Temporality does not exist…it never existed; it is the illusion of discovery.
Kendall, a motherless kid, or so he was made to believe, lived with his
father, a multi-millionaire businessperson, Mr. Rosenvelt. Kendall has been
suffering since his birth from a rare form of illness, never discovered in all
of humanity, which led his parents to imprison him within the walls of the
house. He has never been face-to-face with a real human. He was taught by
hundreds of books in his father’s library, and those books were pretty
interesting. They did not contain basic or knowledgeable information, each
one of them contained a story, a story that lasted from the first little
paragraph.
Many times, he wished to be there, living those thrilling experiences, but
this time, that desire seemed to be not so far away because, for good or bad,
that moment in his life which was beginning was about to give him new
discoveries. Starting with that same night when he leafed through, for the
last time, the last page of the last book. It was a night, he did not know
when as he was never told. He discovered the hours alone, looking at the
sky, waiting for the moon to rise. When his father’s phone rang, however,
the one calling did not get an answer. Time passed with not even a noise to
hear, until Kendall heard whispering from the lower floor, assuming it was a
work call.
He did not understand exactly what they were talking about. He went
down barefoot so as not to be heard and went straight to the kitchen, which
bordered exactly with the living room where Rosenvelt was. Kendall, from
an early age, was familiar with his father’s job, or at least with what he told
him: he was the financier of a project, a great project for the future health of
people; but every question he asked him was somehow diverted, so he
concluded he was part of some secret organization. He knew very well that
in that case, he had to keep the information secret and therefore accepted
the fact that he never told him about that.
After more than a movement of the moon, Kendall noticed that time
passed and his attention was slowly moving toward it. The moon, from
which he felt called as if he felt safe with it up there, watching over him.
However, this moon call was interrupted when the tone rose and he was
able to perfectly hear a sentence by Rosenvelt: <Project accepted by
Kronelfield, we do not know what will happen from now on>. He stood
motionless for several moments, there could not be a reason for him. That
sentence regurgitated in his head until he felt a slight tingling under his
nose. It took him so long to understand what he was feeling that in the
meantime, he lost consciousness, as far as the dark of the night when the
moon went down.
He woke up the next morning without knowing what really happened.
Something changed, he could feel that, but that perception was not big
enough to be heard. He then went to his father’s room but did not find him.
He searched around and called his name with a resonant voice through the
walls of the house, but nothing happened and no one stepped up. The
situation that had arisen led him to have a little bit of difficulty trying to
calm down. Hardly breathing, he inhaled, exhaled, and managed to stop the
fair. He spent hours walking back and forth through the corridor between
his room and his father’s until he stumbled upon a piece of parquet that had
risen slightly.
He bent over to fix it but did not enter precisely. He noticed that
something did not shut it down. It was full of dust, but there seemed to be
something in there. He slowly raised the tile and glimpsed at a small box; it
seemed to be incredibly old. He took it and opened it with caution. Inside,
there was a pendant, or at least it seemed to be. After cleaning the dirt, he
could finally see that it was a key, a small key.
There seemed to be something written on the headboard, it was a
noticeably short word. It sounded more like a number but he could not read
it well, the light was low and it was pouring out. He was determined to find
out what that word meant. In the desk drawer in his father’s study, there was
a small lamp that gave an intense light. He slightly lifted the key to bring it
closer to the light but it was so tiny that it slipped from his hands. The head
of the key fell to the ground and with it, a tiny leaflet, something that also
seemed quite ancient: The day you read these words, I will not be there
anymore. Hide it in a place most trusted by you and protect it at the cost of
your life.
He was shocked again. He still could not connect the phone call of the
previous day with the message in this note until, taking the top of the key in
his hand, he managed to read that tiny code: 303. Only then did he realise
that things were connected. His parents used to repeat this number every
time they worked with anyone. All he had to do was figure out how. He
remained for a while reasoning, or at least trying to understand if it was
really happening or was just a nightmare. What was happening was already
written in the first pages of the books he had read.
