The Chronicles of Fire and Ice: The Revealing Page 18

  “Are you ready for this, Marc?” he asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, hands suddenly clammy.

  We got in his car and drove off. The ride was short and long and neither one of us spoke a word. Once we parked, we got out and walked towards the front entrance. I stopped half way while Dylan kept walking.

  He turned around. “Marc, what’s wrong?”

  “Do you mind taking a picture for me?”

  “Sure.”

  He pulled out his phone and I stood in front of the building. It was the same location eighteen years ago where my parents took our first picture. I put my hands in my pockets and he snapped.

  “Can you smile this time?” Dylan put the phone to his side and smiled.

  I freed my hands and locked them together in front of me. He snapped another. He started walking while I still stood there.

  “You sure you’re OK? We don’t have to do this,” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go in.”

  I was shaking on the inside at the simple thought of just opening the doors. Still I pushed back the nerves and headed down the path to my real life. Walking through the glass double doors, I didn’t know what to really say. We approached a circular desk that sat in the center of the lobby and was greeted by a young lady with shoulder length curly brown hair.

  “Anything I can help you gentlemen with?” she asked.

  “Hi. My name is Marcus, Marcus Peterson,” I stuttered.

  Dylan reached out for a handshake as he introduced himself. She obliged.

  “Marcus and Dylan, what can we help you with here today?”

  This was it. My body started to tremble. I was getting cold chills and it wasn’t because of Dylan. I was literally scared as to what kind of answers I would get, if any at all. I took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “I think I was adopted here eighteen years ago. I was just wondering if you had any kind of records if I was? Maybe some that would lead me to, well… finding my biological parents.”

  “How brave you are. I just need a bit of information from you. Fill out these forms and give it back to me when you’re done,” she smiled.

  At least the atmosphere was calming. It had four huge decorative pillars and behind the desk were a set of offices and stairs leading somewhere. I started filling out the paperwork but lost control of my hands. Dylan had to finish it.

  “Dude, I need you to relax,” Dylan whispered, handing me the completed forms. “You know what happens when our emotions are out of whack.”

  “I’m trying but this is sort of an emotional situation I’m in.” People were starting to make quick glances at us. Last thing I needed to do was cause a scene.

  “Alright, alright,” Dylan continued, “just breathe, please.”

  I took the papers back to the desk and handed it to her with my ID. She took the papers and informed us it could take a moment to locate the files if any, then went to the back. I went back to my seat and waited patiently for my name to be called.

  “So how are your classes going?” Dylan broke the silence.

  “Ehh, OK.”

  “A little more than a one-word answer would be OK. Stop being so nervous about everything.” He was leaned back in his seat, legs spread widely apart, chewing the end of a pen.

  “I got all A’s on my mid-terms.”

  “Smart ass.”

  We both laughed then he got serious once again.

  “I think I blew it with Delilah, bro.”

  “She’ll come around. She’s a woman. Just give them a little space and they’ll forgive you.”

  “I left her, on a bench, in the middle of New York City, at night. American or not, no girl wants to have that happen to her.”

  “In your defense, you had a very valid reason. Like I said, she’ll come around. I don’t know what kind of lie you’re going to tell her, but I can talk to her to see where she stands.”

  “I’m not sure if I will ever be able to get close to another female, EVER!”

  “Quiet and stop being so dramatic.”

  “Sorry. You’re right, but I’m saying… before, I couldn’t even pay a girl to look my way, and now I’m not sure if my powers will allow me to get close to anyone.”

  “Explain.”

  I sighed. “While we were home, the night I borrowed your car, I went to see Monica. We were in the pool swimming and things got a bit steamy. Right when we kissed, I noticed small burns on Monica’s back from me where my hands were. I panicked and hopped out, wet clothes and everything. Things didn’t end well that night.”

  “With a little more control, you’ll be OK. I'm sure of it. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I talked to Trey this week. He loves the South. He won’t be home for Thanksgiving, but Christmas it will be the three of us again.”

  “Nice. I can’t wait—”

  “Marcus Peterson?” The receptionist interrupted.

  I got up and began to walk to the front desk but stopped when I noticed Dylan still sitting.

  “Are you not coming?”

  “Oh no, this is something you have to do on your own. I'm just the chauffeur and moral support. Now go find your parents. I’ll send you these pics since you got a new phone finally.” He flipped through the pages of a magazine.

  I walked back to the desk. “Well…”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Peterson, we don’t have any files on your adoption.” Her words sounded rehearsed like she’s practiced her lines multiple times for multiple clients.

  I immediately thought I should just give up my short search. My head dropped and I thanked her for her time. I turned around and started for the door until her voice, now whispering, stopped me.

  “It seems your adoption was a … sort of a special case. Could you come to the back please?” she asked anxiously.

  I forced down the lump in my throat. Was this an answer? Confused, I followed her up the stairs into an office.

  Still whispering, she said, “You can have a seat and someone will be in shortly.” The door closed behind her.

