Finder's Gate: The Complete Series

By Odette C. Bell

The complete Finder’s Gate series. Follow Zel and Helen on their saga through the multiverse in this four-episode box set.
He hunts treasure, and she’s his greatest find.
Zel’s a Level VIII Finder travelling the multiverse searching for objects of worth for his masters. When he heads to Earth to acquire an ancient treasure, he runs into Helen. She has a treacherous secret that could unravel the very fabric of reality and tear the multiverse apart.
But she’s still a find. And Finders never let their prizes go.
....
Finder’s Gate follows a bounty hunter and a hidden princess fighting through the multiverse to save her and everyone. If you love your space operas with action, heart, and a splash of romance, grab Finder’s Gate: The Complete Series today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odette C. Bell
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005055370

Book preview

Prologue

The Hall of Doors

Zel Barok, Finder, Level VIII

I strode down the darkened path between the pillars.

Beside me, I listened to the methodical footfall of the guards.

Every step droned out, timed, precise, and never missing a beat.

I was one thing as a Level VIII Finder. A thing that meant I could win most fights I entered, no matter what I took on in this violent dimension. As a Level VIII, I’d completed the necessary training of not only the Androx Special Forces Corps, but the Celestial Guard training, too, meaning I could comfortably slip into the role of a protector for one of the 10 Families if my life as a Finder didn’t work out.

And yet, even as a Finder, I had my limitations. The towering ten-foot tall Hall of Doors guards that strode beside me, ensuring I didn’t stray off the main path, were one such limitation.

They weren’t human. Of course they weren’t human. Though I was only half human myself, to be fair.

The guards weren’t of any known biological race in the galaxy.

They belonged to the Hall of Doors, and they could not leave or operate beyond it.

They were….

Not for the first time and not for the last, I surreptitiously ticked my gaze to the side and stared at the reflection of the closest guard in the two moats that ran along the stone path I was striding along.

They were fashioned to look like two enormous men with the heads of jackals. Though I didn’t know that much about human history, I could appreciate they bore a resemblance to Anubis from the Old Earth religion of the Egyptians.

I was on a long, narrow, dark stone path that led straight toward a door 100 meters away.

Above me, there was no ceiling – nothing to keep back the luminescent glow of the stars beyond.

The Hall of Doors was on a moon. Or perhaps a geological construction was a better way to describe this place. A moon has a specific celestial origin. Moons orbit larger planetary objects. This place chose where and when it appeared.

Though there was no ceiling above to hold back the lack of atmosphere and the crushing vacuum beyond, that did not matter.

You couldn’t die in the Hall of Doors. Unless one of the guards killed you, that was.

Do not stray, the one to my left suddenly rumbled as my foot shifted half a millimeter off course.

As soon as the creature’s deep, rumbling voice echoed out, my back stiffened as fear punched me hard in the back.

I’d fought countless fearsome races throughout the galaxy, from the Bardoxian bulls of the Tenth Cluster, to the Voxa assassins – but none of them could strike fear into me like one of these guards.

They were meant to be undefeatable. And as I slipped my unassisted gaze to the side and let it lock on the darkened pool that separated my narrow path from the wide walkway the massive dog-guard was striding along, I could see why.

There was something otherworldly about them. It wasn’t just that they’d been fashioned to look like gods from some myth – it was that trapped within their massive obsidian black forms seemed a power like no other.

I was a man of science. As a Finder tasked with locating and delivering any object the 10 Families desired, I had to be. It was through a proper understanding of natural forces that one gained mastery over their environment.

And yet the guards always reminded me there was something beyond mere facts.

We approach. Prove yourself worthy, the guard to my right demanded in a booming voice that shook through the black stone floor.

Though many a man had tried to scan this Hall of Doors before, none had been able to penetrate its defenses and discover precisely what it was made of, let alone how its remarkable technology worked.

It was forbidden to bring any form of technology onto this moon, and beyond the simple clothes on one’s back, they had to come alone and unassisted. If you possessed internal scanners built into your body – like I did – you had to switch them off on pain of death.

