Everything is taken care of

EVERYTHING IS TAKEN CARE OF

September 19th 2008

Dear Brayden,

   You are invited to my funeral on the date of September 19th 2018. The burial will take place at 'The Noble Rot' at 11:00.

Your eternal friend - Professor Brewer

 

   This was not the first time Brayden had read this invite. He had lost count how many times. He folded the paper and placed it in the outside pocket of his mustang leather jacket. He then looked at his watch. It read 10:35. He returned his eyes to what lay before him and pushed on up the gravely path, passing the imposing vines.

   He eventually reached a stone mansion. Two oak doors stood before him. Intrigue and a sense of adventure took hold as he pushed open the wooden doors and entered in.

   Before him stood a vast lobby filled with a selection of strangers. Each person held a wine glass in their hand and was looking over curious items that were distributed around the room. Not wanting to be left out Brayden grabbed a glass of wine from a side table and joined in the examination.

   The first item he came upon was a shield. It was made of iron and was heavily damaged.

   Anglo-Saxon

   He shook the glass lightly, smelt its contents and quaffed it down in one.

   Nectarine, mandarin and a hint of nutmeg

   The second item was a flag. It showed a lion on a blue background.

   William I

   The third item was an arrow. It was made of yew. On closer inspection he noticed dry blood splattered over its flint head.

   'Excusez moi,' came a voice from behind Brayden's back. 'Vous parlez anglais?'

   Brayden turned around to find a young lady. She had long golden hair, sapphire eyes and wore a black dress. On her lapel was pinned a brooch in the guise of a yellow-eyed penguin.

   'Ouais,' said Brayden, as he removed his herringbone beret. 'Je viens de Nouvelle Zēalande.'

   'Sorry,' said the lady. 'But you look so French.'

   'That's coz I reside in Normandy.'

   The lady paused for a brief moment and then continued.

   'How of rude of me. My name's Cynthia.'

   'I'm Brayden'

   'Brayden McNaughton?'

   'The very one.'

   ‘My father spoke much of you. He said you were a gifted student.’

   ‘I guess I was, eh.’

   ‘Take the compliment. He rarely gave me one.’

   Brayden smiled and looked at Cynthia’s face. She had the professor’s pointed nose.

   ‘Can I ask you something?’ Brayden then asked.

   ‘Sure, what do you want to know?’ said Cynthia.

   ‘How did the professor know when he was going to die?’

   ‘What do you mean?’

   Brayden handed over the invitation. Cynthia read it over and then returned it.

   ‘I have checked it out,’ said Brayden. ‘It is the professor’s writing and it was written on September 19th 2008.’

   ‘How's that possible?’

   ‘I’m not sure. Could you tell me how he died? It should help.’

   ‘Let’s go somewhere a little more private and I will tell you what you wish to know.’

   Cynthia led Brayden through the lobby past the unfamiliar faces to a small study. She let Brayden enter and then closed the door behind herself. Brayden placed his empty glass on a small writing desk.

   ‘Who are those people?’ he then asked.

   ‘A random selection of my father’s acquaintances,' said Cynthia. 'His work was his life so he never had time for anyone else.’

   Brayden thought back to his university days and remembered the many afternoons he had debated with Professor Brewer. He was probably the nearest thing he had had to a true friend.

   ‘Two weeks ago,’ interrupted Cynthia. ‘My father invited me up here. I told him I was busy with my conservation work and could only spare him the weekend. He seemed to understand, as if he knew my plans already.’

   Brayden chuckled.

   ‘What’s funny?’ asked Cynthia.

   ‘He did. Sorry, carry on.’

   ‘When I arrived at ‘The Noble Rot’ my father gave me a hug and cooked me dinner. It was the first time I can remember him doing these things. Anyway, he spoke after the meal about family affairs. I found this a little peculiar as I am an only child, single and have no children. The next day we went for a walk by Lake Wairarapa. It was a beautiful morning. The water was shimmering and aquamarine. My father decided to walk on the left side of the road, away from the water’s edge. I tried to convince him to walk on the safer side, put he persisted on sticking to his course. I relented. It wasn’t worth arguing with a professor. About twenty minutes later we heard the rumbling of a car engine from behind. A few seconds later the car flew right by and knocked my father to the ground. I bent down and found he was seriously wounded. I took my coat and wrapped it around him. He then looked up at me and smiled. He told me he loved me. I forced a smile as tears began to pour down my face.

   ‘Everything is taken care of.’ my father then said. These were his last words.

   ‘Did the police catch the driver of the car?’ asked Brayden.

   ‘Yes, the police found the driver. He told them he wasn’t aware of his excessive speed as his wife was in labour in the back. He was on his way to the local hospital.’

   ‘So it was an accident.’

   ‘I guess it was. Why is that important?’

   ‘Because the professor knew he was going to die that day, that hour, that minute, that precise second.’

   ‘That’s impossible!’

   ‘For us mere mortals, but not for the professor.’

   ‘What do you mean?’

   ‘The professor told me if he could do anything it would be to travel back in time to historical events and witness them in action.’

   ‘It’s impossible!’

   ‘I believe your father has collected artifacts. Some are in the reception right now.’

   ‘How can you prove that they are legit?’

   ‘The arrow that struck Harold’s eye is evidence in its self. The blood on the head is only a week old, even though it was fired in 1066.’

   ‘That’s mind blowing. My father taught you well.’

   ‘He sure did. He was a great teacher.’

   Cynthia reached into her left dress pocket and removed a brown envelope.

   ‘I nearly forgot,’ she said. ‘Father left you this.’

   She handed it over to Brayden. He took it and observed its front. On the brown face was the letters of his name. He then opened it up and found a note inside. He unfolded the paper and found these words.

September 19th 2023

Dear Brayden,

   The answers you desire will come in time. Look after Cynthia and the young ones.

Your eternal friend - Professor Brewer

P.S.   Everything is taken care of