window. He glanced at the door just as Charlotte, the family's three-year-old Himalayan cat, entered the room. He wondered how long it would be before his eighteen-year-old brother, Ben, an early riser, also got up.
He did not wonder about his mother. Donna was in Fresno visiting her brother. She would not return to Los Angeles until March 29.
Mark paced back and forth in his room for several minutes. He knew he should forget what he had found, make some coffee, and put a dent in the homework he had neglected for days, but he could not. He was intrigued, mesmerized, and hooked. He had something amazing within his grasp. He could not let it go. Could he? He decided he could not.
Less than an hour after finding the letter, two rocks, and the key in a locked drawer, Mark Ryan walked out of his bedroom, taking the items with him. He did not know what he would do when he reached the basement of the Painted Lady, but he did know one thing. The second-to-last day of his spring break was about to get interesting.
CHAPTER 3: MARK
Mark wasted little time walking down a flight of stairs to the main floor and then down another flight to the basement. He had visited the lowest level of the mansion only once before. It was just as dark, dingy, and depressing the second time.
He flipped on a light and walked through the room to a nondescript door that presumably provided access to a tunnel and the backyard. According to Percival Bell's letter, the tunnel that connected the basement to the yard was no ordinary corridor. It was a time machine, a magic portal, a passageway between the present and the past and maybe the future too.
Mark retrieved Bell's letter from a pocket, scanned the particulars, and wondered again whether he was reading the words of a genius or a lunatic. If the professor was telling the truth, then all Mark had to do was step into the tunnel with at least one of the stones and wait for magic to happen. He could not believe time travel could be that simple.
Mark felt a twinge of fear as he tucked the letter away. Maybe running to the library first was not a bad idea. He wanted to know what had happened to Percival Bell on March 22, 1900. He wanted to know a lot of things. He worried about failure.
Then he got an idea. If he took a simple precaution, he could minimize the risk of an unpleasant outcome. He turned around, surveyed the basement, and looked for two heavy but portable objects he could use to keep two doors from closing behind him.
Mark found what he needed in the form of two bricks. Both looked like leftovers from the construction of the house. Each appeared to be more than sufficient. He walked to a pile of debris a few feet away, picked up the bricks, and returned to the door. He felt his fear subside.
Mark lowered the bricks to the floor and prepared to enter what he had every reason to believe was a simple passageway. He patted the shirt pocket containing the letter and the key and then the trouser pockets containing the crystals. He had everything he needed.
Deciding that he had to either act or walk away, Mark opened the door, picked up the bricks, and stepped inside a tunnel that was fifteen feet long, eight feet high, and five feet wide. He placed one brick between the door and the doorjamb and then carried the other to the middle of the chamber. He waited for something to happen. Within seconds, something did.
Mark noticed a change immediately. He lifted his head and saw a string of blue and white crystals, embedded in the ceiling, light up like bulbs on a Christmas tree. They flickered and glowed and gave an otherwise dreary space a festive feel.
Then Mark looked down and saw something else. The three-inch crystals he had placed in his pockets had also come to life. They emitted bright light that shimmered through his wool pants. Something was going on, he thought. Something was really going on.
Mark took a breath as he battled both anxiety and excitement. Dare he take the next
He did not wonder about his mother. Donna was in Fresno visiting her brother. She would not return to Los Angeles until March 29.
Mark paced back and forth in his room for several minutes. He knew he should forget what he had found, make some coffee, and put a dent in the homework he had neglected for days, but he could not. He was intrigued, mesmerized, and hooked. He had something amazing within his grasp. He could not let it go. Could he? He decided he could not.
Less than an hour after finding the letter, two rocks, and the key in a locked drawer, Mark Ryan walked out of his bedroom, taking the items with him. He did not know what he would do when he reached the basement of the Painted Lady, but he did know one thing. The second-to-last day of his spring break was about to get interesting.
CHAPTER 3: MARK
Mark wasted little time walking down a flight of stairs to the main floor and then down another flight to the basement. He had visited the lowest level of the mansion only once before. It was just as dark, dingy, and depressing the second time.
He flipped on a light and walked through the room to a nondescript door that presumably provided access to a tunnel and the backyard. According to Percival Bell's letter, the tunnel that connected the basement to the yard was no ordinary corridor. It was a time machine, a magic portal, a passageway between the present and the past and maybe the future too.
Mark retrieved Bell's letter from a pocket, scanned the particulars, and wondered again whether he was reading the words of a genius or a lunatic. If the professor was telling the truth, then all Mark had to do was step into the tunnel with at least one of the stones and wait for magic to happen. He could not believe time travel could be that simple.
Mark felt a twinge of fear as he tucked the letter away. Maybe running to the library first was not a bad idea. He wanted to know what had happened to Percival Bell on March 22, 1900. He wanted to know a lot of things. He worried about failure.
Then he got an idea. If he took a simple precaution, he could minimize the risk of an unpleasant outcome. He turned around, surveyed the basement, and looked for two heavy but portable objects he could use to keep two doors from closing behind him.
Mark found what he needed in the form of two bricks. Both looked like leftovers from the construction of the house. Each appeared to be more than sufficient. He walked to a pile of debris a few feet away, picked up the bricks, and returned to the door. He felt his fear subside.
Mark lowered the bricks to the floor and prepared to enter what he had every reason to believe was a simple passageway. He patted the shirt pocket containing the letter and the key and then the trouser pockets containing the crystals. He had everything he needed.
Deciding that he had to either act or walk away, Mark opened the door, picked up the bricks, and stepped inside a tunnel that was fifteen feet long, eight feet high, and five feet wide. He placed one brick between the door and the doorjamb and then carried the other to the middle of the chamber. He waited for something to happen. Within seconds, something did.
Mark noticed a change immediately. He lifted his head and saw a string of blue and white crystals, embedded in the ceiling, light up like bulbs on a Christmas tree. They flickered and glowed and gave an otherwise dreary space a festive feel.
Then Mark looked down and saw something else. The three-inch crystals he had placed in his pockets had also come to life. They emitted bright light that shimmered through his wool pants. Something was going on, he thought. Something was really going on.
Mark took a breath as he battled both anxiety and excitement. Dare he take the next
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