Though as a Level VIII Finder I was rarely out of my sophisticated neural armor, down here, I was in nothing more than a flight tunic. Trim and black, it was cut high at my defined neck and easily accommodated my strong build with its variable weave.

But what was on the outside hardly mattered. Within me, I had some of the most technically sophisticated implants this dimension could offer. They were built into my endoskeleton, ensuring that even without armor, I was a formidable foe.

As I took another step, and the door at the end of this long walkway finally came into focus, I pushed every extraneous thought from my mind.

I narrowed my gaze, held my breath, and focused on the mission at hand.

Prepare your mind, the guard to my right spoke in another deep rumble that pushed through the room, shaking the forever-dark pool by my side and making me wonder just how deep it was.

For all I knew, it traveled right through the center of the moon and terminated on the dark side of this mysterious rock.

Unlike normal celestial bodies, this moon had a permanent dark side and a permanent light side. It didn’t matter where it was oriented and what light source struck it – one side absorbed all light and the other reflected it.

It was yet another mystery to add to the list of impossible-to-explain curiosities about this place.

Only those who are worthy can pass through a door, one of the guards rumbled.

I ticked my gaze down to the pool beside me and saw a reflection of the massive dog-headed beast as he continued to stride forward, measuring his pace so he never left my much shorter form behind.

The guard’s skin was otherworldly. At once it looked like it was made from carved and polished gem, then in another moment, it looked just as real and tactile as skin.

No one knew which race created the guards and the Hall of Doors. But they, like all other races in this forever-warring dimension, had known the trappings of power. It isn’t always enough to have the largest armies and most powerful warriors. People often respond to stories more so than reality. It is those who act as if they were born to rule that often rise to the top.

And thus it was with the 10 Families.

Of all the separate powers that had risen and fallen throughout the long, violent history of this dimension, it was the 10 who had lasted the longest.

They came from different races, and yet, over the centuries, they had altered their appearances, picking up the styles of beauty and privilege from various races and amalgamating them into their own forms until all the 10 essentially looked like each other.

The 10 – just like whatever long-lost race created this place – understood that one of the most fertile grounds for controlling people was through their most sacred mythologies. So they – just like the guards who still strode beside me – understood the power of becoming someone else’s God. Subjugate someone, remove their power, and take on their iconography, and you too can ascend.

… I was vaguely aware of the fact that I never thought like this – at least not when I wasn’t here, surrounded by this mysterious, lightless black rock with the beauty of the galaxy glistening through an open ceiling beyond.

Maybe it was the place itself – or, more realistically, some unseen technology having an effect on my mind – but I always found my thoughts slipping into places I would never go ordinarily when I came here.

The ordinary me asked no questions. I simply did as I was told – a dutiful guard, a perfect Finder.

Not every soldier was suited to becoming a finder – few had the skill. Even fewer had the patience to track some object or prey throughout the darkest, furthest reaches of endless space.

I was born patient. A soldier from birth, I’d grown up on one of the central army worlds, and from the day I’d been old enough to hold a gun, I’d known the secret to winning was waiting.

Prepare your mind, and prepare your sacrifice, the guard to my left stated in its deep, rolling voice that reminded me easily of thunder tumbling over some vast alien plain.

My sacrifice? It had been prepared for me. Clutched in my left hand was the only object I’d been permitted to take onto the moon – apart from the clothes that covered my back. It was a Galazar pendant – one of the rarest and most beautiful gems in the known universe.

The hall awaits, the guard to my left rumbled.

Once more I fixed my gaze on the door quickly coming up before me. For a moon that otherwise had some of the most impressive technology the universe had ever seen, that door was nothing more than a stone archway that looked as if it had been carved in a single night. It was rough, badly hacked, and even from several meters away, my eagle-eyed, sharp gaze could pick up the scratch marks over the stone.

You approach the door. Ready yourself.

I was ready. This wasn’t the first time I’d gone through the Hall of Doors, and it wouldn’t be my last.

I finally reached that carved stone door. The entire time I had been walking down that narrow pathway, I’d been separated from those dog guards by two deep moats – but now the moats terminated, and for the first time, I stood side-by-side with those megalithic beasts.

I did not turn to look at them directly, even though my stomach tingled with the urge to try.

