Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Awakening the Ability (3)
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The next morning, I got a call from Bill. The buyer had really shown up with cash.
I headed back to the outskirts of Austin. This time, Sam was coming along too, riding in his beat-up pickup truck.
"...They're really giving us $45,000?"
"Yeah, I confirmed it yesterday. We got lucky."
It wasn't just luck, of course. But how could I explain it? That touching objects let me see scenes from their past.
When we arrived at Old Texas Antiques, Bill and a middle-aged man were waiting. Bill greeted us and introduced the man.
"Jake, this is Peter Collins. He came all the way from California."
Collins shook my hand enthusiastically.
"Thank you for finding this treasure! I've been collecting Route 66 artifacts for 20 years. That Ariston Café original sign was my dream item."
He pulled a thick wad of cash from his bag.
"I checked it out—it's definitely the real deal. Here's $45,000. Take a look."
My hands trembled as I counted the bills. Four hundred fifty $100 bills. Spot on.
"Want a receipt?"
"No need. But..."
Collins handed me his business card.
"If you find anything else like this, please contact me. Especially pre-1950s Route 66 antiques—I'll pay top dollar."
"Of course. Thank you."
The deal was done, and we stepped outside. Sam stood there in a daze.
"This is really happening, not a dream?"
"So, Sam, you'll get that surgery now? No more stubbornness."
Sam's eyes reddened.
"Jake..."
"Don't cry. It's a good day."
We went straight to the bank and wired $30,000 to the hospital. The rest went toward paying off some of Eldest Aunt's medical debt.
On the drive home, Sam asked,
"How'd you know that sign was so valuable?"
"Just... a feeling."
"A feeling?"
"Hard to explain... I just knew the moment I touched it."
That night, lying in bed, I pondered how to make the most of this ability.
'Keep trucking and hunt for antiques along the way.'
Simple, but that was the plan for now. Hit flea markets, yard sales, and antique shops in every delivery area. If luck was on my side... I might uncover another treasure like this.
A week later, Sam had his knee surgery. It went perfectly.
"You'll be fully recovered in three months."
I breathed a sigh of relief at the doctor's words. In the hospital room, Sam took my hand.
"Jake, thank you so much."
"Family does that stuff."
"That sign gave me a new life. Now I gotta do something too."
"You've done plenty already. Just rest up."
A few days later, dispatcher Tom called.
"Jake, got an electronics haul to San Antonio. $1 per mile. You in?"
Better than before.
"I'm in."
"You sound... different lately. Brighter voice."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Something good happen?"
"Kinda..."
On the way to San Antonio, I mapped out my plan. After delivery, check out the local antique malls.
I arrived around noon. Unloaded, then searched my phone.
'San Antonio antique malls'
Several popped up. Alamo Antique Mall was the biggest.
"Alright, this is the spot."
Parked the truck at Walmart and took an Uber. The mall was a massive converted warehouse with hundreds of booths.
I grabbed a map at the entrance and started browsing slowly. Mostly ordinary stuff. Touched a few items, but nothing special.
About two hours in, at a tucked-away booth, I spotted something. A small metal box on a dusty shelf.
It looked like just an old cigarette case. But the moment I touched it—
"...Huff!"
I snapped back, breathing hard.
'Battle, uniform, this case...'
It was so vivid my heart raced. This thing had a story—something important. But what exactly, I couldn't tell.
"How much for this cigarette case?"
The owner came over.
"That? $20."
"$15?"
"Deal."
I bought the case and headed out. The Spanish-speaking officer was definitely Mexican military. A quick phone search on Mexican uniforms matched what I saw: 19th century.
'19th-century battle... San Antonio... No way?'
Pulled out my phone and searched.
'Texas San Antonio 19th century battle'
First result:
'Battle of the Alamo - 1836'
Texas Independence War's iconic battle. February 23 to March 6, 1836. About 200 Texan defenders held off thousands of Mexican troops for 13 days...
'Battle of the Alamo... then this case...'
More searches brought up Alamo-related artifacts. Guns, swords, flags... photos everywhere.
I examined the case closely. Faint engraving on the surface—easy to miss. Zoomed in with my phone camera.
"J... M...?"
Initials. But whose?
'Gotta take it to a museum.'
Back to the truck and drove. Searched 'Alamo Museum'—right downtown. But it was closing time.
