Toy Soldiers: Building A Mystery (PG)
Summary: How do you ask the question?
Notes: America's Stonehenge really does exist. So does Six Gun City. Written for prompt 52, "fire." Follows Trip Of A Lifetime.
BUILDING A MYSTERY
*
The first leg of the trip turned out to be from Cambridge to Logan Airport, because Mark didn't want to take a taxi and it wasn't like Billy could say, nope, I'll take your money and drive all the way across the country but I won't take you to the fucking airport. Well, not without looking like a total douchebag. So Billy showed up at Mark's apartment at 10 AM and helped him carry down three huge-ass suitcases. They could only fit two into the trunk: the third had to go into the back seat.
"What the fuck do you have in these?" Billy said, shutting the door.
Mark shrugged. "Clothes. Sheets. I shipped everything else."
"Jesus." Would've cost Mark less to ship the clothing, too, plus less risk the airline would lose his favorite jeans, in Billy's opinion. But he wasn't the one who'd have to pay extra for additional luggage, so he kept his mouth shut.
It took forever to get to Logan, long enough that Mark kept checking his watch and Billy muttered curses, promising himself (again) to find out where the designers of the Big Dig lived and do something, worse than either Regis or Harvard ever saw. But finally he pulled up to the curb by Terminal C, and Mark and his suitcases corralled a Smarte Carte and vanished inside.
Now where?
Billy patted his inside jacket pocket absently. The letters were still there. He wasn't in any mood to look them over again, though. He pulled back out into the flow of traffic, and watched the signs for the turn for I-93. North. New Hampshire, maybe. He hadn't been to New Hampshire since he was a kid.
*
He stopped in Methuen for lunch, and to look at his maps. The highway billboards he'd seen so far didn't look all that appealing: ski places, all up in the White Mountains, farther north than he wanted to go; outlet stores; and Six Gun City, "home of family fun in Jefferson, New Hampshire," which might be fun but was probably aimed at little kids. New Hampshire in the summer was apparently heavy on the hiking and natural beauty, not so much on the random shit.
The array of pamphlets near the door of the diner weren't much help, resort this and horseback riding that. Billy glanced them over, just to be thorough, and paused near the middle.
America's Stonehenge. Explore the Mysteries!
Perfect. Billy picked the pamphlet out of the rack, and headed out to the car.
The roads leading up to "America's Stonehenge" had been paved once, but the pavement gave way pretty quickly to gravel. Billy slowed down. If he got a pebble in the gas tank, Mark would kill him. Besides, the woods were pretty, even if he didn't want to spend the whole day hiking in them.
Not that he had any choice, according to the smiling woman behind the ticket counter. "The Oracle Chamber is what I, personally, think is most fascinating, but it's the farthest out. Except for the astronomical observations, of course."
"What?"
The woman chuckled, and handed Billy a couple sheets of blue paper, stapled together. "There's a map on this, and a list of all the sights. If you like, you can wait for the tour --they start every hour, on the hour."
Billy managed a grin of his own, refused as politely as he could, and escaped. No point in waiting around for 40 minutes for the next tour. Maybe a quick walk, see if he could catch up with the tour that was going now, try not to get eaten by the bears. Did they have bears around here?
The path led down into the woods, along low stone walls -- well, the map on the blue paper said they were walls: they looked like just stones piled together any which way to Billy, going along in a line. They certainly wouldn't keep out anything. He followed the line of stones anyway, past rocks as tall as he was, propped up to point to the sky, that the flyer said were astronomical alignment points. Finally he reached a gap in the wall. The path continued on straight, but Billy could hear voices distantly from the area off to his right, and the map said everything interesting was through the gap, anyway.
First was the remnants of an old house -- not as old as everything else was supposed to be, just from the 1700s, but old enough. Someone had built their house out here among the megaliths and old walls. Billy shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and pivoted slowly on his heel, looking around what had been used as a cellar. The ancient walls loomed higher here, better built, and the trees bent over like they wanted to listen. The guy who built his house here must've had no imagination whatsoever.
