Andrea Carter arrives at her apartment after a long day of classes. The walk from campus leaves her nothing but time to think about the last three months. That’s how long it’s been since anyone has seen or heard anything of Edward Sanders. Three months since the viral video that was first believed to be a weird and dangerous frat prank turned out to be the final time anyone saw Edward as a mysterious group of men in an unmarked van grabbed him and disappeared, somehow avoiding any and all traffic cameras around town. Three months since that day she asked him if she’d see him that night; the last day they spoke. Three months since she’d missed the chance to tell him how she really felt about him.
She thinks about this as she walks to her mailbox to check her mail. The last three months have been rough. She tried to keep in touch with Edward’s mother, making sure she was okay considering she had lost her estranged husband and her son within months of each other, but it was hard when her heart was breaking just as much. Fortunately for Mrs. Sanders, Edward’s Uncle T was around to check in on her when Andrea couldn’t find the strength to face her.
Pulling her keys from her bag, she opens her mailbox to check the mail for the first time in days. Inside she finds a series of bills, several pieces of junk mail, a catalog from a company she’s never heard of, and a large manila bubble mailer that she almost can’t pull out of the small opening. Not expecting anything, she checks the return address and is surprised to see the name of Professor Toma Kent. She hasn’t seen the professor since Edward’s memorial and is suddenly very curious what sort of package they would be sending to the friend of their former assistant. Feeling the package, it feels to Andrea like it might be something... bookish? A spark of joyous excitement appears in her heart for the first time in a while.
She rushes into her apartment and quickly closes the door behind her, juggling and nearly losing everything in her arms as she enters. She drops her bag on the floor, tosses the rest of the mail on her dining table, and immediately tears into the mailer. Inside the package she finds a typed letter with Professor Kent’s letterhead, Mr. Sanders’ journal, and an envelope with her name written in a very familiar handwriting.
Near tears, her voice cracks as she squeaks out, “Edward?”
Andrea drops the rest to the table, immediately opens the envelope, and pulls out a piece of yellow lined paper torn from a legal pad. She unfolds it and reads:
> Andrea,
>
> You’re my best friend, and the last thing I want is to hurt you, but if you’re reading this, then I’m likely dead. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but something is probably going to happen after I leave Professor Kent’s office. It might just be my rising paranoia, as I think I’ve started to see things, but I think I noticed a couple of Whateley’s men standing in the hallway before I walked into the Anthropology office.
>
> After you left last night, I read the journal. I know now that was a mistake. It was full of insane symbols and maddening scribbles from my father and I realize now that it has done something to me. I’m behaving... strangely, and I can only assume it will get worse. Professor Kent and I agree that Whateley CANNOT get his hands on this journal. It would be apocalyptically bad.
>
> They wanted me to burn it, and I still might if I get the chance, but I need time to think. Everything is so muddled right now. I’m leaving it with Toma along with this letter and instructions to pass the journal to you if they feel unsafe. Not to get all Princess Leia on you, but you ARE my only hope, Obi Wan. If you ever feel like you’re in danger because of this damn thing, or start to feel like you’re being followed by strange individuals, get it to my Uncle T. He’ll be expecting it if the professor does as I’ve asked, and if you’re reading this I can only assume they did. Be careful. Keep your head on a swivel. Trust no one. And most importantly, DON’T READ IT! No matter how tempting it gets, no matter what it whispers to you, DO NOT READ THIS JOURNAL!
>
> Your Fr Best Friend Always,
>
> Edward Sanders
>
> P.S. I’m sorry I never got to tell you, that I never made the time to say it, but I’m in love with you. I wish I’d said something sooner, but since this is probably my last chance, when else will I be able to say it?
>
> Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
>
> I love you, Andrea Carter, and I hope I get the chance to tell you in person, because I would hate it if the only time you found out was after I was gone.
She’s not sure when she started crying, but she finally notices when the first tears hit the page before her. She immediately blots it with her shirt and puts it down on the table in front of her, using the same shirt to then wipe her eyes. She looks at the journal before her and feels a low buzzing in her head. She begins to lean forward before catching herself, allowing anger at what this book has taken from her to recenter herself. Andrea instead grabs the typed letter from Professor Kent and begins reading.