"Okay, first thing tomorrow."
Just then, a trucker's voice crackled over the CB radio.
I couldn't help but laugh. Yeah, treasures were everywhere. You just needed the eyes to spot them.
The next morning, I headed to the Alamo. Tourists were already crowding the famous site early on. At the museum entrance, I asked the info desk,
"Who do I see for artifact appraisal or donation?"
"Curator's office is upstairs, second floor. Got an appointment?"
"No, it's urgent..."
"One sec."
The staffer made a call. After a bit, she nodded.
"Lucky—Curator Katherine has time. Head up to the second floor."
I knocked on the office door.
"Come in."
A white woman in her mid-30s sat at the desk, glasses on, surrounded by stacks of books.
"Katherine Lopez. What brings you here?"
"I'm Jake Winch. Found this at an antique mall... seems connected to the Battle of the Alamo."
I showed her the case. She took it and inspected it closely.
"Early 19th-century metal case. Condition's... pretty good."
She used a magnifying glass.
"Initials here. J.M..."
"Any idea who?"
"Need to check the Alamo defender roster. Hold on."
Katherine booted up her computer and searched the database.
"J.M... J.M..."
She scrolled, muttering.
"Got it! Three defenders start with J.M."
She turned the screen.
- James McGee (26, from Kentucky)
- John Mitchell (31, from Tennessee)
- James Morrison (22, from Virginia)
"One of these guys..."
Katherine opened their files.
"James McGee... killed by gunshot. Musket found among effects."
"John Mitchell... no record of personal items."
And the last one.
"James Morrison... from Virginia, 22. Sent a final letter to his mother..."
She dug up more.
"Here it is. Scanned copy of the letter."
She clicked, and a faded letter appeared on screen.
Chills ran down my spine.
'Hair... case...'
The vision flashed back—the soldier opening the case, kissing it.
"This could be James Morrison's case."
Katherine lit up.
"If so, it's incredibly valuable. But to confirm..."
She carefully pried open the rusty hinge. It creaked as the case slowly opened. Inside...
"Oh my God..."
A small glass vial. Filled with a lock of silvery hair. Katherine's hand shook.
"Just like the letter... his mother's hair..."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"James Morrison... died here at 22. His mother didn't learn of it until a month later."
Silence fell.
"Would you donate this to the museum?"
"Yeah. It belongs here."
"We can offer $5,000 as a token."
"Sounds good. Just make sure James Morrison's story gets told."
"Absolutely. We'll set up a special exhibit. Thank you so much, Mr. Winch."
Leaving the museum, I felt proud. The money was nice, but knowing I'd done something meaningful was better.
I left the museum and headed home. But soon, a new delivery call came in: long haul to El Paso. Building materials, round trip would take two days.
Loaded up at the logistics center and hit I-10 west. Sun was setting, but I'd need to drive through the night to arrive by morning.
"Yawn..."
By 11 p.m., fatigue hit. Near Fort Stockton, a big truck stop appeared: 'Comanche Trail Travel Center'.
Texas truck stops usually had campgrounds or RV parks nearby—for long-haul drivers. Semis with sleepers could park in the lot, but for my small truck, it was camping or RV spots.
Right next door: 'Desert Rose RV Park & Campground'. Went to the office; night manager was there.
"One night stay."
"RV or tent?"
"Tent."
"Tent site's $15. Showers and restrooms open 24/7."
"Perfect."
Paid and got site 23—close to the truck stop.
The spot was a flat grassy patch. Tents and RVs on either side, mostly truckers.
I pulled my camping gear from the cargo hold: tent, sleeping bag, lantern, mini camp burner, cookware.
Tent up in under 10 minutes. I'd done it dozens of times.
"Time for dinner."
Grabbed bacon, eggs, and a potato from the cooler. Headed to the picnic table and fired up the burner.
Bacon sizzling, savory smell wafting. Crisped it up, then fried the diced potato in the grease.
Sizzle—
The sound filled the night air. Salt, pepper, then crack in the eggs. Pork fat, potato, egg... unbeatable combo.
"This is real camping."
Eating alone under the lantern felt free, not lonely. I loved these moments.
Next site over, a family roasted marshmallows. Kids' laughter carried over.
"Hi!"
A boy about 10 waved.
"Hey."
"You a truck driver too, mister?"