SWNOVELS Chapter 18
December 13
“Rick Delby?”
Rick switched his cell phone to the other hand with all the medical pamphlets. He held his breath until his hand stopped shaking.
“Speaking.”
“Rick? This is Chase Ridgway with Network magazine. How are you doing?”
After a moment, Rick said. “Ah, could be better. What’s up?”
“Rick, we’re still getting calls for a follow-up to the piece we did about the Olympic healer. And since you were our source on that first piece, I’m asking if you could spearhead our efforts again.”
“Huh, well, to be honest, I think that my spearheading days are over. I’m sitting outside the hospital. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. I think I’ll be fighting other fights for a while.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Besides, I’ve got a book that I’ve co-written coming out soon. That book will kind of wrap all this up anyway. You’re welcome to talk with me once it’s out. If you still wanna. And if I can still talk.” There was another long pause.
“I’m sorry to hear about the cancer, Rick. Lung cancer took my dad.” There was silence for a while. “I do have a pressing question, though. If you’ll humor me, that is. Has there been any activity with the healer since we aired?”
“Dammit, Chase! You know there has been! I’m sure Tony Sartonni has been all over you as well. Hasn’t he?”
“Well, . . . yeah.”
“Well, be careful with him. It turns out that he was carrying unauthorized firearms into National Park land with the probable intent of felony kidnapping. He even hired a helicopter for a getaway vehicle for Christ’s sake. If you don’t believe me, talk to a young man named Jason Wright in Sequim. He was with Tony at this ‘ambush.’ Look, I gotta go. See ya later.” Rick clicked off the phone, then sat back.
He dropped the phone and the pamphlets on the empty chair next to him, and ran his hands through his hair. Rick sat staring for a few minutes and calmed his breathing before he gathered his things to
leave the hospital lab.
August 6
“Here he is, ladies and gentlemen, Michael Curtis! Author of “The Atlantean Chronicles,” today only at Pacific Mist, Sequim’s best little book store!” Michael smiled at the introduction.
“Thank you, Marty.”
“The food table is toward the back, but we’re starting the signing table right there near the door, so grab your spot in line. Michael is here for four hours, so you will get to him if you all remain
patient,” she continued.
“Feel free to ask any questions you want, I’ll try to speak loud.” He shouted before he sat to begin signing. Within half an hour the event had turned into more of a party and less of a book signing. He was talking with his eager audience, laughing, joking, sharing, explaining, even singing the two Atlantean songs he learned from Cad’l. The crowd hung on his every word, turning this first book
signing into a celebration.
An hour later, Michael noticed a couple of familiar faces. He went over and greeted them both with hugs, their green clothes standing out in the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he began, “I have a brief announcement and an introduction.” In a moment all eyes and ears were on him. “Only about a month and half ago, we lost my friend and the co-author of ‘The Atlantean Chronicles’ to prostate cancer. I never knew that Rick Delby was ill until three weeks before he died.” Michael watched as nearly every smile in the crowded room died as well.
“I would like to announce that half of the royalties from this book are going into a trust, ‘The Rick Delby Fund.’ This charitable trust will help Olympic National Park to continue to serve us, and preserve park lands.” The smiles and cheers returned.
“Now, I would like to introduce Park Rangers Traci Johnson and Gene Sartonni, co-directors of the Rick Delby Fund.” Traci and Gene were greeted with cheers and slaps on the back.
“Oh!” Michael continued as the applause quieted, “They also met Mann’n. Chapter fourteen for Traci, I believe. Chapter eight for Gene.” Watching the gazes descend on the rangers made Michael glad not to be the only expert on Atlanteans in the room.
As dinner approached, the party dwindled, and Michael found himself signing a stack of books for Marty. When he looked up, a tall, dark haired woman stood before him. She was slim and wore
a long blue dress under a black jacket. Her eyes were blue. She stood silently for a moment, then bowed to Michael in the Atlantean way. Michael stood, returned the bow and asked if they could go
somewhere to speak quietly. She shook her head no, then mouthed one word, “Where?” Michael cleared his mind grabbed her hand and moved it to his forehead. In a second, he recognized the connection with an Atlantean mind. She was Shar’l, and had been living in Wyoming. “Northwest of Reno,” he pinpointed a map in his mind, “California Sierras,” He opened his eyes, to see the
woman squeezing through the crowd on her way out the door. After getting over the shock of the visit, Michael smiled. So, this is how it will be.
As seven o’clock struck, Marty ushered the last customer out, turned the open sign around, and let out a whoop, locking the door.
“Michael, that was so much fun! You were amazing. I could almost picture walking into the great cedar room.”
“Thank you, Marty. This was by far my best experience as an author. I wish Rick were here.”
“Do you think you would have taken him to see Mann’n?”
“I . . . yeah, I probably would have tried to get him healed.”
“So, I guess that means that you know where he and the other Atlanteans are.” Michael said nothing. Marty looked at him for a while.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you,” she pouted.
Michael winked at her. “Maybe that is what the next book will be about. Thanks again, Marty!”