Yet another rule of the Hall of Doors was that you could not look one of the guards directly in the eye. Do so, and you’d be skewered right through with one of the massive black spears they clutched in their huge hands.

You have reached the doorway. Stride through, offer your sacrifice, and prepare yourself.

I knew the routine – any finder sent here had to.

I pressed my hands flat on the stiff fabric of my pants and bowed. I still did not face the guards, and rather directed my reverence at the cold, darkened doorway in front of me. Light didn’t behave normally in this hallway. Hell, nothing behaved normally here, from the fact I wasn’t popped like a blood-filled balloon as the vacuum of space opened out beyond, to the rather pointed fact that I was being shadowed by two dog-headed men.

That did not matter. This doorway – and critically, what lay beyond it – was different.

Though I had built a lifetime convincing others I was strong and I would never back down from a fight, my gut unavoidably clenched as I directed my gaze forward through that formless, dark mass in front of me.

To pass through a doorway was to go beyond the veil of existence – or at least that was the colorful way these guards described it. In reality, it was to access a stable, timed temporal wormhole. Though no one had ever managed to scan the Hall of Doors, anyone with a functioning understanding of modern physics could appreciate what this place was. Whatever race this moon had originally belonged to, they’d done something the modern universe could only imagine. They’d isolated and essentially tamed the temporal wormholes that perforated the very fabric of reality. Wormholes that theoretically led not just to other times, but to other temporal-spatial systems. And that, why that was just a fancy way of saying other dimensions.

Purify your thoughts and enter, both of the guards said in time behind me, their droning voices more than powerful enough to shake through my legs.

I staggered forward, and the next thing I knew, I took a step right through that darkened doorway.

A step through time and space.

To the guards behind me, you were only meant to cross through the Hall of Doors if you had some noble mission in mind. Yeah, well, here’s the thing: nobility did not exist in this universe anymore. It had been plundered, broken, and redefined until it was nothing more than a tool of the 10 Families. The only way to get ahead – the only way to survive – was to serve the 10.

And I would serve them.

For I only knew how to do one thing – continue no matter the costs. Keep fighting, because it was precisely when you put down your gun that you were swallowed by this indifferent galaxy and your meaningless existence wiped away forevermore.

As I walked through the darkness, it swallowed me, and I let it. For men like me would always deserve to be swallowed.

Chapter 1

Helen

Okay, it’s just I need an extension on that bill, I tried to press a warm, friendly, but only slightly pleading smile across my lips.

The cashier leaned back, crossed her arms, and shook her head once. There are strictly no extensions. You’ve got two days. She unhooked her arms, reached over, and tapped her long nail against my crumpled bill, emphasizing the reconciliation date at the bottom.

But I can’t get $2000 in two days. My gut squirmed as I curled a hand into a fist. It was hidden by my long coat. My beautiful, long designer jacket. The last nice thing I owned.

The cashier had obviously noted the glossy fabric, and she shot it a pointed look. You can start by selling that.

My shoulders fell. With my free hand, I clutched the collar protectively as if the look in this woman’s eyes was enough to rip it from my shoulders. That’s not going to get me $2000.

Listen, sugar, I don’t honestly care how you scrape together the cents. All that matters is that you pay on time. Next, she called as she elongated her neck and spoke over my tall, willowy form.

I barely had the chance to clutch up my bill and shift to the side before a large-framed woman bustled over, elbowing me out of the way.

That, right there, summed up my life. Not just being incapable of paying my bills – but being pushed out of the way, kicked into the shadows, and ignored.

You couldn’t imagine a person more invisible than me.

It was like someone had specifically programmed me to never stick out.

I was taller than your average woman – and yet, the way I held myself, my shoulders perpetually rolled in and my head hunched, you wouldn’t be able to tell. I was thin, but not in a glamorous way. I just looked as if someone had stretched me with a rolling pin.

As for the rest of my features – humdrum. It was like somebody had taken the perfect average of everyone in the city and crafted me the kind of nose, eyes, and facial structure that ensured no one would ever give me a second glance.

Walking away, it was hard not to let those thoughts overcome me as I scrunched the bill into one hand, not caring that the paper crumpled and almost tore.

