“Hmmm,” he replied, realizing she was feeling some distress. “What do you usually do to clear your mind, or to work through tough situations? And before you answer, I know this was no ordinary adventure.”
“I write.” She held her hands out. “It’s my outlet. As a journalist, it’s how I make sense of what I see in the world. And now, because of our promise to Javier and his people, I’m blocked from doing that.”
“What about keeping a journal?” Rick suggested.
“I have been,” she said, letting out a heavy sigh, “but I hate to say it, it’s not the same. Being a journalist, it’s in my blood to communicate with people about what I’ve learned.”
“Right,” he said, “and now you’re prevented from doing that.”
“Si! It’s all just building up inside me with nowhere to go. I’m really struggling with that.” She got up and looked out the window, wrapping her arms around herself. She stared at a streetlight glowing in the dark. She felt like that streetlight, only she wasn’t allowed to share the light with any passersby, to help them along on their journey. “There is so much I want to say. So much I wish I could share. What we’ve learned could help people. Maybe ease some pain.”
Rick thought about what she was saying. He knew she was right. He also knew they’d made a promise.
She turned back around and looked at Rick. “Knowing what we know, how do we go forward, pretending like we don’t know it? How do we keep it all to ourselves and never share it?”
He considered what she was saying. “That’s a good question.” He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “There aren’t any roadmaps we can follow for this part of the journey.”
Sofia sat back down. “Lo siento. I guess I just needed to vent.”
He gave her a cheerful grin. “You can come over here and vent to me anytime you like. My door and my ears are always open.”
She laughed and leaned back, feeling a bit better just having shared her feelings with him. It felt good to be understood at least, she thought.
Rick glanced over at his burgeoning bookshelf. He had scores of adventure novels on his shelf, along with his books on ancient history. A thought occurred to him.
“You know,” he said, getting up and walking over to the bookshelf, “maybe I have an overactive imagination, but I’ve always wondered if there was a sliver of truth in any of these adventure stories.” He ran his fingers along the well-worn spines. A number of them had been read a few times, he’d enjoyed them so much.
He grabbed one off of the shelf and showed her the cover. “You know what I mean?”
She glanced at the colorful front image and bold lettering. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She shrugged her shoulders. “They’re just stories. Things that people make up for entertainment.”
He flipped through the pages of the book. He smiled. It was one of his favorite reads. “But what if they weren’t? Made up, I mean? Take this story,” he said, waving the book. “It’s a grand adventure. I’ve enjoyed it so much, at times I wished it was real. I wish this was an actual place I could actually go to and see what the characters saw. Experience what they experienced and witness the wonder for myself. Without being shot at, of course,” he said, winking at her.
She laughed.
He continued, “In the midst of the adventure, the characters were able to have this incredible opportunity for enlightenment.”
She listened.
“Sound familiar at all?”
She frowned. “I haven’t read it.”
He sat back down and placed the book on his knee. He placed his hand over it. “It’s not the specific story I’m talking about.”
Her eyes lit up with understanding. “Are you suggesting...”
“Why not find a different outlet for what you need to share?”
She gave a cautious laugh. “Write a fictional story about it, you mean?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I’ve never written a novel,” she protested. “I’m a journalist. I don’t write fiction.”
“But you’ve got solid writing skills. You’re good at research. You can string a sentence together. You know what makes for a compelling story.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
He placed the book on the coffee table. “I could help you. We could do it together. And we’d begin at the beginning.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure,” he replied, giving her a playful grin. “It could be a lot of fun. It would also give us the chance to work through some of what we’re dealing with—a way to process our experience.”
She glanced down at the book on the table. She’d never even considered writing something like that. She picked it up and read the back cover. It sounded like a fantastical tale. But no more so than what she’d experienced in real life. Maybe he has a point, she thought.
“I would dearly love to put pen to paper, so-to-speak,” she said, “and write about the metal library. It was so incredible. It deserves to be shared.”
“We’d have to change a lot of the details, of course,” Rick said, “to protect their secret. Change names, locations, other sensitive details, etc.”
“Right,” she replied. “We’d have to be careful not to reveal too much.”
“We would just need to get the gist of our adventure down, while changing the specifics.” He pressed his hands together. “Think of it as a secret way to share the spirit of what we’ve learned, while still honoring our promise.”
She turned the book back over and looked at the cover. It was a mysterious image with a captivating title, inviting the reader in to learn what it was all about, what secrets it held within the pages of the story.
“Do you really think these books may be based on real events? Real places and people?” she asked.
“What better way to reveal a