The voices were fading again in the distance. The tour group must be moving on. If he ran, he might be able to catch them.
Fuck it.
He left the cellar, rounded the corner, and slowed down again. The walls here were even higher, leading into what the map said was the Oracle Chamber. Good enough, Billy thought, and ducked into the low door.
The Chamber wasn't all that big, as near as Billy could tell. Maybe ten feet long down to where an honest-to-God brazier stood, smoldering more than burning. That had to be just for ambiance, or maybe some local group that believed this room could still produce oracles. There was hardly any light, just what filtered in through the cracks and what came from the brazier.
Billy took a deep breath and felt inside his jacket pocket.
The first letter was just a print-out of the email from Kevin. Sure, start when you get back. And take notes, you lucky bastard! I know you probably won't have internet access on the road, but just imagine: blogging your way across America. We could do something with this!
The second was from his father. Formal stationary and everything. There's a position that's opened up on one of my teams. I realize our relationship hasn't always been everything it could be, but I'd like to take this chance to change that.
The third was from Parker, of all people. Not on formal stationary, but it was typed, same as usual for his letters. If you don't already have something lined up -- which I severely doubt -- you do realize that private schools don't require an education degree in order to teach, don't you?
The fourth was from his mother. Not a job offer, not even implied. Just I'm so pleased you're making something of yourself, which was almost worse.
The fifth…the fifth he tucked back into his pocket. That one wasn't up for debate.
He fanned the other four out, and studied them for a long second. How the fuck did people ask oracles for help, anyway? According to the map, there was a place for the priest or shaman or whatever to hide, and a speaking tube so they could pretend it was the Voice of God. But that was how they answered the question. How did you ask?
He set his mother's card on the brazier. After what felt like forever, it finally flared up. Billy watched it burn out until it was just crumpled ash, then turned and walked out, ducking again so he wouldn't hit his head on the door.
-end-
Notes: America's Stonehenge really does exist. So does Six Gun City. Written for prompt 52, "fire." Follows Trip Of A Lifetime.
BUILDING A MYSTERY
*
The first leg of the trip turned out to be from Cambridge to Logan Airport, because Mark didn't want to take a taxi and it wasn't like Billy could say, nope, I'll take your money and drive all the way across the country but I won't take you to the fucking airport. Well, not without looking like a total douchebag. So Billy showed up at Mark's apartment at 10 AM and helped him carry down three huge-ass suitcases. They could only fit two into the trunk: the third had to go into the back seat.
"What the fuck do you have in these?" Billy said, shutting the door.
Mark shrugged. "Clothes. Sheets. I shipped everything else."
"Jesus." Would've cost Mark less to ship the clothing, too, plus less risk the airline would lose his favorite jeans, in Billy's opinion. But he wasn't the one who'd have to pay extra for additional luggage, so he kept his mouth shut.
It took forever to get to Logan, long enough that Mark kept checking his watch and Billy muttered curses, promising himself (again) to find out where the designers of the Big Dig lived and do something, worse than either Regis or Harvard ever saw. But finally he pulled up to the curb by Terminal C, and Mark and his suitcases corralled a Smarte Carte and vanished inside.
Now where?
Billy patted his inside jacket pocket absently. The letters were still there. He wasn't in any mood to look them over again, though. He pulled back out into the flow of traffic, and watched the signs for the turn for I-93. North. New Hampshire, maybe. He hadn't been to New Hampshire since he was a kid.
*
He stopped in Methuen for lunch, and to look at his maps. The highway billboards he'd seen so far didn't look all that appealing: ski places, all up in the White Mountains, farther north than he wanted to go; outlet stores; and Six Gun City, "home of family fun in Jefferson, New Hampshire," which might be fun but was probably aimed at little kids. New Hampshire in the summer was apparently heavy on the hiking and natural beauty, not so much on the random shit.
