Ret braced for a fight, his palms alight with flames, as the intruder stepped out of the shadows of the Keep and into Ret’s time-tile of the past … it was Mr. Coy! He was hunched over, with a strange assortment of bulky items in his arms including what appeared to be an old photo album, a large platter of food, and a metal folding table—a single metal leg stuck awkwardly out in front of him, gleaming in the firelight.
“Well, Ret, you may indeed choose to reheat the tuna casserole, but personally I think it’s just as tasty cold,” Mr. Coy said with classic Coy playfulness.
Ret relaxed, the flames on his palms reducing to thin columns that he sent skyward to hover between them in the cold night air of the past’s setting.
“Your control over the elements is quite impressive these days.”
“Would you say shockingly impressive?” Ret asked wryly, referring to their confrontation earlier in the classroom. Then, using his power over ore, Ret retrieved the platter of food and the small folding table from Mr. Coy’s arms, pulling them smoothly into his waiting hands as if on an invisible conveyer belt.
“Yes, well, I guess I deserve that.” Coy frowned. “It was unkind of me to use my new micro-defibrillator on you … the first time.”
“Just the first time, huh?” Ret responded. “That thing hurt a lot, both times.”
“Oh, I know, I tested it out on my new lab assistant, Falco, before I used it on you. He mentioned it stung a bit, which coming from Falco is saying a lot.”
“Falco?” Ret asked.
“Yes, he’s a giant of a man, with a tolerance for pain like a gladiator.”
“Well, I don’t appreciate pain!” Ret said, his anger from earlier creeping back, the flames in the open night air above them growing brighter.
“Look son, I’m sorry,” Coy said. “I’m afraid when it comes to dealing with people, I’m still … unseasoned.”
Ret’s anger softened a bit.
“Unlike that tuna casserole,” Coy added. “Pauline really outdid herself this time.”
The fire that Ret had been blazing above suddenly extinguished, swallowing them in darkness as Ret’s anger gave way to laughter. He laughed deeply, drawing the cool night air into his lungs and giving him a much needed release. As he stood there in the darkness, he was suddenly aware of the chorus of crickets serenading them and of the immense brightness of the stars above. He felt suddenly both one with the planet and completely dwarfed by it.
“It’s quite beautiful out here,” Mr. Coy said, following Ret’s gaze, “wherever or whenever this is. But perhaps we should get back to our own time. I imagine witnessing the past first-hand like this could be more painful than anticipated.”
Ret brought his gaze back to earth, finding not only kindness in the moonlit reflection of his friend’s eyes, but also wisdom. He nodded and, dinner in hand, started walking through the darkness back to the present’s still-lit time-tile frame, the warm glow of Neo’s cavernous bedroom spilling in from the other side.
Once they were both back through and in the safety of present time, Ret sent Coy’s metal folding table and the platter of food gliding away with one hand—folding the now unneeded table and placing it softly against the wall and setting the platter of food on top of Neo’s old bench. He collapsed the time-tiles with his other hand. Ret then walked over to the bench and sat down. Feeling suddenly ravenous, he held his hands above the platter, producing electromagnetic waves in the air around the food, fine-tuning them to the exact wavelength used by microwave ovens as he heated Pauline’s tuna casserole to its perfect temperature.
“Wow,” Coy said.
“So, how did you find me down here?” Ret asked as he prepared to eat. “I mean, before today, I didn’t even know this bottom-most level existed. And, I’m pretty sure I broke the elevator getting down here.”
“Oh, you broke it alright,” Mr. Coy said. “I traced you and your elevator’s path from Lester’s old communications room—which Thorne and I have now drastically improved—and then took the secondary elevator down. You know, the one accessed through the Keep’s back shed?”
Ret nodded, remembering how Lester Stone—his former principal and an underling to Lye—had once lived in the uppermost floor of the Keep with his wife Virginia, how they had decided to flee Lye’s service, and how his sweet Virginia had lost her life as a consequence. Ever since, Stone had been on their side, being instrumental in the relocation of Coy Manor to the Keep, and in sharing its secrets … like that of the secondary elevator.
