Chapter 6: Nine More Mysteries
“Nine things.”
“You say that like it’s something worth noting.”
“Nine grooves on my amulet. Nine on the box. And nine things inside. The number nine has been coming up in my life lately.”
Constance raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak. She looked down at the array of items from the box Jia had set on the table. They each slowly examined each item. The most apparent thing to open first was a sealed envelope with her mother’s telltale scrawl, which read “JIA.”
But the other items thoroughly intrigued them.
“What is all of this—stuff?” Jia said.
“You got me,” Constance shook her head. She picked up a weathered journal and flipped through the pages.
Jia picked up a pair of old keys that looked as if they had come from centuries past. She set the keys down and picked up a small quill wrapped in parchment paper. Unfolding the paper, she saw several notations that she didn’t immediately understand, but parts of them, at least, appeared to have been written by her mother.
“What do you think of this? Do you recognize anything?”
“What do you mean? It’s blank.”
“No, it’s not. I can see—” she stopped, startled, then looked at the paper again. There were several detailed descriptions of something or other on the folded paper. She unfolded it all the way. “Nothing? You see nothing?”
Constance shook her head warily.
“Well, that’s weird,” Jia said, setting the quill and paper down before picking up a small, elegant bag with a drawstring. She opened it up and poured out three small rocks.
“Oh my god. I remember these. I picked them up in —” she paused for a moment before continuing, “it was a camping trip to the northern California coast. I found these rocks on the shore. I kept them on my dresser but then forgot about them.”
“Must be some sort of magical properties, or your mother wouldn’t keep them for you, I bet.”
Jia set down the pouch and picked up the item that had intrigued her the most when the box opened: a compact mirror mounted on an elegantly painted piece of wood with embedded jewels and stones on the backside. She stared into the mirror and saw her face looking back, except—
“This is weird,” she said, pointing the mirror at her grandmother. “What do you see?”
Constance took the mirror and examined it. “Nothing special. Why? What do you see?”
“Me. But I — look different. I can’t explain it.” After another minute of looking into the mirror, she set it down.
“What the hell is this?” she said as she picked up a small metal bottle that looked like it had been through a war. There was a piece of tape on the side with a handwritten note, definitely in her mother’s scrawl, that said, “Baby’s first laugh.”
“Huh? My first laugh? Seriously? Should I open it?” Jia smiled at the thought of hearing her first laugh.
“Uh—I don’t know. What if you do it, and it vanishes for good?”
“What if it’s not even in there anymore?” She grabbed the cap, considering twisting it open, but stopped short.
“Later, maybe.”
Next to the bottle was a miniature music box, barely the size of a donut. She discovered a small knob on the back and turned it a couple of times. When she set the piece down, a mysterious tune played softly. Jia’s eyes widened, and she said, “holy crap. I remember this tune.”
“From where?”
“I don’t—know—but it’s familiar. Seems ancient. At least in my life,” she said, entranced by the melody that felt like something from long ago. After a moment, the tune wound down and stopped mid-measure. Jia turned to the last item: a small envelope. She opened the unsealed flap and pulled out a single photo.
“Oh. My. God,” she said as she stared at the photo for several seconds before passing it to Constance.
“That’s—you, your father, and your mother. You don’t look more than one or two. But what’s that—”
“—Yeah, it looks like our auras are in full bloom,” Jia laughed. “As if you believe in that stuff. Which I don’t, but—”
“But the more you’re exposed to this world, the more you have to believe in something, right?”
Jia nodded. She took the photo back and tried to remember the occasion, but nothing came to mind, and nothing in the image indicated where it was taken. However, the bright colors in the faded photo still shone through. Then she looked closer and saw a shape in front of her as a toddler, sending tingles down her spine.
“What do you see here, Grandma?”
Constance looked closely at the photo.
“It seems like something, but I can’t quite make it out. It’s all blurry, yet there’s something there.”
“It’s my dog—I mean, my imaginary dog. Rorschach. But how is that possible? I don’t even—”
“You had a dog?” Constance gave Jia a look.
“Yes, sort of. But he was real to me. He was around for years, but—”
“But what?”
“After your fight with Mom in Hope when I was eight…” In memory, Jia spoke slowly, “I never saw Rorschach again.”
Constance nodded, and Jia couldn’t determine whether the expression on her face was merely indulgent or reflected genuine belief and understanding. It didn’t matter. Rorschach was just a memory now.
Auras, indeed, she mused with a slight chuckle.
“What about that letter from your mother?” Constance asked. “Aren’t you curious to know what it says?”
“Of course I am, but….”
Constance nodded. “In its own time. No rush,” she said, then went to the kitchen.