I shoved it into the pocket of my jacket and walked out of the building.

As soon as I hit the street outside, I huddled under the collar of my jacket. I watched rain clouds mercilessly marching over the horizon, the dark, tumultuous blue and gray blocking out the sun.

It might technically be a summer’s day, but you tell that to those clouds. They brought with them a chill wind that raced down the streets, played around the loose straps of my jacket, and sent them tumbling over my willowy legs.

I latched a protective hand on the shoulder of my jacket, scrunching the fabric in, trying to make a smaller target of it.

It might look fancy, but it wasn’t warm, and it wouldn’t be able to put up with the drenching storm those foreboding clouds promised.

Why can’t I just catch a break? I muttered under my breath.

It was as if the universe heard and reacted. Just as I stepped out onto a pedestrian crossing, a bike shot past me, something on the handlebar snagging one of the ties of my jacket and ripping it free from the loops at my waist.

I spun around and fell down to one knee, bashing my patella hard.

Hey, I managed, but the courier was already out of sight.

Nobody bothered to race to my aid as I pulled myself up, patted down my knee, and made a tortured face when I assessed my jacket.

With limp, defeated fingers, I ran them up the torn seams at my waist.

The jacket was ruined. I could probably fix it with a needle and thread, but I could no longer hawk it for any money.

I stood there, not caring as the wind battered me, as the storm clouds got closer, only minutes from opening up, and I just stared at the traffic.

This wasn’t fair.

Why did my life seem to be perfectly programmed to keep me down?

Though I didn’t move, and the pedestrians walking around me could easily flow either side of me like water around an obstacle, I kept being jostled until the constant barrage of pointed elbows and shoulders got too much for me.

I turned away. I tucked my head down, and I tried not to cry.

By the time I made it back to my single bedroom apartment, I’d failed. The tears streamed down my cheeks as I opened the door with a shaking hand, my key missing the lock several times and scratching the already beaten-up paint.

When I finally gathered the coordination to open the door, it swung out to reveal my equally threadbare apartment. There were chips in the wall, right down to the plaster mesh, and there was mold in several patches along the ceiling.

I had a crappy couch I’d found on the sidewalk one day, and though I’d lovingly restored it, patching the tears in the foam with scraps of fabric I’d saved from clothes, it was worth nothing.

As defeat dragged my shoulders down with the gravitational pull of a moon, I continued to assess the rest of my apartment. With a discerning eye, I gazed at everything I owned – from the TV that couldn’t show the color green, to my 20-year-old cooker, to the two-dollar picture frames on the wall.

Oh God. I pressed my teeth into my lip until they dug marks into the flesh. I have to do it, don’t I?

Larger tears brimmed my eyes, trailing down my cheeks, dashing along my chin, and tickling my throat as they splashed against the collar of my ruined jacket.

The jacket had been a gift from my grandmother. One of many.

Including money.

The money was gone – swallowed up by the litigation my cousin had brought against me.

You see, my grandmother had been a truly wealthy woman. She’d owned several buildings in town, she’d run a successful jewelry store, and she’d acquired a one-of-a-kind art collection.

She’d left a significant chunk of her wealth to me.

It hadn’t lasted. The day my grandmother had died, cousin Robert had gone after my share of the will like a bulldog. Considering Robert was a soon-to-be partner of one of the largest law firms in town, I hadn’t had a chance.

Robert had left me this jacket and one other thing. Something Robert had had valued only to find it wasn’t worth his while.

And what was that thing?

A calendar of sorts. It was hard to say. It was this round, circular disk that sat in your palm. It was made of a collection of brass, gold, and platinum plating.

The man who’d valued it at one of the antique stores in town had told Robert it was a curio and nothing more. The guy had never seen its like, but that didn’t mean much in the antique world. It often meant you couldn’t find a buyer, the guy had claimed. That little disk, therefore, would be worth nothing more and nothing less than the value of its constituent parts.

