The Lost Secret: Part 4

Sorry for the delay again, still trying to figure out my blog schedule. So without further ado here’s part four. 🙂

Brock sat on the couch, watching the gold, ever mocking with its brilliant sheen. He didn’t trust himself to touch anything.

A ringing pierced the air.

Startled, he jumped up and ran for the phone. Then froze.

He couldn’t touch that phone. He couldn’t talk on that phone. For all he knew, his voice could be carrying some lethal virus that miraculously transmitted through the phone.

He looked at the number. Hildebrand.

I can’t ignore a call like that!

Hesitantly, he picked up the phone, and pushed the talk button. Nothing had happened yet. Maybe this really was all in his head…

“Sternberg!” Hildebrand shouted into the phone.

“Y-yes, sir?”

There was a sudden electrifying snap and Brock’s whole apartment went dark, followed by sizzling wires.

“Hello?” Brock said crossly into the phone. He got nothing back.

Fighting off the urge to scream, Brock slammed the phone into the ground.

He grabbed his coat, ripping it in the process, and headed out the door.

Walking down the halls, it was black as night.

Did I just short circuit the entire apartment building?

Walking faster, he sped down the hall, down the stairs, (avoiding the elevator), and onto the street.

He couldn’t see a thing.

Did I just short circuit the entire town?!

Fear was choking him. He marched down the sidewalk.

Terrifying thoughts swirled around Brock’s head. He kept his head down, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Hey you!” a gruff voice said.

Brock turned stiffly. “What?”

The man whipped out a rope. “Don’t move.”

Brock eyed him warily. “I-”

Darkness filled Brock’s vision as he was backhanded and tied up.

He saw several more figures appear in his haze.

Of course. Just my luck.

 ~~~

“Wake up, Sternberg!”

Brock’s eyes flew open. He was tied to a chair, surrounded by angry-looking men.

His memories slowly started flowing back.

“I…why am I here?” he asked.

“You have the Safira,” a man, presumably leader of these men, said, stepping forward.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Don’t play stupid with me,” the man growled.

Brock set his jaw. “If you’re talking about that stupid gold block, then take it. I couldn’t care less.” He lowered his eyes. “It’s brought me nothing but trouble.”

“Gilroy, untie him,” the man said.

Brock widened his eyes. “That is a really bad idea.”

The man ignored him. “Go, untie him.”

Gilroy hesitated, and then strode up to Brock, reaching for the ropes.

“Don’t. Please,” Brock pleaded. He felt the sweat beading on his forehead.

Brock felt Gilroy bravely snatch the rope, and then heard him cry out in pain.

The leader stepped forward slightly. “For goodness sake Gil! What on earth’s wrong?!”

“The…the ropes,” Gilroy said.

Brock was glad he couldn’t look behind him. He didn’t want to know what ridiculous thing he’d managed to do this time.

“The ropes? What are you blabbering about?!”

“They’re…they’re so sharp!”

Gilroy stumbled over to his boss, so Brock had full view of Gilroy’s bleeding hands.

He sucked in a breath, revolted.

The man barely glanced at Gilroy’s hands and then stomped over to Brock.

“Must I do everything myself?” he muttered angrily.

He marched behind the chair and Brock felt the ropes loosen, then fall off.

Brock stumbled out of the chair and away from these strange men.

“I…I don’t understand…”

“Of course you don’t,” the man said solemnly. “Allow me to introduce myself. Jules Brennan, archeologist and former explorer. You’re Brock Sternberg, head of the geologist department of ISA,” he fiddled with his gloves now. “And you have something I want.”

Brock took a step forward and then, slightly embarrassed, he pulled at Jules’ sleeve.

Nothing happened.

Brock tried to sort things out. This man, Jules, who had untied him and was seemingly immune to his curse, had kidnapped him, for the very gold that had brought Brock so much trouble.

“Yes, I understand you’re confused,” Jules sauntered over to the chair and sat down. “You see, you and I, we’re total opposites.”

Brock clenched his fists. “What do you want from me? Take the gold, I don’t care. In fact, I’m begging you.”

Jules folded his arms, ignoring Brock’s talk. “You took my bad luck. Now I have good luck. Do you see?”

Jules stood up from his chair, starting to pace the little room.

“I’d found the Safira many years ago. I’ve been in the same boat as you, actually,” Jules laughed, patting Brock on the back, causing Brock to flinch.

“So imagine my joy when I’d found out that another man had taken my bad luck!”

Brock quickly pieced things together in his head. “So what you’re saying is that I have the bad luck that you had up until I found the…gold, the Safira.” Brock bit his lip. “But…you untied me.”

“You see son,” Jules said, “The Safira works in a reverse sort of way. I found it, got bad luck, you found it, and I lost my bad luck, and got good luck to boot.”

Brock crossed his arms. “So…why do you need me? I would think you’d want to be as far away from me as possible. Couldn’t you just take it yourself?”

Jules scowled suddenly. “You will bring the Safira to the Asteka, where I will be knighted with power stronger than any before.” He turned sharply to Brock. “No disputes.”

Brock rocked on his heels, curious about Jules sudden change in temper. “So, what you’re saying is I’m to be your little puppet so you can get wealth and power? Hardly seems fair.”

But Jules just smiled again. “It’s a sad fate, but someone had to do it. You were just dumb enough to find the Safira in the first place.”

Brock clenched his fists tighter and ran for him. The other men ran out of the way while Jules quietly side-stepped him. Brock ran flat into the wall, creating a thick crack.

Brock unclenched his fists, shoulders slumping. It was useless. He could never stop Jules. He could never lose his ill-fated curse. He might as well just give up and surrender.

Brock fell to his knees in defeat. Jules grinned. “I though you might do that.”

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