Marty Boggs & The Discovery of the Mummy's Tomb Page 5

  Chapter One

  Marty stared out the car window, wishing he would disappear. They have been driving on the same stretch of highway for hours, his father intent on the road and Marty left alone with his fears. Since he turned fourteen his life has been one big downward spiral of events. He was beginning to believe that if he cared about anything something bad would happen.

  The latest stroke of bad luck came from a simple phone call.

  His grandfather was rushed to the hospital after he was found unconscious by his staff at the New England Museum of Natural History, a museum that has been in their family for two generations. His grandfather had slipped into a coma and they had no idea what caused it. Even worse, they weren’t sure he would ever wake up again.

  In that one instant, Marty’s life had been turned upside down for the second time that year. Six months earlier his mother disappeared from their home in New Jersey. The police have no leads and they’re left waiting for her to come home, but she never did.

  Once more their family was being ripped apart and Marty was helpless to stop his life from spiraling further out of control.

  “We're almost there. You can smell the ocean in the air.” Richard glanced at Marty, his gaze careful, hopeful, as he stared at his son.

  “The only thing I smell is the exhaust from that truck you’ve been tailing for the past five miles.” Marty turned off his iPod, hating the sudden silence. “How can you tell anyway? I haven’t seen a sign for miles. There’s been nothing but pine trees.” Marty pressed his forehead against the glass of his half-open window.

  Richard focused on the road, the worry in his eyes at war with the gentle tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel. Marty knew his dad was trying to shake him out of the dark place he went to a lot these days. He was usually better at hiding it than this. He got really good at pretending to be all right. It was either that or end up on some shrink’s couch being poked and prodded at.

  “They don't call it the pine tree state for nothing,” Richard smiled as Marty snorted. “Hallowell is the next exit.”

  “Finally,” Marty groaned as he shifted in his seat, trying to wiggle some feeling back into his legs. His grandfather had been brought from the hospital in Portland to his home to be cared for and Marty had no idea what to expect. He kept thinking they would walk into his grandfather's old Victorian and he would be waiting for them, his smile lightning quick as he grabbed Marty for a hug.

  But Marty knew he was fooling himself. His grandfather was sick. There would be no warm greeting—just sickness and maybe even death waiting patiently to steal someone else he loved.

  They passed through downtown, Marty briefly catching a glimpse of a large brick building that read Alexander Montgomery High School. The school year has just started and he was going to have to start a new school where he knew no one. Worst of all, they wore uniforms. He wondered if they would let him at least wear his chucks.

  They turned off the main road, heading down a long street lined with towering maple trees, before finally pulling into the gravel driveway that led to his grandfather's home. It was bigger than he remembered, an old Victorian with brightly painted shutters. Ivy grew wildly up the side of the house and two large stone lions stood guard on either side of the front steps. The house looked like it was alive, waiting patiently for them to arrive, as fearful of what lay inside as Marty was.

  The house wasn’t the only one waiting for them. The front door opened with a slow creak. Marty climbed out, dropping his duffel bag at his side. For a second, he thought it was his grandfather. His hope died inside him like a caged bird starved of life. Instead, it was a stranger who watched them.

  “Hello there,” she called out, her smile warm and inviting. She reminded Marty of apple pie cooling on a windowsill to tempt the autumn air. Her black and white streaked hair sat piled on top of her head in a giant topknot. She quickly wiped her hands on the white apron she wore over her black dress as she came forward to greet them.

  “I’m Margarete. I've been hired to help care for Mr. Babsfy,” she said with a smile, shaking Richard's hand as Marty watched. “The drive must have been miserable, so many hours on the freeway,” she said in sympathy. “Well, come inside and get settled. I've made my special Sheppard’s pie just for the two of you.” She turned and with a bustle of her thick frame hurried into the house, motioning for them to follow.

  The second they stepped inside his grandfather’s wide foyer, Marty stopped, drowning in his memories. He ran his hand along the wallpapered hallway of vibrant green, knowing the exact spot where the paper was rubbed thin from him riding his tricycle down the hallway. Family portraits graced the walls while others rested in silver frames, memories suspended in time, his mother’s smile haunting him with every step.