As more tears trailed down my cheeks, brought on by the bitterness of not just losing my grandmother, but having her memory dragged through the courts, my shoulders dropped. Like a man being led to the guillotine, I walked through my lounge room and kitchen without taking my shoes off. I’d been right, and approximately 10 minutes before getting home, the heavens had opened up. They’d brought with them a deluge, fat raindrops hammering down and drenching anything in sight. They’d further ruined my jacket, soaked my hair, and inundated my cheap sneakers. Now I tracked mud and sodden welts of grass over my carpet as I dragged myself to my room.

The carpet didn’t matter. It was already torn, moldered, and a patchwork of stains.

Yet I’d always looked after it. My grandmother had taught me that – value material objects, no matter what your socioeconomic status, and you’ll attract wealth through efficiency.

Yeah, well, the only thing I was attracting right now was gut-wrenching pain.

That disk – or calendar, or whatever it was – was the only memory I had left of my grandmother.

Now I’d have to sell it, heading back to the antique dealer and crying at his counter until he gave me as much as I could get.

"This is so screwed. My life is so screwed," I concluded as I made it into my bedroom.

I finally kicked off my shoes. My bedroom was my last sanctuary. Only a couple of meters squared and as cramped as a sardine can, it was where I’d gathered together all the things that meant something to me.

I’d handmade the quilt, using the sewing skills I’d learned in college to create a beautiful patchwork of silks and satins I’d scrounged from thrift shop clothes.

My bedside dresser had been pulled off the sidewalk, and I’d restored it in an antique French finish. It was what was sitting on top of it wrapped in a moth-eaten silk scarf that dragged my shoulders all the way down.

The calendar.

The last object I had that meant anything.

I walked over to it, one hand curling into a fist, my nails dragging over the sodden fabric of my jacket. With a deep breath, I shoved a hand out, trapped it in my grasp, and plucked it up.

… Ha, trapped it. That’s what my grandmother had always said. To grandma, this small, smooth disk had been like a bird in the hand. Something you had to hold on to with all your might lest it flit away.

Yeah, well, what good was my might anymore?

Though I could – and should – wait around until the tumultuous rainstorm finished dumping its fill on the city, I wanted to get this over and done with.

As I clutched up the little disk in my cold, stiff fingers, I felt treacherous, as if the act of selling it would be like trading away my grandmother’s memory.

Just put it out of your head. There’s no other way.

With those soft words pressing from my lips, I walked out of my apartment.

I braved the storm once more until I made it to the exact same antique store cousin Robert had got his valuation from.

It wasn’t downtown – and thankfully was only several streets away. Why Robert had chosen this store instead of the fancier downtown antique dealers, I didn’t know, though I could bet it had something to do with the fact everyone downtown would have adored grandma. They would have given a false valuation just to boost Robert’s esteem, but one that would’ve consequently fallen flat at the auction. And Robert? Robert was a man who hated getting things wrong.

So this guy would have to do.

As another wave of rain sliced across the street, feeling like a blade from the heavens, I didn’t even bother to hunker under my collar. One hand was loose by my side, my skin pale white like snow, the flesh prickling and numb. With my other hand, I protectively clutched the disk in my pocket, even though that too had already become completely soaked.

Though it was midday, the streetlights had come on, reacting to the gloom. Behind me, cars splashed through the soaked streets, and I didn’t even bother to buckle forward as a bus plowed through the drenched gutter behind me, a wave of water cascading up and splashing over my pants.

I gave a single shiver as my eyes traced the sign at the top of the store.

Otherworld Antiques.

I tapped my numb hand against my jacket, sucked in a breath, and pushed in through the rickety old door.

The first time I’d come here with Robert, I’d been surprised by how large this place was on the inside. Outside, the façade devoted to it, squeezed between an old theater and a bookstore, was less than 10 meters across. Inside, it was a veritable warren, twisting deep into the back of a long building, chaotic rows of antiques twisting with it like scales along a coiled snake’s back.

I patted myself down as best I could, realizing the last thing I could afford was to damage some precious antique with the rivulets of water running off my back.

You can put your jacket on the hook by the door, a man called from further into the shop, his voice kind but sharp.

Thank you. I unhooked my jacket, protectively pulling out the disk first and immediately putting it into the small pocket of my pants. Hooking my coat up, I made a face as I watched water splash out onto the old, unpolished floorboards beneath it.