The array of pamphlets near the door of the diner weren't much help, resort this and horseback riding that. Billy glanced them over, just to be thorough, and paused near the middle.
America's Stonehenge. Explore the Mysteries!
Perfect. Billy picked the pamphlet out of the rack, and headed out to the car.
The roads leading up to "America's Stonehenge" had been paved once, but the pavement gave way pretty quickly to gravel. Billy slowed down. If he got a pebble in the gas tank, Mark would kill him. Besides, the woods were pretty, even if he didn't want to spend the whole day hiking in them.
Not that he had any choice, according to the smiling woman behind the ticket counter. "The Oracle Chamber is what I, personally, think is most fascinating, but it's the farthest out. Except for the astronomical observations, of course."
"What?"
The woman chuckled, and handed Billy a couple sheets of blue paper, stapled together. "There's a map on this, and a list of all the sights. If you like, you can wait for the tour --they start every hour, on the hour."
Billy managed a grin of his own, refused as politely as he could, and escaped. No point in waiting around for 40 minutes for the next tour. Maybe a quick walk, see if he could catch up with the tour that was going now, try not to get eaten by the bears. Did they have bears around here?
The path led down into the woods, along low stone walls -- well, the map on the blue paper said they were walls: they looked like just stones piled together any which way to Billy, going along in a line. They certainly wouldn't keep out anything. He followed the line of stones anyway, past rocks as tall as he was, propped up to point to the sky, that the flyer said were astronomical alignment points. Finally he reached a gap in the wall. The path continued on straight, but Billy could hear voices distantly from the area off to his right, and the map said everything interesting was through the gap, anyway.
First was the remnants of an old house -- not as old as everything else was supposed to be, just from the 1700s, but old enough. Someone had built their house out here among the megaliths and old walls. Billy shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and pivoted slowly on his heel, looking around what had been used as a cellar. The ancient walls loomed higher here, better built, and the trees bent over like they wanted to listen. The guy who built his house here must've had no imagination whatsoever.
The voices were fading again in the distance. The tour group must be moving on. If he ran, he might be able to catch them.
Fuck it.
He left the cellar, rounded the corner, and slowed down again. The walls here were even higher, leading into what the map said was the Oracle Chamber. Good enough, Billy thought, and ducked into the low door.
The Chamber wasn't all that big, as near as Billy could tell. Maybe ten feet long down to where an honest-to-God brazier stood, smoldering more than burning. That had to be just for ambiance, or maybe some local group that believed this room could still produce oracles. There was hardly any light, just what filtered in through the cracks and what came from the brazier.
Billy took a deep breath and felt inside his jacket pocket.
The first letter was just a print-out of the email from Kevin. Sure, start when you get back. And take notes, you lucky bastard! I know you probably won't have internet access on the road, but just imagine: blogging your way across America. We could do something with this!
The second was from his father. Formal stationary and everything. There's a position that's opened up on one of my teams. I realize our relationship hasn't always been everything it could be, but I'd like to take this chance to change that.
The third was from Parker, of all people. Not on formal stationary, but it was typed, same as usual for his letters. If you don't already have something lined up -- which I severely doubt -- you do realize that private schools don't require an education degree in order to teach, don't you?
The fourth was from his mother. Not a job offer, not even implied. Just I'm so pleased you're making something of yourself, which was almost worse.
The fifth…the fifth he tucked back into his pocket. That one wasn't up for debate.
He fanned the other four out, and studied them for a long second. How the fuck did people ask oracles for help, anyway? According to the map, there was a place for the priest or shaman or whatever to hide, and a speaking tube so they could pretend it was the Voice of God. But that was how they answered the question. How did you ask?
He set his mother's card on the brazier. After what felt like forever, it finally flared up. Billy watched it burn out until it was just crumpled ash, then turned and walked out, ducking again so he wouldn't hit his head on the door.
-end-