  I sat for a few minutes looking over the office, praying this wasn’t a trap. There were two degrees on the wall from Syracuse, and pictures of a group of middle-aged girls on the desk alongside a few snow globes from different states along the west coast. The door creaked. I snapped around.

  “Hi,” I blurted as if I was doing something wrong seconds prior.

  In walked a finely aged woman with pale skin and salt and pepper hair that barely reached her ears. She walked around and sat at her desk across from me and smiled not saying a word.

  “My…”—she marveled at my face and body—“have you grown, Marcus.”

  Now I was really confused. What did she mean by I have grown? Was this lady my mother?

  “My name is Stephanie Burch,” she said then spoke in a whisper like we weren’t the only ones in the room. “I knew your father.”

  “You knew my father?” Both hands tapped the desk as I leaned forward.

  She straightened her body, her posture and voice now professional. “I didn’t know your father on a personal level, but I did handle your adoption.”

  I fixed my posture. She took off her glasses.

  “I thought there was no record of my adoption?”

  “There isn’t any. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Her cryptic messages had needles pinning my spine.

  I sat back in my seat. “I don’t mean to sound rude, Mrs. Burch, but you’re really confusing me. What exactly do you mean by: you’ve been waiting for me?” I prepared myself for a fight just in case this lady jumped across the desk and attacked me.

  “Let me explain what happened that day. At the time I’d only been working here a few months. I was working late trying to help a family adopt this sweet little girl. It was a real bad storm that night, heavy rains and thunderstorms all throughout the night. The power went out and the room was pitch black. I’m normally fine in the dark, but for some reason I was frightened. So I left
my office to find a flashlight and right when I grabbed one, the lights came back on. I looked outside and noticed that the whole street was still in a blackout but for some reason, my building had power. It was eerie nonetheless, but I headed back into my office. I swear I’d almost had a heart attack when I walked in and seen a man in that chair you’re sitting in right now.”

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  “My first instinct was to scream and hit him upside the head with my flashlight, but he looked so scared, so terrified like his world was about to end. His calm voice kept telling me over and over that he wouldn’t hurt me and he needed my help. I believed him once I saw what he was holding.”

  “What was it?”

  “A beautiful baby boy. He looked to be no more than a few weeks old. The baby started to cry. The man held him to his soaked chest and started to rock him saying that it was going to be OK. He soon stopped crying.

  “I took the baby from the man and dried him off. It then caught my attention that the man was bleeding from his shoulder. I quickly got him a first-aid kit and helped him get clean and dry. While bandaging him, he went on to tell his story, saying that he had these “powers”, and that people were hunting him down, wanting to kill him and his baby. His name, I’ll never forget, was Ignazio Ferrari.

  “He continued on saying his son would one day come into his powers and people wouldn’t stop until he was dead. He asked if I could take his baby and find him a good home. This wasn’t the life he wanted for his son. So I agreed.

  “He said there were just two things he wanted out of the deal: for me to keep no written record of this and that the boy kept his birth name. His story had me in tears. I just couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt an innocent child. Knowing the protocols and being new, I agreed anyway and promised to make it hasty. He grabbed me, hugged me, then reached out and took the baby saying his last words of the night.”

  “What did he say,” I asked, shaking, gripping the edges of my seat.

  “I love you, Marcus, were his last words. He jumped out of the window and flew into the night. Then the power shut off again. At that moment, I knew I was holding a miracle.”

  I couldn’t believe that I had a link to my father. My eyes were filled with tears that were waiting to fall down my face. She handed me a tissue and welcomed me home. I was ecstatic, sad, joyful, and mad. All these emotions were going through my body and yet I felt so calm.

  “Did he ever say anything about my mother?” I said, drying the tears from my eyes.

  “I'm sorry, but he never mentioned her,” she said.

  We spent the next hour talking about adopted life, my family, what my father looked like, and everything in between. She described my father as very handsome with a youthful face. He was tall and tan with light brown eyes and jet-black hair that trimmed at the sides with a heavy Italian accent. It all made sense now. I’m sure I'm the spitting image of him.

  Right as I got up to walk out of the door, she stopped me. “One more thing before you leave, Mr. Ferrari.” She handed me a large brown envelope. “A few days after I got you, this envelope came in the mail. I opened it and it was a thank you note with another envelope enclosed. The note instructed to give this to you only if you ever started looking for answers. This belongs to you.” She handed me the envelope and her businesses card.

  “If you ever need anything, Marcus, I’m here.”

  When I got to the door, I turned around and she was standing behind her desk with that permanent smile painted on her face. I walked back and hugged her. “Thank you, Mrs. Burch.”

  “You’re welcome, Marcus.” She responded with a light embrace. “Be great and protect yourself. Whoever they are, they’re still looking for you.”

  I nodded and headed towards the lobby. I was still a little teary-eyed and emotional. Dylan jumped right up when he saw me.

  “Did you find them?” he asked.

  “My father’s name is Ignazio. Ignazio Ferrari and he’s Italian,” I cried. I sat down, face collapsing into my hands. Dylan bent down and rubbed my back, comforting me as I let my emotions run wild.