If you have something to be valued, I suggest you hurry – we’re closing early today, the man called again, his voice booming enough that it made it easily over the cramped rows of dressers and wardrobes, chests and stands.

Once upon a time, I had loved coming to stores just like this. Be they bookstores, knickknack shops, or antique stores – I loved the unordered rows. They gave me a sense of adventure. Sure, it wasn’t the same as trekking through some dense jungle in a far-off land, but you still got the impression that at any point you could come across treasure.

My sense of adventure couldn’t last – my neck was frozen stiff, my teeth were chattering in my skull, and I was about to give up the last memory of my grandmother that meant anything to me.

Pushing past beautiful walnut veneer wardrobes and mahogany stands, I saw the counter. It wasn’t even at the back of the shop – considering that seemed to stretch onto eternity. Instead, it was incongruously in the middle and off to one side.

The counter – like the rest of the store – seemed chaotic, this amalgam of various woods and marbles. There were curios and little objets d’art covering it, spilling out of pressed brass bowls and mixing with a basket of silk scarves from the fifties.

The same valuer was standing behind it who’d assessed my disk in the first place. He was a man of middling height, middling build, and middling looks. He had half-rimmed glasses that hung halfway down his nose, and the perpetual stoop in his cervical spine suggested he spent all day every day staring over them at undeserving customers.

My stomach pitched as I became aware of just how much water and mud I was tracking over the floorboards. At least they were dusty and looked as if they hadn’t been varnished in centuries. They creaked with every step, and as I finally reached the counter, the one right before it groaned so loudly it sounded like someone pushing open a door.

I know you, the man announced as he tilted his head further down, his glasses slipping right to the edge of his nose as his pale gray eyes refocused on me. They flashed toward my hand as I clutched the calendar in my pocket. Back to sell that curio, are you?

I tried not to look defeated. It was pretty hard. I was cold to the bone and—

I warn you, I haven’t changed my valuation. Though that disk is unusual and unique, without a buyer, it’s also a waste of money.

I brought up a hand, latched it on the back of my neck, and dug my nails in. If I thought the move would anchor me and distract me away from my emotional pain, I was wrong. My skin was so frigid, I could take to my neck with a scalpel, and I’d still be unlikely to feel it. I know that. I was just wondering if you could take another look. I… I need the money, I managed, a knot of shame forming in my gut, feeling like I’d swallowed fishing line.

Though I could tell the man didn’t look pleased, at least he shifted back, locked one old, gnarled hand on the polished marble, and thrust his other toward me.

I grounded herself with a breath and pulled out the calendar.

Considering I was soaked through, I shouldn’t be that surprised by the fact the little metal disk was covered in beads of water. Yet the sight of it turned my stomach for some reason, and I quickly, lovingly wiped them off with the base of my palm before handing it over.

The guy tilted his perpetually bent neck down, thumbed his glasses back up his nose, and got to work inspecting the object. With practiced sweeps of his old fingers along the girth of the disk, he turned it over several times before clutching up the jeweler’s loop on the length of leather around his neck.

My stomach squirmed more and more as I watched him work. I tried to lock down the hope rising through my chest. The guy had already told me he wasn’t going to change his valuation.

Back when I’d come with Robert, this guy had said that this could be worth no more than $200 tops.

I let my hands fall behind me, and they drew behind my back as I crossed my fingers. Yeah, I wasn’t a kid, and I knew crossing my fingers would not materially alter my luck.

But I would do anything to catch a break.

The break, however, wouldn’t come. The man abruptly stopped inspecting the device and let his loop drop until it banged against his linen shirt.

His expression looked bored.

My shoulders crumpled.

This was where I would have to beg, wasn’t it?

I opened my mouth – but he opened his mouth, too.

I might have a buyer. He drummed his fingers on the hard counter as he brought the disk down and carefully placed it before him.

What? My stomach pitched with surprise. Really?

He shrugged. A man came in this morning handing around a photo of something that looked almost exactly like this. He carefully placed a hand on top of the disk.

Really? I couldn’t contain my excitement as I thrust onto the top of my toes like some kid.