  Margarete waited patiently, her dark eyes melting with sympathy. “I'm afraid there hasn't been much improvement since he left the hospital. His vitals have remained steady, which was the first hurdle we had to cross. Now, we simply have to hope for the best,” she trailed off, looking from Marty to his father, her words drying up as an uneasy silence descended. “I'm sure now that you’re here things will get better. Having family near helps, more than you might realize. Sometimes just the sound of a loved one’s voice can make an enormous difference.”

  Marty nervously tugged at the hem of his shirt as she led the way upstairs to his grandfather’s room. Only, it didn’t feel like a normal bedroom anymore. It felt like a hospital room, with sickness and sorrow painting the walls in dreary yellows and grays. The curtains were drawn tight against the mid-day sun, blocking any light from entering, and any hope from rooting in the shadows.

  Marty froze, refusing to believe this was his grandfather. It wasn't possible. Reginald was motionless. His eyes were sunken hollows ringed by dark blue. The rest of his skin was pasty white and seemed almost translucent. His body was gaunt, his bones jutting forth prominently. His muscle mass wasted away, leaving him a skeleton of his former self. His hands were curled into tight fists against his sides, his knuckles stretched against the thin skin of his hands.

  “I know this is shocking, especially for you,” her gaze settled on Marty, sympathy swimming in her eyes. “From what I’ve been told, he was found in much the same state as you see him now. There really hasn’t been much change. His room is setup up so he can receive 24-hour care and monitoring, with my room just across the hall so that I can see to his needs without interruption.”

  She checked his vitals, making a note on the bedside chart as they watched. “Well, I'll let you sit with him in private,” she glanced at her watch. “Dinner will be ready soon.” She closed the door softly behind her, leaving Marty and his father alone.

  “Dad,” Marty turned to his father, afraid his panic was going to swallow him whole.

  “It's all right, Marty. Everything is going to be all right.” Richard squeezed Marty’s shoulder with a reassuring hand, but Marty could hear the fear in his father’s voice. It mirrored his own, yet he was doing what adults do, pretending that everything was all right. It wasn’t working. Marty couldn’t understand how his grandfather looked like he aged a hundred years overnight.

  “Grandpa,” Marty said softly, watching desperately for some sort of response. There was nothing. He continued to lay there in silence, his chest rising and falling shallowly. He tried again, “It's me, Marty.” Still, there was nothing.

  Marty pulled a chair to the side of his grandfather’s bed, not knowing what to say or do. The pit of emptiness was widening inside him, threatening to bury him in its murky soil. It was the same feeling he has had ever since his mother disappeared.

  He wanted to scream at his grandfather to wake up, to shake him until he opened his eyes and looked at him, saw his pain and made it all go away. But Marty knew he was being foolish. All the shaking and screaming in the world wouldn’t wake his grandfather, just like the hours he had spent sobbing rivers on his bedroom floor hadn’t brought his mother home. It had only
flooded the upstairs hallway.

  For months Marty waited for his grandfather to return from Egypt, the site of his last archeological expedition, and what his grandfather referred to as the greatest find of his career. For as long as Marty could remember, his grandfather had scoured the Earth in search of yet another adventure, never tiring in his quest for the next hidden treasure or long lost city. He didn’t want to simply be a part of the history books, he wanted to redefine them, and not just with the artifacts he found, but with tales of long lost civilizations reborn at his touch.

  Yet there has always been one treasure that haunted him, a treasure that to Reginald was larger than life, one that proved time after time to be nothing more than an elusive ghost. He searched for the impossible, a great ruler who had been rumored to have been a powerful sorcerer birthed from the sky to descend upon the land of Egypt and its inhabitants. More ghost than man.

  The legend haunted him, at times making him appear mad in his letters to Marty. The pages of elegant script filled with nothing but his search for Kutkara—a man who had fleetingly shown up in Egyptian folklore, describing a ruler so powerful he was believed to be a god. His tomb was rumored to be hidden deeper than any man could venture, and all accounts of his life