The Nibiru Effect

Memory 5

My mother?" I ask, incredulous.

Grace nods.

I stare at the wrapped present, desperate to believe it's true, that my mother left this for me the day she gave me up. But why? Why give me up? Why leave this for me? And why did Grace wait this long to give it to me?

"Have I ever told you the story of how I found you?" asks Grace.

I shake my head, too numb to speak.

She speaks in French. I don't mind. I have always had a knack for languages. When I was seven, I learned Spanish in less than a week. By age ten, I could speak five languages. Now, I'm fluent in over a dozen dialects, though if I tried, I could probably double that number in less than a year. Grace says it's unusual, but all I have to do is listen and, before long, the words take on meanings and come together to form phrases. After that, it's only a matter of practice.

"C'était il y a un peu moins de quinze ans," begins Grace, but I stop noticing which language she speaks after just a few words. To me, it's all the same. "It was a dark, starless night. I was locking up for the night when I heard a baby crying."

Sensing this will be a long story, I carefully place my mother's present on the table.

"I opened the door," continues Grace, "The wind blew strong that night, and I had to struggle just to keep the door from flying out of my hands. I was fighting its pull when I spotted it."

"What? What did you see?"

"A box. Nestled within it was a baby."

"Me?" I ask.

Grace nods.

"You were so small. You couldn't have been more than a few weeks old." Her eyes twinkle as she speaks. "Tucked between your swaddled body and the wall of the box were two items. The first was a small wooden box. The second was a letter. It was addressed to 'whoever finds my son.'"

"What did it say?"

"Why don't you read it and find out for yourself?" she offers, revealing a yellowed sheet of paper. It's old but perfectly preserved.

I reach out with trembling hands and carefully unfold it. It's a short, handwritten note.

This is my son, Will Save. He is all I have left in this world. I don't want to give him up, but I have no choice. It's the only way I can keep him safe. Please tell him I love him and make sure he gets this box when he turns fifteen. It may well save his life.

—A.

By the time I'm done reading the letter, tears are streaming down my cheeks. I can't believe how much I learned in that one short paragraph. Not only do I now have proof my mother didn't want to give me up, but I also know her name starts with an "A." It's not much, but it's more than I ever expected to uncover.

I re-read the letter. Twice. It's not until the third passage that I notice there's something written on the back. It's a detailed list of instructions. For some reason, I was to receive that mysterious box within the hour following my fifteenth birthday. It also specifies I not be told of its existence until then. The last line is a set of numbers. It takes a moment before I realize it's my exact date and time of birth. Apparently, I was born at 12:01 AM.

I glance at the nearby clock. It's 12:18 AM, which means Grace succeeded in fulfilling my mother's request. It also means the appearance of the yet unidentified symbol that now mars my left wrist coincided with my exact time of birth. That can't be a coincidence.

"Aren't you going to open it?" asks Grace, nodding to my mother's present. After a moment, she adds, "I thought it would be more fun if I wrapped it."