“When I arrived at the communications room,” Coy continued, “and noticed you were a significant level deeper than previously recorded, I performed an override on the main elevator’s doors and saw that the shaft continued downward. Once I understood the destination, it didn’t take me long to figure out the controls needed to come the rest of the way.”
“But I didn’t see another set of elevator doors out there.” Ret pointed to the small area just outside the room.
“That’s because it’s not out there,” Mr. Coy said mysteriously.
Too hungry to care, Ret closed his eyes and silently gave thanks for both the food and the friends with which he was blessed. Then, with eyes open and fork in hand, he began devouring his meal.
“So, Ret, who built this little hidey hole of yours?” Mr. Coy asked.
Busy eating, Ret simply pointed at the inscription above the room’s bed.
Mr. Coy walked over and inspected the words etched into the rock ceiling. Ret saw him smile as he read the words Neo was here. Coy then turned his attention to the smooth portraits on the wall, pulling out a flat hand flashlight that slipped over and covered his open hand, fingers and all, which he used to bathe the paintings with soft light. He studied each picture for a while with rapt attention, taking in their lines, their stories, and their symbols. As he examined the picture of the gathering of Guardians, he reached out and lightly brushed the Oracle with his fingertips.
Mr. Coy turned to Ret for help with some of the gaps in his understanding. But instead found Ret immersed in his own investigation; the old photo album open on his lap, with eyes lingering on a single photo. Mr. Coy crossed the room and sat down next to Ret, inspecting the priceless photo along with him. It was a beautiful image of a woman leaning against a large tree trunk, with a young girl wrapped in her arms.
Ret recognized Paige immediately, seeing her in the little girl, but found he could also see her likeness in the face of the older woman, surmising that she must be Paige’s mother, the late Helen Coy. In the picture, Paige’s eyes were closed as she snuggled against the woman’s chest, looking as content as Ret had ever seen her.
“That is one of Paige’s favorite pictures,” Mr. Coy said softly. “Helen’s death was difficult for me, but for Paige … thanks to Lye and her own father’s inadequacies, she lost both her parents in one fatal swoop.”
“How did she handle it?” Ret asked. “I mean she seems fine.”
“She is, for the most part, although she struggles from time to time. And she had a lot of help along the way. May I?” Mr. Coy asked, holding his hands out for the photo album.
Ret handed over the book.
“This was Helen’s personal book of remembrance,” Coy said, as he flipped back to the front. “I have never shared it with anyone outside of our family before.” He opened its cover to reveal a faded baby picture positioned above a pair of inked footprints. Below were printed the words, ‘Helen Patricia Truett.’
“Wait, Truett?” Ret said. “Were she and Ms. Truett … sisters?”
“Well, yes, but probably not the way you are thinking,” Coy said as he flipped several pages forward to a sheet filled with pictures of two girls, looking about eleven years old. They were both making funny faces in the photo. “You see, Helen and Ms. Truett, Albie, first met in the sixth grade. They were both straight A students, both read voraciously, and were both taller than most of their peers. They quickly became best friends.”
Ret could again see Paige’s likeness in her mother—the same blonde hair, the same slender frame, and the same kind eyes. Albie was almost a mirror image of Helen, except for cute freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose and dark hair that framed her lively face.
Coy moved ahead, turning to pictures of the pair as teenagers in high school. The photos showed them attending school dances, participating in the science fair, and dressed in cross-country uniforms. In nearly every photo, there were ribbons and trophies and even homecoming crowns. “As you can see,” Coy said, “they excelled at nearly everything they did, not only academically, but athletically and socially.”
He turned another page to a picture depicting Helen and Albie in dark caps and gowns, each leaping into the air. “By the time they graduated and entered college, their differences, although not many, finally separated them. Helen went to medical school and Albie specialized in mathematics and engineering, although either of them could have done well in the other’s chosen field.”
Coy turned the page to show three people in the pictures, including a handsome-looking man who appeared to be slightly older than them and shared some of Helen’s same facial features.