The connection was there but because of that loss of consciousness, he
could no longer see the logical thread connecting the worlds, the thread of
history, and what he was experiencing. It seemed like someone had written
down something on paper that he was just about to begin. From the
previous night, things changed, times changed, and perhaps his lack of
knowledge of real time turned out to be a plus for him, avoiding further
rebuttal. In the meantime, he looked at the key. He kind of analysed it as it
was so strange but so familiar. He seemed to have already seen it but did
not understand when. He still did not understand the gravity of the situation.
He could understand that his father had something to do with something
strange but he could not even imagine what it was.
Even though he wanted to figure out what it was for or where it could
lead, he was aware that he should take it away from home. He knew very
well that there was no door or anything in the house with a lock of that fine,
elegant shape, almost like an ancient feather. He took back a thought for his
father. Although he was no one special to him, he had his blood, so he
believed he could not think of leaving him abandoned to his fate. Why
would he ever go away without him? was the question that remained in his
head for a long time. In addition to hiding the key, he had to hide himself,
but because of the illness he kind of had, he could risk his life by going out
of his home.
His parents have always been clear about it. Despite the enormous
danger he knew he was getting into, he knew he had to hurry. Time passed
without him realising it and he could not let the night go by. Knowing there
were no secret places in the city, he did not know where to go. It was now
late afternoon when he remembered a place his mother had painted shortly
before missing. He had fuzzy memories of the story his dad told him about
that place. He had never seen it except in a painting she guarded for him as
a gift of birth. Being a child at the time, he did not ask too many questions
about where it could be found; he did not even know if it was in his own
country. But he had to get there, this place seemed to be so close to his
mother’s heart and so far away from home that the key would be safe.
Dad kept all of Mom’s memories in a part of an old sitting room under
the ground, where he proposed to her. At the time, they were two small
independent entrepreneurs and they lived in a little house above this sitting
room. Over the years, their wealth expanded but they decided to live where
their little shelter was. It was a secret part below the house, which was
connected by a small staircase. It was a bit ancient, certainly, but they had
no intention of changing it, especially after her death. Exactly in there was
the painting which he had previously remembered. He had only to find it
but knew it would be easy. It was all put in order, clean, and guarded as a
corner of paradise.
He moved some things inside a couple of shelves but at least he found it
hanging behind a cloth that protected it from ruin. It was exactly how he
remembered it; it seemed like Mom’s soul was in that place. Yet, as he kept
looking at it, he could not find any detail that could reveal its name, and he
did not understand why, if it really were so important, she did not want to
leave even a single word referred to.
He returned to the upper floor of the house in his father’s study where
there was that light so strong that the first time revealed a huge thing to
him. He decided once again to double-check if there was even a faded sign
from time on that canvas. Then he noticed a small dot under the light, there
seemed to be only one dot, but when he passed his finger on it, it seemed
that something was being written. He did not understand how this would be
possible. He did not want to ruin the painting but he had no other choice.
He took a pencil and passed it to that point to retrace the invisible word.
After that, he felt something was written on it now. Even faded, he could
read Beaver County.
It was where he had to go. As difficult as this mission may seem, he was
ready to meet his destiny. He could not wait for the sunrise, he had to set
out now. He snuck out from the back door of the house to pass unnoticed
among the neighbourhood that, in the end, had never seen him go out. He
began this long journey, bringing with him the key, the painting and placing
his life in the hands of fate. To understand where to go, he had to rely on his
abilities. He used to admire the sky from his room, and this became a real
passion. He could recognise the Pole Star perfectly, and since Beaver
County was in the northeast, he was lucky enough in that aspect.
He walked on and on. Even though that country gave him shivers, the
people seemed inanimate, and the atmosphere, especially that of the night,
was typically scary. If it were not for his family, he would never have
catapulted himself into a story like this where he did not know where he
was going, the danger was just around the corner. He knew it would be a
long, endless road but he never imagined that he would have to cross the
forest or that after three whole days, he would still be on the path. He was
now without strength. The little water he could drink from the small
waterfalls he crossed was not enough to recharge his strength. He had not
eaten for days and was beginning to drag along the way.
