She had been here before
countless times, but never had the town square looked so foreign to her. Something
in this labyrinth of dusty corridors and stone archways seemed to have shifted
in aspect; even the paint peeling in flakes overhead and pools of water
gathering in the rough uneven ground served to throw her off.
In the narrow back alley, she had
to simultaneously sidestep a puddle and duck beneath an archway on several
counts. The only light came from the crescent moon that sliced the sky above,
and the pearly unearthly glow of his
silhouette. She kept a tight watch on that glow, afraid to lose sight of him.
He moved swiftly ahead of her, a
strapping figure cutting through the fog, and she struggled to keep up.
Occasionally, he would glance back to see if he had lost her, then reassured by
the sight of her, advance along, never once breaking stride.
Not since her thirteenth birthday
had she ventured out alone at this time of the night. Yet, even in the darkness,
this place felt as familiar as her backyard. Not for the first time, she wondered
what had made her decide to follow him here when she knew close to nothing
about him. Her father would have an embolism if he found out.
She heard a low murmur, and realised
he was muttering to himself as his eyes swept across the doors they passed. It
only occurred to her that the doors were marked with what appeared like claw
marks, three blatant slashes raked into the worn wood. She had never travelled through
these back alleys, but she was certain the embellishments hadn't been part of
the doors. What did the shopkeepers suppose of their doors being damaged this way
– assuming, of course, that someone else had done the scratching?
He was saying something in a more
audible tone now.
“Yesterday was a story, today is
a statement, and tomorrow is just a rumour. Everything else is buried.” He spun
around to direct his moonlit eyes on her. “Do you know the answer to that?”
Caught off guard by the urgency
in his gaze, she could only blink and stammer, “I – I don’t….”
“It’s a riddle,” he explained,
resuming his stride. “A clue.”
“Clue to what?” Her voice jerked
as she started jogging to keep up with him.
“To the place we’re looking for.
To the one who can bring you back.”
“Back where?” she pressed, but he was too fixated on searching for the
right door. She decided to focus on the riddle instead as she tried to trail
behind him as closely as possible. Her footsteps slowed as the answer dawned on
her. “There’s a fortune-teller next to a newsstand just around the corner,” she
called. “And next to that is a bookstore!”
He whirled around and peered at
her curiously, his brows pulling together to make out her meaning.
“A rumour, a statement, a story.
Where can you find those things? A fortune-teller’s, a newsstand and a
bookstore,” she explained.
“And the rest is buried?”
“There’s a basement in the
bookstore. The other two are boarded up. Maybe –”
“Lead the way,” he said.
*
The frayed old bookstore stood at
the end of the street like a survivor, flanked by a pottery shop and the
newsstand. It seemed more morose than comforting in the dark; she had spent
countless afternoons in Between the Pages and never had she seen it this way.
They stood in the face of the crumbling
edifice, separate in their respective reveries. A part of her meant to tear
down the lane where they came from, back to where she was safe in her ignorance
of this secret life she never knew belonged to her. But another part, one that
wrestled for dominance in her, forced her to stay where she was, insisting that
she would get the answers she sought – finally.
Next to her, he glanced about furtively,
eager to duck out of the light. The streetlights burnished his pewter eyes and
she found herself unable to look away from the feral glow in his flitting gaze.
Before either of them could
calculate their next move, Roy emerged from the depths of the bookstore. The
door rasped behind him as he peered at her through his left eye, the one that
wasn't clouded with cataract, then took another glance at the stranger by her
side. He must have found an answer of some sort in their faces, because a
shadow slipped over his face.
“Roy, this is…” She considered
how to introduce him, but Roy only stared up at her companion, his face lined
with a mix of emotions she struggled to identify.
At length he said to the tall,
silver-eyed stranger, as if he had known him forever, “You brought her back.”
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