  Once we left the agency, we headed to Central Park instead of going back to campus. Flashbacks of my previous battle plagued my memories as we walked around.

  Maybe I needed a therapist?

  I did my best to tell the story exactly the way Mrs. Burch told it.

  “My father has the power of lightning,” I said.

  “Guess we know how you got the powers now. What’s that you’re holding?”

  “It’s an eighteen-year-old envelope from my father with the name Marcus Ferrari on the front and the numbers 3-1-1-9 on the back.”

  “Don’t you want to open it and read it?”

  I was still trying to process everything. I opened the envelope and pulled the note out. Wasn’t expecting it to say much since we didn’t know each other. I read:

  Marcus, I'm sure you now know what you are capable of and probably confused. I'm sorry I couldn’t be there to help you with this process. I’ve done everything I can to help protect you and even in death, I will continue to protect you.

  Love, Dad

  “He’s dead,” I said. I parked it on the grass and put the note in my pocket.

  “I'm sorry, man,” Dylan said.

  “I don’t get it? He said he could protect me even in death.”

  “Let me see the note,” Dylan said. I handed him the note and envelope.

  “Look right here,” he said. “How did you miss the address written on the back of this paper?”

  “An address to where?” I asked.

  “I'm not sure, but I'm guessing it has something to do with this key and this other paper in it.”

  “Where did that key come from?” I snatched the key from his hand.

  “You can be slow sometimes. It was in the envelope, genius. Geesh did you even look to see what was all in it?”

  I snatched the paper back. “Are you up for a trip right quick?” I said.

  “I'm always down for a trip,” Dylan said.

  We jumped back in the car and made our way through the nightmarish traffic of New York. Within an hour, a trip across the Brooklyn Bridge, and a pit stop for doughnuts, we were there.

  “Your dad seems like he went through a lot to protect you from something. What do you think it could be?” Dylan asked.

  I just stared out the window as we sat in the parking garage. I couldn’t think straight. “Why did he have die?” I repeated under my breath. The address led us to a bank. We finally got out and walked in.

  “Let me handle this,” Dylan said. He walked up to one of the tellers and asked to go to safe deposit box 3119. The man told him only if he had proof he was authorized, he could enter.

  “OK so that plan didn’t work,” Dylan said, walking back to me.

  “Yeah, you idiot, because you aren’t authorized. I am.” I walked back to the teller.

  “I need to get into safe deposit box 3119.”

  “I’ll tell you like I told that last kid I just saw you chatting with, nobody is getting in without property authority,” the teller said. I was almost one hundred percent positive that an employee shouldn’t be using that tone of voice with the customers. But what do I know? All I’ve ever done was sling greasy chicken and smoothies to tables for two years.

  I pulled out the power of attorney and my social security card and handed it to him. “Here. That safe deposit box belongs to my father and I need to get in it. Sir.”

  His fingers mashed at the keyboard. That didn’t stop him from taking his sweet time and making sure I caught his eyes rolling whenever we made contact. “I’m sorry, Marcus,” he said. “Looks like there is a security question on the box. We can’t let you in.”

  “How about you try asking the question,” I said. I needed to talk to this man’s supervisor.

  He shrugged and let out a long breath.

  Rude. He didn’t want me to do the same.

  “If M
r. Ignazio Ferrari had to choose one superpower, what would it be?” He didn’t bother to look at me. His monotonous voice and drawn out words didn’t sound like he really wanted to ask the question.

  “Lightning,” I said. My hands started to get antsy. I just answered the million-dollar question and I knew it was right. I was ready to accept my prize.

  “Follow me to the vault, Mr. Peterson,” he said. I threw Dylan the deuces and followed the teller.

  “Here you go,” he said, “box 3119.”

  I walked up to the box and without hesitation, I put the key in and turned it. I slid the drawer towards me. Although I wasn’t sure what to expect, this wasn’t it.

  Journals. Lots of journals.

  Some were old, some ancient, and some newer. Some had these weird shapes and symbols indented on the covers. There was an old brown leather satchel that held a few more journals. I grabbed the satchel and threw it across my shoulder and stuffed as many books in it as possible. I carried the rest.

  A total of 13 journals.

  When we got back to campus we rushed to my room and dumped all the journals onto my bed.

  “What do you think all this means?” Dylan asked.

  “Not sure, but I think somewhere in these books lies the mystery of who I am and maybe the story of these powers.”

  “Well, let’s start reading then.”

  Chapter 17

  Shapes and Squiggles

  Over the next couple of weeks Marcus and I focused all our attention on school and trying to make sense of the journals he inherited. A few of them were written in some weird hieroglyphic language. There was one symbol in particular that stood out on the cover of all the journals.

  “What do you think it means?” Marcus asked, sitting on the floor staring at the journal that rested on his bed.

  “I have no clue,” I said.

  “This isn’t helping at all. I’ve been going through these pages for weeks and I can’t seem to get anything out of them.”

  “That’s because they each have like fifteen different languages.”

  “How about we call it a night and pick up again tomorrow?”