He had just begun the fourth day of walking, but now, he had to stop. He
settled inside a cave that he found in the innermost part of the forest. He
burned his last energy carrying a hollowed-out tree trunk filled with water.
It became difficult even to think about what to do. He was slowly losing
consciousness until he closed his eyes exactly at dawn on the fourth day. He
fainted from lack of energy and only awoke at sunset the same day because
of the rumour of the rain that was getting stronger and stronger. He looked
around to see if he was in danger because of animals, even if when he met
them, he had always managed to pass unnoticed.
At a certain point he could not believe what he was seeing. The first
thing he thought was that it was a hallucination because it was not there the
same morning. He saw a small bush with berries attached but did not
understand what type they were. As he approached, despite the rain, he
realised that they were rosehip berries. His grandfather taught him to
recognise them, he was the one, who spent his youth backpacking around
the world and keeping a book with all kinds of berries that could be found
in the woods. Kendall was the recipient of this gift. He was deeply
knowledgeable about life in these conditions.
As night fell, the Pole Star appeared again, which he saw getting closer
and closer. He could not be too far from the county and he was almost
certain that another couple of days of travel would bring him to his
destination. And so it was that when the sun went down on the sixth day, he
arrived there. The lake with those beautiful trees around formed a paradise
setting; it was exactly like the painting but in person, it gave a magical
feeling. The first thing he thought of doing was burying the box with the
key underwater. This plan would surely have allowed the key to be safe, but
the problem was <who would put it there?>.
He could not do it as he could not hold his breath for more than a
moment. On the other hand, he could not throw the key in the water. It
would still be safe but if, by chance, one day he needed to find it for some
reason, it would be impossible to find. His brain still whispered his father’s
words: Protect it at the cost of your life. The moment had objectively
arrived, the most dangerous moment of his life, but the one that apparently
would have protected something extremely important given how much his
father cared about it. He left his mother’s painting next to a tree; fate would
know what to do with it.
He slowly began to go into the water, step by step, until he could not
touch the bottom anymore. He breathed in and out, prepared for that great
breath, perhaps the last, and went under the water. He did not see anything.
From the outside, it seemed to be the cleanest water on earth but underneath
it was pure slime. He saw blurred-out skeletons on the floor but at once
looked away, he was frightened at the time. As far as he could, he swam to
the lowest part, almost to the final part. He saw an immense rock and he
thought it would be the perfect spot. He was aware that time had already
passed, he just tried not to think about it, otherwise, it would have been
worse.
He approached slowly; he did not know if he would find anything
dangerous, but looking deeply, it seemed to be simply an empty cave. He
went toward the inner part and it was all dark, that tiny light of the sunset
had gone away. Outside it was now night, inside it was pure black. With
shivers, he reached the inside of this huge rock. He was about to put the box
down when he touched something. At that moment, he was relying only on
his touch, and from what he could perceive, it was not any marine living
thing, not even a bunch of algae piled up. It had a round shape, it was hard;
he could only compare it to a soft rock or, actually, a knob. A knob means
there was a door and, therefore, a lock.
He touched it and tried to understand. He moved his hand a little under
the thing and something seemed to be there. It looked like a small lock. He
could not connect the things instantly as his oxygen had really reached its
limit. He tried to open it even though he knew he did not have the exact
key, but it was locked. What key could ever have such a small shape? It was
literally a tiny lock. Then he realised that the key in the box was small,
exceedingly small, but it still seemed to him bigger than that tiny hole. He
opened the box and took the key. It was a feat to try to catch the precise
point of the lock, it was as if his eyes were closed. Indeed, he did not see
even that slight reflection of light.
He was about to lose hope, but at least the key seemed to enter, and yet
he thought it was bigger than that; something else that he could not explain
seemed to have happened anyway. It was extremely hard as it did not turn
easily. It took nine whole turns of the key to feel that something was
unlocked. He opened the door slightly and a stream of water began to grow
increasingly. It went out the door and turned into an immense vortex. In the
space of half an instant, he found himself in the middle of that monstrous
eddy.
