Part 3
In the middle of a giant cavern there was a desk, lit by a battery powered lantern. An old school typewriter also sat on the desk, and beneath it a pile of tin lunch boxes. Emerson could see the metallic red of Wonder Woman’s W’s glinting in the lantern light. But more importantly, hunched over the desk, was a figure, who was writing.
Emerson’s heart which hadn’t yet resumed normal functioning stopped all together.
She looked up and blinked rapidly forcing her eyes to adjust. As her pupils dilated, her vision cleared and was drawn to the names etched on the ceiling and walls. The names of explorers past, others who had successfully made the trek and felt the need to leave their mark as proof. The last line of clues flooded her mind.
I’ll be where words surround me, for with words I feel at home.
But do not leave me there forever, I’ve decided it’s time for my words to roam.
“Leo!” Emerson suddenly shouted. Her voice echoed in the confined space. She jolted forward but was immediately jerked back by the ropes still attached to her companions on the other side of the rock wall. She fumbled to disconnect her carabiner, her nerves and thoughts all tumbling together in the dark. “You guys!” she shouted back the way she had come. “Leo’s here. We did it! He’s really here.”
When she turned around, she saw that the person at the desk was standing. For a second, she thought that the shadows of the room were playing tricks on her. Because instead of seeing an elderly man with a wise beard (how could Leo Rock not have a beard? Emerson had often asked herself as she wandered New York looking for him), a woman stood at the desk.
Emerson stared at her as they walked towards one another. She took in the woman’s smart glasses and the long hair streaked with gray that poked out from an adventurer’s helmet adorned with a head lamp. The woman smiled sheepishly and removed the helmet before jutting out her hand.
“Hello, I’m Leona Rock. It’s nice to meet you.”
Emerson let out all the breath in her lungs. Her head spun. Her world was turned upside down. “Hi,” Emerson said. She reached out a shaking hand and numbly rested it in the hand of her hero. “I’m Emerson.”
“You know,” Leona said with a smile. “It seems improbable, but I was hoping it would be you.”
“Me?” Emerson managed. “How- why? I mean, we’ve never met!”
“Not directly no, but I saw you all the time. In the city, in the park, in my favorite coffee shop. In fact, your shirt,” Leona pointed. “Gave me some much-needed motivation and inspiration on some of my lowest days.”
“You? Need motivation?” A tiny, incredulous laugh escaped Emerson’s lip. “You are like the most amazing writer ever!” To her own ears Emerson’s praise sounded basic, elementary. Just how do you communicate a lifetime worth of gratitude in a single sentence?
Leona nodded. “For me, the words are always there, but some days I needed a reminder, some reassurance, to continue in the lifestyle I had chosen. Here, pull up a rock. Let me tell you.” Leona gestured to the others, who had now made their way past the limestone wall, to join them. Just like children at a library, the four Leologists circled at her feet.
Leona took a breath and hesitated for only a second before plunging in.
“When I was just starting out, no one wanted my stories. Not journals, or contests or anthologies. Not publishers or agents or even my hometown newspaper. No one. The rejections built up and were threatening to crush me. But I only knew how to be a writer. I only wanted to be a writer. I just had to find a way. A new way. I stopped submitting for a while but kept writing. I worked hard on my craft, studied masterpieces by my favorite authors and kept writing. Writing, writing, writing. So much writing.
“One day I wrote this amazing story. It came out in a flood, a gush of words, and they were great. I loved them. It was one of the only times I didn’t need to seriously edit my work. A true gift of the muses. In a rush, I sent it out to a fantasy literary journal. I made a rookie mistake that would forever change my life.”
The Leologists sat in rapt attention. Leona continued,
“I forgot to include my name. All the editor had was my email. LeoRock[at]gmail[.]com. When he replied to say he was printing it, I was so excited I overlooked the byline. The story printed under the name Leo Rock. It went on to win an award. When it came time to submit another story, I decided to used the name Leo. And they took it, and the next one and the next. At first, I turned down interviews and in person meetings and photo shoots because I was afraid they’d think I was a fraud. They wouldn’t believe that a twenty something girl had written these deep and twisting fantasy stories they loved so much. What does a fresh college grad really know about truth and identity and fear, right?” She looked at them meaningfully, estimating that anyone who made it this far into the quest had likely been powered by brains and the burn of past underestimation. “Age, just like race and gender and stature, shouldn’t disqualify the stories anyone has to tell.”
Leona paused and looked around the cave, casting for how to begin the next chapter. “And then, I just liked being left alone, to create the worlds I wanted to live in, instead of playing a part in theirs. Your shirt,” she said gesturing to Emerson. “Let me know that my unconventional choice was okay. That I was just being me. And that being me, was a fine thing to be.”
“But I’m done with that now. I’ve been writing stories for twenty-five years. And I plan to be writing them for twenty-five more. But I’ve decided that I want to be a part of the real world too.” Leona reached down to grab one of the lunch boxes at her feet. She handed it to Emerson. “Inside these lunch boxes you’ll find my journals. They go back, to when I was very young, six, maybe seven years old, and travel forward, all the way up until this morning. Also included are plenty of artifacts to prove the undeniable, albeit implausible, truth. They are my story. The final story in the life of Leo Rock. And I’d like you to tell it.”
Emerson looked at her, confused.
“I’m commissioning you, all of you,” Leona explained. “To write my biography. Work together; support one another. I’m sure you all have your own set of talents that will contribute to the final product.” Here she paused and Emerson could see through her tears that Leona was holding back her own. “Stories are so much better with friends.”
The small band of fans waited while Leona added one more journal entry, detailing their meeting and the task of chronicling her life. They took a quick group picture with their hero and promised to meet Leona with a finished manuscript in Times Square one year from today.
“Where are you going? What will you be doing?” Emerson asked her. It came out as more of an accusation than she meant it to. Now that’d she’d finally found her, she wasn’t ready to leave Leona Rock.
“Don’t worry,” Leona said. “My days of hiding are over. I’ll be in touch.”
They said goodbye, ferried the lunchboxes through the slim opening in the wall back to the rest of the cave and then loaded their packs with their treasure trove. As Garrett, Ethan and Claudia began walking back toward the surface Emerson slid back through the opening one more time.
“Is everything okay?” Leona asked.
Emmerson nodded. “I just didn’t get a chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“What’s that?” Leona asked.
“To say thank you. I don’t know who I would be without your words. I know that sounds dramatic, I’m sorry.” Emerson blushed, suddenly self-conscious. “I’d just hate it if you never knew that. For me, yeah, but for so, so many other people too.”
Leona enveloped her in a hug and then pulled back to look her in the eyes.
“I didn’t think I needed that,” Leona said. “I’ve told myself for so long that I didn’t. But I guess the truth is, I did. Thank you. It was my pleasure.”
The women hugged each other once more and then Emerson left to catch up with the others.
An hour later Emerson and her friends climbed out of the cave completely covered in dirt. The daylight had faded, but their eyes were alight in a way even the sun couldn’t rival. They had a story to tell.
