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Mike ’ s notebooks. I have to say not much of it made sense. For the most part, I stood by my earlier assessment that Mike had apparently developed a fondness for fairy tales. The notebooks were a very detailed story about a…a what? A made up land? The land was under the rule of — what else — an evil force of some sort. Neither Mike ’ s research nor the pages and pages about the legend mentioned anything about princesses or good triumphing evil. For that I was immensely grateful. The whole thing sounded hokey enough. I closed the last book and sat back, propping one foot on the windowsill and enjoying the view. I would have twirled the pen around my hands, but my fingers were so badly cramped I didn ’ t think that I would so much as hold a pen again anytime soon.
    So the suit brigade thought that Mike time travelled to this mythological land. Right. Try as I might, I still couldn ’ t wrap my head around that theory. That was probably because, well — it was crazy. Part of me kept expecting my brother to pop out of a closet, yell ‘ surprise , ’ and tell me this was all a big prank. Mike loved pranks and jokes more than most people I knew. There were only two things wrong with that idea. John wasn ’ t funny , and no one would go to this much trouble for a laugh.
    I glanced down at the box of notebooks in the corner of the sitting room and shook my head, resigned. No, an entire box of notes written in code was not a joke. Whatever was going on and wherever Mike had taken off to was serious enough to him. So I would take it seriously as well. I couldn ’ t afford to forget, though, that my number one priority was tracking down Mike. Not for a second did I believe that he time travelled his way to far and distant lands. No, there had to be a more logical explanation that that ...there just had to be. Actually, I wasn ’ t sure if time travelled was even the right track. His notes hadn ’ t mentioned anything about that. In fact, he hadn ’ t mentioned anything at all about going to the land he described or about how one would even begin to go about that. I could see his desire and his curiosity, though.
    I shook my head again, frowning as I sat back and tried to think about things that were more solid than alternate universes. I thought back once more to the last night I had seen my brother. His visit had been short and tense. No, I corrected, not so much tense as scared. Mike had looked scared. I realized that for what it was now, although I didn ’ t think much of it at the time. He was cryptic, I recalled ; said he was leaving on an expedition for an extended period of time ; gave me the spare key to his apartment ; looked over his shoulder again ; smiled , and left. The key.
    Actually, it was several keys on a thin silver ring. I dashed into my bedroom and yanked the drawer open to grab them. I wondered what the other keys were. I knew the largest medium sized key on the ring was to his apartment , b ut I never asked him what the other two were for. Under more ordinary circumstances, I wouldn ’ t have thought that detail was important. Now, however, I was beginning to realize that every bit of information counted. It all pointed to something. Like a trail of breadcrumbs through a forest, Mike had left clues for me to follow. I checked the clock on the nightstand. It was eleven o ’ clock at night. What the heck , I shrugged and grabbed my keys and jacket.
    ***
    “ The plot thickens. ” I announced to no one in particular an hour later. I had to leap over several piles of laundry to get to the light switch in the apartment. I blinked at the bright light and surveyed the place in shock. It was a mess. Everywhere I looked there were piles of papers, newspapers, clothing, and various odds and ends. Dishes were piled in the sink. I shook my head, trying not to think about how long they must have been sitting there. Months. Gross. The condition of the apartment would make my search all the more