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Bringing Home Atlantis

The Philosopher's Journal

By Chase StrotherPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
1

"That is an amazing question," I say turning to my chalkboard, "How do we even get to Atlantis?"

I grab my piece of white chalk and begin to write, "When looking back at Ancient Greece, we run into the philosopher Plato. He alludes to a journal that documents how to gain passage to Atlantis and this book, 'The Philosopher's Journal' talks about a power source the Atlanteans possessed that was more powerful than even the Sun, giving them electricity and great advancements in technology. With this journal to lead us to Atlantis, we would not only make the discovery of the century but bring that technology back to the surface world."

I put the slide of the small black leather book with yellowed pages into the projector. I grab the Vikings shield I found last summer on my trip to Greenland and show it to the audience.

"Many believe the journal to be lost somewhere in Ireland but from the Nordic runes on this Viking shield the journal can actually be found in Iceland."

"Finding the 'Philosopher's Journal' will guide us straight to The Lost City."

The phone sitting on my desk behind me rings.

"Would you gentlemen excuse me just for one second?"

"Hello, Christian Nicholson Atlantean history department speaking," I answer.

"What? I thought this was the boiler room," A woman screeches.

"Yes Ma'am I handle the boilers," I groan.

"Well, the heat in our classroom is out and-"

"I got it, don't worry" I walk over to the boilers and hear the whistling coming from the broken one in the middle.

"Excuse me," I mutter to the tiki idols I set up as my fake audience to practice before my presentation to financials today.

I grab a wrench and turn each valve on the boiler a small bit, tightening the bolts then wack the thermometer ontop stopping the whistling, and the machine grunts to life.

Why Harvard still heats its history department with boilers in the 21st century I'll never know.

I hear my cell phone ding from my desk and pick it up.

"Dear Mr. Nicholson," I read the email from the director of financials out loud, "this email is to inform you that your financial meeting has been moved up from 3:30 to 1:30,"

I look at the clock and my stomach drops, it's already 1:20. I shove my phone in my pocket and grab my notes. I fly up the stairs throwing open the basement door, heading straight for Director Harcourt's office.

As I round the corner, I see a plump man, in a black trench coat and bowler hat perched on top of his round head waddle out of his office and towards the doors leading outside.

"Mr. Harcourt!" I scream down the hall.

The plump man turns and he goes pale. He picks up speed heading for the doors but I'm faster.

As he throws open the door I jump in front of him, "Mr. Harcourt you said we would meet today about funding for my expedition to find the Philosopher's Journal" I say, out of breath.

"Oh, is that today?" he asks, dumbfounded.

"Yes, and you just sent an email changing the time," I pull my phone out but I drop my notes. I dive to scoop them up before they get ruined in the hard rain falling down. As I lean down Mr. Harcourt steps around me and jumps into a black car behind me.

"Go, go, go!" I hear him shout at the driver.

"Sir!" I shout, banging on his window.

"I know I can find this journal, and if we find Atlantis-"

"Christian look at me!" he shouts, rolling down his window as the car jolts to a stop. We will not fund any expedition based on hearsay and legend. Your grandfather killed himself over this. Do you really want to end up like him? Get this idea out of your head or you can kiss your ties to Harvard good-bye,"

"But-" I start.

"No, I will hear no more," he flips me a coin and I catch it, "Consider this your funding son, take the trolley to the river and dive in. Maybe you'll find Atlantis down there."

He laughs and claps his hands. The driver takes off down the road, spewing rainwater from the road all over me. I gasp as the cold water seeps into my bones and I feel the hot tears running down my cheeks. I turn away from the street, leaving all my notes now ruined in the gutter, and walk home, my heart heavy.

I fish the brass key from the soaked pocket of my khakis and insert it into the mahogany door of my apartment. The lock clicks and I drag myself inside throwing what's left of my Atlantean research on the kitchen table.

"Jakey, I'm home," I call out to my dog, no answer, "Jakey?"

I go to turn on the lights, but the power must be out.

I groan, "Of course,"

I look to the bay window across the room and see a black figure outlined in the moonlight as lighting sounds from close by. I drop my computer bag and grab a knife from the kitchen counter.

"Who are you?" I shout.

The figure turns and I barely make out her face in the dark. A woman, with blonde hair, tucked into a braid on top of her head. Her pink cocktail dress almost covers her black leather-heeled boots.

"My name is Ivanna Mikhailov and I'm here on behalf of my employer, Mr. Benson, who is extremely interested in your research of Atlantis," she says sharply.

"How does he even know about that..." I trail off still holding the knife tightly.

"Better not to ask questions," she says slipping into a Russian accent, "Come with me, we mustn't keep him waiting,"

"I- okay..." I follow Ivanna out the door and into a black limo waiting at the curb I hadn't seen before. Cold shivers rack my body as I wonder what they want my research for.

