ADVENTURES BEYOND: Love, betrayal and everything in between

CHAPTER THREE: THE CODE

It had been exactly two weeks since my awkward encounter with the mystery guy—whom I had since nicknamed Mr. Model. To this day, I still didn't know his real name. Not because I couldn’t have asked—he was around more often than I cared to admit—but because I had gone out of my way to avoid him. The awkwardness of that first meeting had glued itself to my memory like gum on a shoe. Every time I remembered how I stood there, mouth agape like someone starstruck, I cringed so hard my skin tingled.

Thankfully, Shelly—being the best friend that she is—had quietly taken the hint. She never brought him up in conversation. Not once. And I appreciated that more than she probably realized. With everything else going on, the last thing I needed was a conversation that included phrases like “remember that hot guy” or “maybe he likes you.” I couldn’t handle that—not right now.

Today was Saturday, and for once, I had the entire day to myself. No classes to shuffle between, no teachers to impress or avoid, and no hallway gossip to dodge. The silence of the morning felt sacred, like a gentle promise of peace. I stretched out in bed, the sunlight streaming lazily through my half-open window, dust motes dancing in the beams like tiny fairies.

As I lay there enjoying the quiet, my mind drifted back to a moment I'd nearly forgotten. A few months ago, Shelly and I had gone to one of those local arts and culture festivals we often attended just to unwind. That day, a soft-spoken older woman with kind eyes and a beaded necklace had handed me a small book. I remembered she didn’t say much, just smiled and said, “For when you have the time.” At the time, I’d tossed the book into the bottom drawer of my desk, figuring it was some kind of poetry or spiritual guide. But now, with nothing else to do, I figured I might as well see what it was.

I rummaged through the drawer, pushing aside old notebooks, unused pens, and scraps of paper until I found it. The book was smaller than I remembered—maybe the size of my palm—and covered in a worn, leather-like material. It had definitely collected its fair share of dust. I brushed it off and sat cross-legged on my bed, curious about what secrets this forgotten gift might hold.

Flipping through the first few pages, I quickly realized this wasn’t an ordinary book. It wasn’t written in plain language—at least, not one I could recognize. Instead, the pages were filled with odd symbols, scattered phrases, and codes—actual codes. Numbers and letters arranged in ways that made no immediate sense. I tilted the book sideways, then upside down, hoping a new angle would make the text clearer. No luck.

I furrowed my brow. “What kind of book is this?” I whispered to no one in particular.

Then, just as I was about to shut it and move on with my day, a chill ran through the room. The air, which had moments before been warm and slightly stuffy, dropped several degrees in an instant. Goosebumps raced up my arms. I sat frozen, unsure if I should be scared or just concerned about a drafty window.

And that’s when it happened.

One of the codes—two letters and three numbers—lifted off the page. Not flipped, not printed larger. It literally floated. I blinked, then blinked again, rubbing my eyes. I stared at the code, which now hovered a few inches above the book’s open pages, glowing faintly. The letters were: J0316.

“What the—” I gasped, stumbling back on the bed.

The code moved—drifting through the air like a feather caught in a breeze—and then, without warning, it shot toward me. I screamed and threw my hands up to protect myself, but the code didn’t stop. It collided with my skin and… disappeared. Just like that. But the strange part? I could still feel it. I looked down, and the characters had etched themselves onto the inside of my forearm like a glowing tattoo. I rubbed at it, harder and harder, but it didn’t smear. It didn’t fade. It didn’t budge.

Panic rose in my chest. “What does it mean?” I whispered, trembling as I stared at the mark.

The only thing I could think of was to scrub it off. Maybe it was some kind of ink, some weird trick. I raced to the bathroom, flicked on the faucet, and began scrubbing my arm with soap, then with a towel, then again with just my nails. But the mark stayed firm, glowing faintly, like it belonged to me now.

Then I heard it.

A loud crash echoed from downstairs. It sounded like something had shattered—plates maybe? I froze, heart pounding. I quickly dried my hands and hurried down the stairs.

As I entered the kitchen, I found Juliana, our housekeeper, standing in the middle of a mess. Shards of broken plates were scattered across the tiled floor, glinting like dangerous confetti. She was frozen, staring down at the pieces with wide eyes.

“Juliana, what happened?” I asked, breathless.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “I just… I dropped them, but—”

But then I saw it. Among the broken pieces, the fragments didn’t just lie randomly. For a second—just a second—I thought I saw them form the exact same code: J0316. The shape was unmistakable. The way the lines and cracks fell into place. My breath caught in my throat.

It was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Juliana knelt to pick up the pieces, completely unaware of what I’d seen. Or maybe not unaware. Her eyes darted toward me once, and there was something in her expression—something wary. Like she knew something she wasn’t ready to say.

I took a step back, the weight of everything suddenly pressing down on me.

What was this code? Why had it appeared in the book? Why had it marked me?

I didn’t have any answers. Only questions. And now, more than ever, I had the sinking feeling that something had begun—something I couldn’t ignore any longer

---

“Are you okay?” I asked Juliana, concern lacing my voice as I looked into her eyes. She gave me a short nod of affirmation, her expression unreadable. That small gesture was all I needed before I turned on my heels and bolted up the stairs, determined to uncover whatever was going on.

I could still feel the weight of unease clinging to the air like mist. Something about the strange book I had been given at the festival wouldn’t let me rest. There had been something cryptic about it—codes, symbols, patterns that made no immediate sense. My curiosity had been eating at me since the moment I laid eyes on it, but now, that curiosity was giving way to something darker: dread.

In my room, I sat on my bed, pulled my laptop onto my lap, and typed in: Mysterious books with hidden codes. A flood of results popped up instantly. I scrolled through page after page until a thumbnail caught my eye. It was a video—grainy, almost like it had been recorded on an old camcorder. The title read: "He Decoded the Universe—The Truth They Don't Want You to Know."

I hesitated for a moment, then clicked.

The screen went black, and then a man’s voice emerged from the darkness. Calm, but heavy, like he was trying to warn the listener. “The universe,” he said, “is concealed in codes.” The words were so clear they echoed in my head. And then—just as suddenly—they started to fade. I leaned closer, adjusting my volume, straining to catch every word. The man kept speaking, but now his words were muffled, like he was being pulled away, or like something didn’t want me to hear him.

Then it happened. His voice shifted.

It was no longer calm. No longer distant.

It sounded like he was in my room.

Right behind me.

“I’m so scared now,” I whispered to myself, my heart pounding against my ribcage like it wanted to break free. My palms grew clammy, and I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. I could feel a presence—or maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me. Either way, fear gripped every inch of me.

I wanted to scream. I needed to scream. But I didn’t.

If I did, Juliana would come running. And if she saw me in this state—terrified, shaking, possibly imagining things—she’d definitely tell my mom. And if my mom got involved... I didn’t even want to think about that.

So I bit my lip and swallowed the scream. I sat still, frozen, forcing my breathing to slow down. Whatever this was, I had to face it alone—for now. The book, the codes, the video—it all meant something. And I was going to find out what.

But first, I had to survive tonight.