> Andrea,
>
> I’m sorry to burden you with this, but Edward said you would understand after reading his letter. The day we spoke, the last day he was seen, we made this plan. He was a bit manic, likely an effect of what he read in his father’s journal, but he was sure that Whateley’s men were waiting outside my office and we both understood that they could not find the book on his person. So I would keep the journal, just in case he was right, and keep it safe for him. I hoped to never enact part two of our plan and send this on to you, but I made a huge mistake. My academic curiosity finally got the better of me and I read from the journal. Whatever was affecting Edward in my office that day has now begun affecting me as well. I’m losing my tether to reality and fear for my sanity. I’m afraid what I might do, so I’m taking away any temptation I might fall to from Jake’s journal. Again, I’m so sorry for dropping this burden on you. Be careful. Be safe. And don’t try to find me. I’m compromised and can’t be trusted. Trust no one.
>
> Toma Kent
Andrea puts the letter down and takes a deep breath. She leans forward, putting both hands on the table, then looks again at Jake Sanders’ journal and thinks, occasionally glancing around her apartment. In a sudden burst of inspiration, she grabs an old t-shirt that has become a cleaning rag, wraps the journal up in it, grabs a gallon size freezer bag, puts the bundle inside, zips it closed, and sticks it in the back of her freezer.
“I’m sure you’re used to the cold,” she says to the journal as she closes the freezer door. She walks over to her couch and plops onto it exhaustedly. Her mind is awhirl with everything that has just happened. She thinks long and hard about destroying the damned book immediately, but realizes it is the last link she has to Edward. She just can’t bring herself to do it. She also considers that, if the time comes, it might be a bargaining chip of some kind when Whateley and his men come for her.
These are the thoughts that float through her mind as she lays down on her couch, curls up, and in a mix of fear, anger, and deep sadness, begins to release a number of pent up emotions from the last three months and weep.
----------------------------------------
Jacob Whateley sits comfortably at his desk within the American Environmental Society reading through some old papers, mostly incident reports from various Antarctic expeditions from over the years. Aside from Dyer’s account of the Pabodie Expedition; there is the curious, disastrous, and mostly rejected report of what occurred at Big Magnet a few years later that led to the loss of most of its members to a supposed alien monstrosity capable of altering its appearance and read men’s minds. That one was considered a sad case of isolation madness and commonly disbelieved, but not by Whateley. There is a similar Norwegian report full of supposition piecing together what likely happened at their Thule Station back in the ‘80s. Finally, there is a write-up from some of his own men regarding what was found at the remains of U.S. Outpost #31, discovered while they aided Jake Sanders on his search for the fabled mountain range that kept Whateley’s almost singular focus all these years. His phone rings. Without taking his eyes from the paper in his left hand, he picks up the phone receiver with his right and brings it to his ear. “Speak.”
The voice on the other end comes through as if it is being transferred through a tin can. “Field Team Upsilon reporting, sir. The boy has managed to escape. It appears he vanished into the tunnels just like his father after squirreling away rations over time. The information he gave us seems to be inaccurate.”
Whateley slams his left hand on his desk causing the paper it holds to wrinkle a bit. Something inside his hand cracks. He closes his eyes and breathes through clenched teeth. After taking a moment to compose himself again, he replies, “It’s possible he lied about burning the book. I’m not even sure those sigils will burn.” He taps a button on his phone and speaks to whoever picks up, “Sanders is gone.” He sighs at the response. “No. The other one. One of his friends might have the journal. Keep an eye on them. Start with Kent and the girl.”
He returns the phone to its cradle, leans back looking up at the ceiling, and says, “These Sanders men are proving to be more trouble than they’re worth.” He then focuses his attention back to his papers. He writes a few notes on a pad before him, then sets them aside. He picks up another, this one a copy of an old newspaper clipping about a theater tragedy from years ago that occurred over the bridge in the town of Cape Fear. During the opening night performance of a brand new play, the crowd apparently went mad and burned the place to the ground, with everyone still inside.
He scratches a few notes on a notepad, including the title of the play, then moves on to the next clipping and starts to read again.
END