As we pull past the wrought-iron gates with a massive steel B hanging over them I see the mansion in all its glory. It looks like a castle as it sits high up on the hill overlooking the valley below.

"You will only speak when spoken to and not ask questions until the very end," Ivanna says straightening my coat and hair as we descend in the old caged elevator inside the massive estate, "You will address him as Mr. Benson and Mr. Benson only, understood?"

I nod with a gulp as the elevator comes to a stop and the cage door retracts.

"And don't worry," Ivanna says, "he doesn't bite... much," she slams the cage door shut and the elevator retracts back into the ceiling from which it came taking Ivanna with it.

I walk through the massive great room. Animal heads and artifacts from all over the world line the walls. A massive painting of a thin man with clumps of white hair dressed in a black three-piece suit hangs over the fireplace.

"Hello, Christian," a rough voice sounds from in front of the fireplace, "Please have a seat."

I walk over to a clump of leather couches surrounding the fireplace to see the man from the portrait sitting there, a glass of whiskey in hand.

"Hi," I say timidly.

"Damn, Nicholson, you look just like your grandfather,"

"You knew him?" I asked shocked.

"Course," he says waving his glass in front of him, "We were best friends back in the day."

The blue bathrobe he has tied at his waist makes him a lot less intimidating than Ivanna made him out to be.

"He never mentioned you before," I mutter.

Old Theo and I went on tons of expeditions together, he never would shut up about that journal either," he says.

"Wait you know about the Philosopher's Journal?" I ask, sitting up straighter than before.

"Well, of course, I'm the one that funded your grandad's expedition for the thing." He says grabbing a picture off the table next to him, "I even told him if he ever found it I'd kiss him right on the lips and pay for a crew to find Atlantis with that damn book,"

He passes me the picture and I see Mr. Benson alongside my grandpa just like I remembered him.

"So did you ever find it?" I ask the question still burning on my lips.

"Yes," he says pulling open a drawer and revealing the same black leather-bound book I had shown in my slides earlier.

I grab the book from his outstretched hands and flip through the yellowed, lined pages, the leather feels warm to the touch. Paragraphs and drawings all in Latin greet me.

"It's real," I mutter.

"Yep, told your grandad if anything ever happened to him I'd give you that book when you were ready," he frowns, "I was shocked to hear he killed himself last year, hit us all like a truck. It's that damn University's fault for not believing him. If I could just bring back one shred of proof, that'd be enough for me"

I see the tears fall from Mr. Benson's eyes and that same empty feeling I felt when he died creeps back into my chest.

"So Christian," he says wiping his nose with a handkerchief, "Now that you've got the book what'll you do?"

"I-I...I don't know," I stutter, "I'll go to the University and ask for funding,"

"They'll never believe you," he says.

"Well, I'll make them believe, I'll show them the book and-"

"Already tried that son," the old man cuts in.

"I'll go somewhere else maybe."

"Where?" he laughs.

"Mr. Benson I have to find Atlantis this meant so much to him. I don't care if I have to rent a rowboat, I'll find it!" I shout.

"Son, that's exactly what I wanted to hear," he picks up his cane and hobbles to the long desk in front of the windows looking out over the valley. Scale models of submarines have been laid out on the desk's surface as well as a stack of manilla file folders with pictures of people and profiles hidden inside.

"What's all this?" I ask, picking up a sub and inspecting it.

"Your expedition," he says, "Handpicked from around the globe to get to Atlantis and bring back that power source your grandpa swore by. They're the same crew that brought the journal back too."

"Where was it?" I ask.

"Iceland," he throws down a picture with ten or so people all holding up the leather-bound book I now clutch at my side. They smile like they just won the lottery.

"I knew it!" I shout.

"I've got everyone we need except for a linguist and an Atlantean expert. Are you onboard?" he asks, but I know that I have no choice. I have to go on this trip and prove them all wrong and show them that grandpa Theo was right.

"Well, I've got to quit my job."

"Already done," Mr. Benson sits back in his chair, lighting a cigarette.

"I need someone to take care of Jakey."

"Ivanna took him to my personal animal care center, he'll be fine,"

"I need to pack."

He simply points to the suitcases laid out by the elevator.

"We leave tomorrow," he says standing up clutching his wooden cane, "Here's your money for coming along,"

He hands me a white envelope with a blue check inside.

"Twenty thousand dollars?" I ask breathless, "That's too much."

"Nah," he says waving me off as I try to hand the check back, "It's the least I can do,"

"Thank you so much, Mr. Benson. I promise I won't let you down," I say, something hot sticking in my throat.

"Don't do it for me son, do it for Theo."

I look down at the worn leather book and clutch it tight to my chest.

I'm going to find Atlantis.

fantasy
1

About the Creator

Chase Strother

Hi, my name is Chase Strother and I am an up and coming young adult fiction writer. I am currently in my Senior year of high school and am very excited to finish my first ever Novel soon and am very excited to try out Vocal+ :)

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