back home. He needed to talk to the others.

“Don't mind her,” the girl whispered. “She's old school.”

Mark took a chance and asked, “Why was she so ticked that I asked her about the star?”

The girl shrugged. “Who knows? Some people don't like to talk about it.”

“About what? Tattoos?”

The girl gave Mark a strange stare, as if he had just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

“You're kidding, right?” the girl asked. “I thought you were traveling, not living under a rock.” The girl pulled up her sleeve to reveal that she, too, had the star tattoo on her arm.

Mark gasped. He couldn't help himself. The room was suddenly getting hot. He backed away, headed for the door.

“What about your receipt?” the girl called.

Mark didn't answer. He was too busy running away.

(CONTINUED)

“Maybe it's a Dr. Seuss thing,” Courtney said.
“Remember
The Sneetches
? All the cool birds had ‘stars upon thars' and wouldn't hang out with the regular-old Sneetches on the beaches.”

Mark gave her a sour look.

“I was kidding,” Courtney added.

She took a big bite from a carrot. Mark had stopped on the way home to pick up groceries and of course bought carrots. The two sat in the kitchen of Mark's home, eating and speculating. On the table in front of them was the mysterious book cover.

“Patrick's been sitting in the living room staring at the TV,” Courtney commented. “He's like a couch potato from the future. All he needs are chips and dip, and he'll be set for weeks.”

“Can you blame him?” Mark asked. “The guy's an academic. This is like the best research project possible. He's living his own history.”

“Or maybe he's just too scared to get his butt off the couch,” Courtney quipped, taking another bite of carrot. “I can't blame him for that, either.”

“It's weird,” Mark said thoughtfully. “The bank lady didn't want to talk about the star, and the girl made it seem like it was something everybody knows about.”

“You don't think it's just some innocent thing?” Courtney asked. “Like a peace symbol or a yin yang?”

“It's the symbol that marks the gates, Courtney,” Mark snapped.

“Yeah, but it's just a star,” Courtney shot back. “It could be coincidence. I mean, stars exist in other places besides the gates.”

“Sure,” Mark said patiently. “Like on this book cover from Third Earth. And hanging over the fireplace in the Sherwood house on top of the flume. And suddenly on the arms of old ladies and young girls and thugs from the future who are willing to torch a library to destroy it and—”

“All right, I get it,” Courtney said, holding up her hands in surrender.

Mark raised the book cover to the light, staring at it for the thousandth time, as if the simple word and symbols would suddenly reveal secrets they hadn't before. “Ravinia,” he said thoughtfully.

Courtney added, “That sounds kinda like Dr. Seuss too.”

“Stop!”

Courtney huffed and tossed the rest of her carrot into the sink. “I want to go back to my house and get some clothes. Your mom's stuff is a little too, oh, I don't know…wrong.” She stood up to show Mark she was wearing a pair of jeans that were two inches above her ankles and a sweater that was so tight it made her look as if she were wearing doll's clothes. “If Bobby can wear his own boxers, I say I can wear my own things too.”

Mark looked her over and laughed.

“That doesn't help,” Courtney snarled.

Patrick started yelling from the other room. “Hey! Hey! Come here! Hurry!”

Mark and Courtney bolted from the table and sprinted into the living room. Patrick had sprung to his feet and was standing in front of the couch, staring at the television screen.

“What?” Courtney yelled.

“Look!” he shouted, pointing to the TV.

It was a huge, flat-screen monitor that the Dimonds did not have when Mark left Second Earth. On screen was a montage of happy, wide-eyed faces, all looking up at something while raising their hands. There were all kinds of people, all ages and races. Stirring music played. It seemed to Mark like some kind of inspirational film. The image became wider to reveal there were many people. Thousands. All looking up at the same thing.

“What is it?” Courtney asked, confused.

“Keep watching,” Patrick ordered.

A smooth but authoritative man's voice cut through the music, saying, “It is yours. It is ours. It is everything.”

More faces were seen. Multiple images, fading in and out, superimposed over one another. All seemed to be in awe of something. Close-ups were superimposed over wider shots of hundreds of people.

“Touch it,” the voice offered. “Feel it. Become part of it.”

“This is kind of creepy,” Courtney grumbled.

“Shhh!” Mark implored.

The joyous faces were replaced by a close-up image of an old man. He looked to be in his seventies, with salt-and-pepper hair that was perfectly combed. The guy looked like a kind grandpa with strong eyes. He wasn't a doddering old man. He was sharp. He held a small, warm smile as he gazed out onto the sea of faces. It was the old man that all these people were looking at and holding up their hands to. The images became even wider to reveal that he was wearing a simple white robe and standing on a circular stage above the huge crowd of people. His arms were spread, as if he wanted to hug them all in his loving embrace.

“Yeah so?” Courtney said impatiently. “Looks like some kind of televangelist.”

“Wait,” Patrick cautioned.

The voice then said, “The Convergence is upon us.”

“What?” Courtney shouted.

“Shhh!” Patrick chastised.

The voice continued, “March twelfth. Madison Square Garden. Touch the future and the past.”

The old man stood on the stage in the center of a sea of arms and adoring faces. It looked like a sports arena. People on every level were reaching their arms out as if to touch him, but were too far away to make actual contact. The music reached a crescendo as a huge image appeared above the man for all to see.

Courtney gasped.

“Oh man,” Mark whispered.

It was the star. The star from the gate. It exploded with light. The crowd cheered. Some seemed overcome with the image and fainted dead away. The eyes of the others sparkled with the light that glowed from the giant star. The image was replaced by a glowing, animated version of the star that filled the TV screen against a background of black. The music rang out and the voice said with passion, “Ravinia. Yesterday, today, and forever.” The star faded out. The screen went black. A second later regular programming continued. A rerun of
Seinfeld
. Courtney, Mark, and Patrick stared at the screen, stunned.