“Around the same time, an innocent romance sparked between Albie and Helen’s older brother, Peter, on whom she’d always had a crush. The three were inseparable, sort of like you, Ana, and Paige, and they pretty much did everything together. Well, as often as school, work, and Peter’s military service would allow.”
Coy turned the page again to show a wedding photo of Albie and Peter posed with his best man and her maid of honor, who was, of course, Helen. “The two girls, who had always been as close as sisters, actually became such that day and their lives seemed perfect.”
Mr. Coy then slipped his hand a couple of pages ahead in Helen’s photobook and looked solemnly at Ret. “Not long after they were married,” he continued, “Peter left for a special-ops mission where he met a brilliant, though quirky scientist. The pair were captured during their mission and subsequently beaten, starved, and tortured. Peter took the bulk of it, often inflaming the guards so they’d take their aggressions out on him, sparing his less physically fit cohort.” As he continued, Mr. Coy’s eyes became teary. “He didn’t make it back,” Coy said softly, as he returned to the open book once more, revealing pictures of a flag-draped coffin, people dressed in black, and soldiers in pristine, pressed uniforms.
After a moment of silence, Coy collected himself and continued. “Afterwards, Albie threw herself into her schooling, graduating with honors and quickly gaining acclaim on the international stage for her brilliance and innovation in the world of engineering.
“Helen on the other hand, devastated by the death of her brother and the absence of her best friend, found comfort and eventually love with that same brilliant, quirky scientist who her brother had saved.” Mr. Coy smiled coyly. “We met at Peter’s funeral, which I was honored to take part in, having been the last person to see him alive.”
Coy turned the page to show a similar wedding photo to the previous one, but this time Helen and Albie’s positions were swapped and Mr. Coy stood alone. “I, uh, didn’t have many friends back then, so I just named Peter as my best man and we kept him in our minds and hearts … it was a good day.”
On the next few pages Coy showed Ret pictures of himself and Helen in different places around the world, working in urban, low-income neighborhoods and rural villages. Albie was present in several of them, but the gleam had left her eyes. “Helen had always wanted to do humanitarian work, so we did, working together to relieve human suffering and prevent premature death around the world. Albie joined us from time to time, designing clean-water and medical-communication systems when she could. But the relationship between her and Helen was not the same.”
He turned a few more pages filled with similar images until he came to the book’s second baby picture. “Things improved between them when Paige was born. We asked Albie to be Paige’s godmother. In fact, Paige’s middle name is Albie,” Mr. Coy said, winking at him.
Coy then moved through the photo album more quickly, page after page of pictures of Paige growing up and often in the arms of Albie. He then came to the picture they’d looked at previously, with Helen and Paige under the large tree. “These years were some of our happiest,” Mr. Coy said as they stared anew at the photograph. “So often, we don’t appreciate the times that mean the most in our lives, dismissing them as ordinary. Above all else, family is what’s most important, Ret.”
Mr. Coy finally turned to the last page in the album, which was another funeral page. This time there were no flags, no pageantry, just a pink coffin piled with roses and the forlorn faces of Paige, Mr. Coy, and Albie Truett. “It’s only after they’re gone that we realize how extraordinary those times were.” Coy traced his fingers over the edges of the coffin in the picture. “When Helen passed away, it was my turn to become lost and distant. It was Albie who stepped in and took care of Paige for most of her childhood. It was Albie who kept Paige’s hair clean and education up. She tutored Paige at home and homeschooled her when we were abroad. Even during the last couple of years while Albie was away teaching at the University of Stanford, she still found ways to look out for Paige, quietly caring for the daughter she never had, for the best friend she lost. When I informed Albie that we had a unique teaching position available for her here at the Keep, she eagerly returned. I think she missed Paige. But honestly, we all missed her even more.”
Mr. Coy closed the book and looked up at Ret, his eyes pink around the edges. “I share these things with you Ret so you might understand why Albie favors and protects Paige, and to explain my actions today in class. Ms. Truett is a good and brilliant person who deserves to be treated with kindness and respect.”
