THE END
Yeah. The end. Or pretty close to it, anyway. The battle for Halla is over. For sure this time. No more surprises. No more twists. No more false hope. It’s done. I promise. I guess it’s not a big surprise to say that I’m still around. Not that my survival was a lock or anything, it’s just that if my existence had ended, I wouldn’t be writing this, would I?
Still, a very big question remains. What’s next? What will become of me now that my job as a Traveler is complete? Things aren’t the same. The battle with Saint Dane has altered Halla, and I’m no longer sure what my place is. The future I’m looking at now scares me more than anything I’ve encountered over the past few years. That’s really saying something.
So I guess I lied. It’s not really the end. The final chapter of the existence of Bobby Pendragon has yet to be written. I know that I will have to deal with that at some point, but not just yet. Before I can face the future, I must first deal with the past.
I’m writing this journal in a small, sparse room that has become my temporary home. I have no idea how long I’ll be here. My guess is that I’ll be allowed to stay for as long as it takes to finish this journal. I’m not sure if I should pick up the pace and get it done, or string this out for as long as possible to avoid dealing with the next phase of life. As always, there’s a certain comfort that comes from writing these journals. I think that’s because when I write, I already know what happened. Writing is safe. There are no surprises. Though reliving these events is reassuring, it can also be painful. I’d just as soon forget about much of what has happened to me and my friends. But that’s not the point. Writing isn’t just about Bobby therapy. It’s about documenting what has happened on my adventure through time and space. This is what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. Why stop now? The last chapter needs to be written.
Whoever you are, reader, if you’re up to speed and have seen my previous journals, you’ll know that I didn’t have many opportunities to sit and write. Things were happening too fast. It wasn’t until I found myself in this room that I could take a breath, collect my thoughts, and get it all down. I wrote several of my previous entries here as well. I deliberately concluded my Journal #36 where I did because it seemed like a natural place to finish one major chapter before beginning another. When I spin my memory back to that moment, it’s with mixed emotions.
I was at the lowest point imaginable. Second Earth was lost. Scores of people had been sucked into a monstrous flume created by Alexander Naymeer. Mark and Courtney were gone. Patrick Mac was killed. Alder was killed. Saint Dane’s Convergence was complete.
And I had become a murderer. I killed Alexander Naymeer. I acted out of anger. Out of weakness. It was exactly what Saint Dane wanted me to do. That one heinous act gave him his final victory. Halla was his. He no longer needed the flumes and they were destroyed. I was flung through space and found myself in a desolate wasteland. Beaten. Lost. Alone. I couldn’t have been in a lower place. I had failed. Miserably.
So why exactly are those emotions “mixed” for me? Though I had reached bottom, I soon discovered that I wasn’t alone. Uncle Press kept his promise. He came back. So did all the other Travelers. My friends. I had seen many of them die, including Uncle Press, but somehow we were all brought together again. How was that possible? Were we all dead? It didn’t matter to me at that moment, because it seemed like a dream. But it wasn’t. We were truly together.
It was then that Uncle Press gave us our final challenge. He once told me that Saint Dane could not be beaten until he felt as if he had won. There was no question in my mind. Saint Dane had won. Going by Uncle Press’s reasoning, that was good news. How twisted is that? As we all stood in that mysterious, empty place, Uncle Press asked me a question that was simple, but carried a load of weight: “Will it end here?”
I looked to the other Travelers. Gunny Van Dyke. Vo Spader. Elli Winter. Siry Remudi. Patrick Mac. Aja Killian. Kasha. Alder and Loor. Their looks back to me were unmistakable. They weren’t ready to give up. It was their conviction that gave me the strength to decide that, as grim as things had gotten, as many mistakes as I’d made, as badly as we’d been beaten, there was still some fight left in the Travelers.
It gave me the confidence to say to Uncle Press, “We are so not done yet.”
That’s where I ended my previous journal and where I will begin my next. Journal #37. The final journal of Bobby Pendragon’s adventure through time and space.
Before I can look forward, I must look back.
One last time.