The man frowned, then shrugged. Really. Though I would usually ask for a finder’s fee for connecting a client with a buyer, he shot my disheveled form a prying look, I’ll waive that this time. As long as you get a mop and clean up that mess, he added as he reached under his voluminous counter, rummaged around in some drawers, and brought out a card.

He handed it to me.

It was plain white. I flipped it over excitedly, holding it with the edge of my nails so I didn’t damage it with my wet hands.

I knew what I expected to see. I’d tagged along with my grandmother so many times when she’d bought expensive objects for her collection. Dealers were never short of money, and their cards reflected this. My grandmother had often told me that presentation is everything. Even if you’re just starting out in your business and you barely have two pennies to scrape together, you take those two pennies and you spend them on your business card. Get the most expensive gold leafing you can, and fake it till you make it.

My stomach sank.

This business card did not have gold lettering. It wasn’t even embossed.

Instead, it was just a plain white rectangle of card someone had scrawled on. And their handwriting was appalling. Lopsided loops of blue ink shuddered across the page like a Richter scale reading.

I frowned, tilting my head to the side and then to the other side as I attempted to decipher the message.

The dealer snorted. It took me a while too – says Grand East Park, near the lake.

My lips slowly dropped open. Sorry? That’s not a business address.

The guy chuckled, turned, disappeared for a moment, and came back with a mop. He looked pointedly at the water I’d tracked all through his store. It’s the only address I’ve got. He proffered the mop.

But only bums live in the park. My shoulders couldn’t sink any further.

He shot me an affronted look that told me I had absolutely no place casting aspersions on the disadvantaged when I looked like an old doll someone had thrown in the trash. Hefting the mop up, he thrust it to me over the counter.

I hesitated, then plucked it up. The hope that had managed to rise through my heart like steam thawing ice was blown away as I realized this was all a game. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that a bum who lives in the park has the money to buy this disk?

He shrugged. The guy sure had a nice suit.

I pressed my lips together, the skin crumpling. Men with nice suits don’t live in parks.

Listen, lady – I don’t honestly know if he has the money to afford that disk. And I don’t even know how much that disk is worth to him. But judging by your circumstances, he shot me another pointed look that lingered on the fractured seams up my waist, you can’t really afford not to try. Head to the park, see what he says. If you don’t want to sell, keep trying to find a buyer. But first—

Yes, sir, I’ll mop your floors.

Turning around with defeat climbing my back, I did as I was told.

By the time I mopped my way all the way up to the front door, I cast a long, morose glance out at the rain-washed streets.

Did I really want to brave them and head to East Park?

Did I really have any other choice?

No and no.

But sometimes our lives get to decide for us.

Chapter 2

Helen

This is insane. Turn back, you idiot, I admonished myself for the hundredth time as I walked through the imposing wrought-iron gates at the front of the park.

Predictably, the place was abandoned. The lovely manicured lawns were slicked with puddles, mud trailing onto the winding path that led up into the gardens and lake beyond.

The rain didn’t let up. It seemed like penance sent from God, and until every single droplet slammed hard against my back and neck, the sun would not shine again.

Muttering to myself that I was mad, I kept a hand clutched on the disk in my pocket, the badly scrawled business card safely protected by a small Ziploc plastic bag the antique dealer had given me.

My thumbnail kept brushing up against it as I made my way toward the lake.

On an ordinary day, the lake and surrounds would be packed.

Today, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

I told you this was mad, I spat at myself, my teeth digging into my bottom lip and leaving hard indentations in the flesh.

Before I could turn around, drag myself home, and beat myself up all night, I saw a single figure through the drenching rain.

It was a man in a suit. He was sitting on one of the wooden slat seats positioned right on the bank of the lake.

I could only see the back of his head and neck, but that was enough to confirm he was in a suit.

… What the hell? No. This is mad, I tried, but there was no one to hear my words save for the howling wind.

I shook my head a few times, but when that didn’t stop me from taking another step, I just gave in, my shoulders caving until I would look like a gorilla dragging her knuckles on the ground.

I approached the seat from the back, trying to talk myself out of this up until the last step.

My fingers tightened around the disk, protectively grasping it as if I thought the very wind would snatch it from me.

Come on, this is mad, I told