“I understand,” Ret said, “and, I apologize.”
“It’s okay son, but you really should be saying that to her, not me.”
Ret nodded and stood up, walking over to the smooth pictures on the wall. “How much of the memory in the past did you see?”
“Just the very end, when Father Christmas there was talking to you.”
“It wasn’t … it wasn’t Father Christmas,” Ret said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “It was my First Father, and he wasn’t talking to me … well, I mean, he was, but not directly.”
Mr. Coy lifted his eyebrows in response.
“Never mind that,” Ret said. “But I did learn a lot about the relics.”
“The what?” Mr. Coy asked, his eyebrows staying up.
Ret remembered that Mr. Coy hadn’t been present when the Guardians had given him the relics. “They are special items, created by the Oracle, which my First Father gave to all the Guardians, instructing them to give each one to me when I came to collect their element.” He pointed at the picture of the meeting around the fire, pointing at the relics as he spoke. “Neo’s was a seed, which actually created the infinity tree; Rado’s was a white handkerchief; Argo’s was an hourglass; each of which I have. Krypto’s relic was some sort of a coin, but Lye told me he’d killed Krypto long ago, so unfortunately Lye probably has that one. And Xeno’s relic was my First Father’s Staff of True Power, which Lye also stole.” Ret pointed at the white, spirally twisted staff.
“Lye’s cane, huh? That makes sense,” Mr. Coy said. “Wait, what about the first Guardian you met at Sunken Earth?”
“Yeah, that was Heliu. For some reason he didn’t give me his relic,” Ret said. “I just figured he’d lost it or something. I’m not sure, but that was before I really knew what the relics were.”
Mr. Coy stood up and joined Ret at the wall. He pointed at the picture of a relic that was drawn before one of the Guardians. “Was it this? It looks like an old key.”
“Yes,” Ret said, “but if it was down in Sunken Earth when it collapsed, then there’s no way we’ll ever find it.”
“Or …” Mr. Coy said, reaching down into the neck of his shirt, “it could be a great deal closer.” He pulled out a large old-fashioned key that dangled from a cord around his neck.
Ret’s face broke into a huge smile. “Where in the world did you get it?”
“Let’s just say that Lye’s hired hands had butterfingers while we were inside the Bermuda Triangle,” Mr. Coy joked as he removed the key from around his neck and handed it to Ret. “I always wondered what this key belonged to,” Coy concluded.
Ret looked closely at his fourth relic. He studied the intricate designs and beautiful craftsmanship of the key, feeling amazed that the Oracle itself had created it and, understood, possibly for the first time, how priceless the relics were. He looked back at Mr. Coy with a gleam in his eyes. “Now there’s only the coin and the staff left,” Ret said, “and we know where to find the staff.”
“Well, as far as the coin goes, Lye probably keeps it in his pocket, you know, for indecisive moments,” Coy grinned as he flipped an imaginary coin from his thumb.
Ret, deep in thought, didn’t laugh. “Maybe not. I doubt Lye would chance keeping the coin on his person, especially after losing the key.” He slipped the cord that held the key relic around his neck. “I bet he’s got the coin relic hidden away somewhere at Waters Deep.”
“So, these relics … what is it that they do?”
“Well, in the time-tile memory, my First Father instructed the Guardians to each give their relic to me when I came to collect their element. He told them I would know what to do with them, but …”
“You haven’t the foggiest,” Mr. Coy finished for him.
“Not a clue,” Ret said, letting out a deep sigh. “Maybe I knew once upon a time, but can’t remember now because I lost my memory.”
“You look exhausted. I’m worried about the amount of time you’re spending down here in the lower levels of the Keep, alone and using your power over wood and time to look into the past.”
Ret felt his body tense.
“Now listen Ret, I’ve purposely kept out of it, trusting that you know what you’re doing. But you’ve changed. Paige has noticed it too. Ever since Russia and your relationship with Nika, you are not the same person. We’re both worried that you are not seeing straight, maybe even neglecting what is truly important—your family. You are going about this the wrong way.”