It was Mark who was able to speak first. “Did he say the Convergence was upon us?”

“Yeah,” Courtney confirmed. “And Ravinia.”

“Who is he?” Patrick demanded.

Mark and Courtney shook their heads and shrugged. Neither had ever seen him before.

“What is a Madison Square Garden?” Patrick asked.

“Big indoor stadium in New York City,” Courtney answered. “That was like a commercial to promote an event there.”

“It was like a commercial to promote the Convergence!” Mark corrected. “Could that have been Saint Dane?”

Patrick nodded thoughtfully. “March twelfth. That's today.”

Mark plopped down on the couch. The
Seinfeld
episode was loud. The characters were complaining about something, as usual. Mark looked around, annoyed. “Where is the remote?”

Patrick called out, “Turn off.”

The TV turned off.

“Oh,” Mark uttered, numb.

Patrick faced the others. “None of that was familiar to you?” he demanded to know. “The gray-haired man? The people? The sentiment?”

“No,” Courtney said. Mark shook his head.

“What about the Convergence?” Patrick added. “Is it some definite event that can just…happen?”

Mark said, “You're assuming it's Saint Dane's Convergence.”

“Like there could be two?” Courtney shouted back sarcastically. “Slight coincidence, don't you think?”

“I don't know what to think,” Mark fretted.

Patrick paced, deep in thought. “We need to know who that man is,” Patrick concluded.

“And if the Convergence is going to happen tonight,” Courtney added.

“That too.” Patrick paced more quickly, the tension rising in his voice. “Whoever that guy is, he's got a following. Those people looked at him as though he's some kind of…of…god. If he didn't exist on Second Earth before, there's a good chance that whatever he's doing, it's going to lead to the changes on Third Earth.”

“We should go to that event at Madison Square Garden,” Mark offered.

“I'd rather go see the Knicks play,” Courtney complained.

“I need to get to a library,” Patrick announced, ignoring her. “That man didn't just show up yesterday. We need to find out everything we can about him.”

“Use the Internet,” Mark offered. “My computer's upstairs. But it's not like on Third Earth. No holograms. No huge databases. You're going to think it's all pretty crude.”

“If a guy has that kind of impact, I don't think the database will have to be all that deep to find him,” Patrick said with authority. “We have to know how he got started. Where he came from. How he ended up having such a big following. That kind of information has to exist, and I can find it.”

Mark smiled at Courtney. Courtney gave a little shrug.

“Glad you're with the program,” Mark said to Patrick.

“It's what I do,” Patrick replied with confidence.

“Do what you can,” Mark said. “Then we'll head into the city.”

Soon after, Patrick sat at Mark's computer doing his best to dig through the crude (to him) data that was available on the Internet. Mark and Courtney left him alone to work undisturbed and went to Courtney's house to get her clothes. It was within walking distance of Mark's, but through a neighborhood where people knew them. It would have been safer to make the trip at night, but Courtney's parents would have been home. They had to go during the day. They walked casually but quickly, so as not to draw any attention, and arrived without a problem. As with Mark's house, the extra key was hidden near the back door.

“We've got to do this fast,” Mark cautioned. “If your parents come home, or if somebody spots us—”

“We'll be in and out in five minutes,” Courtney assured him.

Courtney opened the back door and stepped inside. As much as she wanted the clothes, she worried that this visit would be difficult. She was wrong. It was worse than difficult. It hurt. She was prepared to see things that would make her lament the loss of her old life. She was prepared for that. What she didn't expect to have to deal with were the smells. Stepping into her kitchen, she was met with a wave of familiarity that had everything to do with the normal smells of her house. It immediately brought her back to the times she ran in the back door after playing ball, looking for her mom and the cookies she knew would be baking. Courtney thought she recognized the faint, familiar smells of those sweet cookies, and she was hit with a sad wave of nostalgia for a time that would never again exist. Once her head went there, it was tough to stay focused. What bothered her most was the notion that her parents must have thought she was dead. She had been gone for over three months. Were they still searching for her? Or had she become a “cold case”? It bothered Courtney to know that her parents were going through such grief. Her older brothers as well. She hoped her brothers had come home to spend some time with their mom and dad and deal with it all as a family.

Courtney's heart ached knowing that she would never be part of that family again. At that moment, she had a fleeting thought of calling it all off and staying at home. For good. It would have been so easy for her to walk up the stairs, throw open her bedroom door, and crawl into bed.

“It's tough,” Mark said with sympathy. He knew.

All Courtney did was nod. She quickly wiped away a tear and declared, “Let's get this over with.”

She led Mark through the kitchen and into the living room, making a beeline toward the stairs while trying not to focus on anything that might affect her again. She didn't want to see the family pictures. Or the artwork she did as a child that was still hanging in the living room. She
really
didn't want to see the dado cat or anything else that might stop her from completing her mission.

It didn't work out that way. When Courtney entered the living room, she froze. Mark stood still behind her, just as stunned. What she saw wasn't a fond memory of the past, it was something she feared was a taste of the future.

“Oh man,” she gasped.

Hanging over the fireplace was a large star.

“I guess I don't have to ask if this was here when you left,” Mark said.

“Whatever that is,” Courtney said softly, “my family is part of it now.”

Courtney stared at the star a moment, then turned away, headed back toward the kitchen.

“Forget it,” she said abruptly. “I gotta get out of here. I'll find some other clothes.”

Before she could take a second step, the front door of the house flew open, smashing against the wall. The sound was so loud it made them both jump in surprise. They spun to see five men enter quickly. They all wore dark red clothing and small-brimmed red caps.