Ret hated being told what to do, and Mr. Coy seemed to do that a lot. “What do you mean? What am I doing wrong?”
“Well, while you’ve been down here going rogue, dabbling too much in the past, I’ve been in my lab working on Helen’s secret water formula. In fact, I have even improved it.”
Ret let his body relax. He knew that it was this formula that had signed Helen’s death notice. That Lye—in order to keep the healing properties of the natural springs at Waters Deep a secret—used his two-faced henchman, Doctor Cross, to poison Helen until she finally succumbed. That together they, the doctor and his evil Lord, had tricked Mr. Coy into thinking his beloved wife had blamed him for what she had gone through. And, that this was the very cause of Mr. Coy’s mental absence in his Paige’s life for all those years. Ret understood that by re-creating the formula, Mr. Coy might get back a little of what he’d lost over the years.
Mr. Coy looked into Ret’s eyes. “You need to trust me again. I think you need your memories back, your real thoughts and feelings, not these echoes from other people’s lives. I believe Helen’s formula is the key to restoring your memories. What do you say, will you give it a go?”
This was the big question, the thing Ret had been avoiding since Neo first taught him how to peer through time—would he look back at his own history? He’d thought about it, hundreds of times, but could never get himself to commit. He honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to. What if he didn’t like who he used to be? What if Lye had told him the truth and that night, on the burning ship waiting for the hurricane above Sunken Earth, he had been working to help Lye collect the elements? What if he learned that deep down he wasn’t a good person? That he had been selfishly neglecting his true family and purpose? There had been a time when he would have given anything to know who he was and where he came from. But now, with the chance to regain all of his memories and fulfill his true destiny … he wasn’t sure. Why was he avoiding the possibility of learning who he truly was?
Ret looked into his friend’s honest, compassionate eyes, seeing the older man’s belief and hope staring back at him. He realized Mr. Coy had always cared for him, albeit in his imperfect “Ben Coy” manner. He decided once again to trust him, and before he knew what he was doing, Ret shrugged and said, “Sure, why not.”
“Cool beans and cheese! I can’t wait. And, while you’re there, I can show you my updated version of the subsuit, as well as my latest creation. I call it the Iron Pillar.”
“The Iron what?” Ret grinned.
“Oh, you’ll see,” Mr. Coy said. “It’s going to knock your socks off. Actually, it’s designed to knock Lye’s socks off. You get the picture, right?”
“Ah, not really,” Ret said honestly.
“Not to worry, my boy, not to worry.” Coy picked up Helen’s photo album, smiling enthusiastically. “Now let’s get ourselves topside and get cooking.” Coy stepped closer to the smooth wall, moved to the picture of the meeting of the Guardians, and pressed the round shape that represented the Oracle. The wall slid sideways, part of it disappearing into the adjacent wall to reveal the secondary elevator inside.
Ret picked up the folding table and platter, moving towards the elevator. He placed them against the closest wall inside, but then stepped back. “Thank you for dinner and for sharing Helen’s book of remembrance with me, but I’m staying. I’ve decided I’m not quite done down here. I have a millennia of Neo’s life to retrace, starting from this room all the way to when Nika helped me collect the Wood element.”
“Ret, I really don’t think—” Mr. Coy began to say, but Ret cut him off.
“I know what you think,” Ret said, using his power over air to amplify his own sound waves, as if someone had cranked up the bass on a radio equalizer.
Mr. Coy stepped back, appearing surprised, perhaps realizing Ret truly was a different person now. “The path that leads away from family is the wrong path,” Coy emphasized again.
Ret took a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate your concern.” His voice had returned back to normal. “I promise to come to your lab and let you experiment on me. But this is something I have to do. I don’t expect you to understand, but I am asking you to respect my wishes.”
“Very well, son,” Mr. Coy said, his voice soft and subdued. “Don’t get too lost in the past … the present still needs you.”
Ret nodded and the elevator doors slid shut.
As the secondary elevator began to ascend, Mr. Coy closed his eyes and said in a whisper, “Godspeed young healer, may your heart be courageous and your course indeed be true.”