A Matter of Time

by Brian Harmon

  There’s a place by the river. It just opened earlier this year, so it only has a few residents living there. It seems like the perfect place for men like them to hide.

  I jumped on my bike and headed over there.

  I’ve been pretty lucky so far. Not just getting away with the book and not getting caught by the suits. My parents haven’t been paying a lot of attention to me the past few weeks. They’ve been bickering a lot lately. Not really fighting. No yelling or screaming or anything like that. Just sort of tense, I guess. Dad’s been working extra hours. Mom’s been a little distant. It’s not a great situation, but it’s not bad, either. I’ve seen them in worse states. They’ll get through it. And in the meantime, it’s been a lot easier for me to sneak around. I told them I was going over to a friend’s house. They won’t miss me as long as I’m home in time for dinner.

  Plenty of time to find the men in the gray suits.

  Hopefully before they can find me.

  It didn’t take long to get to the nursing home. But I’d be lying if I said my courage didn’t falter a little as I pulled into the lot. It wasn’t a very inviting building, certainly not the place I’d want to live out my golden years. It looked more like the kind of place they sent you when you couldn’t take care of yourself and no one wanted to be burdened by you. Not a place to live out the last years of your life, but simply a place to die.

  I’ve never seen a place that looked so utterly depressing.

  But it makes sense. I guess it used to be a hospital of some sort.

  It was definitely the right place. The black Impala was sitting in the parking lot.

  The “executives” were in. But I had no way of knowing which room they might be staying in. This wasn’t like the activity center or the high school. I wasn’t going to blend in very well. I wasn’t going to be able to just walk in and wander around aimlessly until I found what I was looking for. And I didn’t quite dare to walk in the main doors and ask for them, like they told Zachery to do. I didn’t want anyone knowing I’d been there. Not even a receptionist.

  I had no idea what I was going to do when I found them. I really hadn’t thought that far ahead. All I knew was that I needed to take action before they could. I needed to stay one step ahead of them. I needed any advantage I could get. And I’d already screwed up by talking to Sherry. I have to assume that she told Zachery that I was looking for him the same afternoon the book was stolen. I have to assume that everyone knows I was the only one who could’ve taken it. So I have to also assume that the men in gray are already searching for me.

  I was already in terrible danger.

  I decided to start with the Impala. Maybe there was something inside that would help me understand what they were up to or where they might go next.

  It was a long shot. The truth was, I was stalling because I didn’t know what to do.

  What was I getting myself into?

  I walked over and tried the door. It was locked. I peered in through the windows, but there weren’t any evil itineraries conveniently lying open in the back seat. (Nine o’clock: Kill an old lady at the park. Eleven thirty: Burn down an orphanage. Noon: Lunch with Mom. One o’clock: Poison the water supply.)

  What was I even doing? The whole thing was stupid. I’m no detective. I can’t even find a matching pair of socks in the morning.

  I remember looking over the hood of the Impala and staring at the building, wondering what you would do if you were there.

  Then someone grabbed my shoulder.

  I jumped. I’m pretty sure I also made a sound my dad probably would’ve called a “sissy scream.” I like to think it wasn’t. It was more of a yell than a scream, really. Maybe a yelp. But he’d probably be right about the “sissy” part. Embarrassing. I’m sure things like that never happen to you.

  I didn’t really think any of this at the time, of course. In the moment, all I knew was that someone had caught me and I was in a lot of trouble. My heart leaped. My feet got tangled and I nearly fell down as I turned to face whoever was there.

  I expected to find a furious Zachery standing over me. Or one of his brainless friends, ready to beat the snot out of me. Or worse, the men in the gray suits, themselves, with murderous grins on their faces.

  Instead, it was Sherry.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Jeez!” I gasped. “You scared the hell out of me!”

  “Don’t cuss,” she said. “It’s crude.”

  I stared back at her, dumbstruck. She was scolding me for saying “hell”? I know I’m still basically a kid, but come on. I mean, what kind of ivory tower was she living in that being told that she scared the hell out of someone offended her delicate senses? It actually made me angry. I almost told her that she wasn’t my babysitter anymore. I’d say whatever I wanted. I’d use some words that would really offend her, words I learned from my dad. But I resisted all these urges and instead asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I followed you.”

  I was so surprised that I yelled, “Why would you do that?”

  She gave me a dirty look then. I guess I offended her again. There was a time when I would’ve cared. But not today. Today I had much more important things to worry about than Sherry Jolinger’s feelings. “I was on my way to talk to you when I saw you leaving on your bike,” she said, “so I followed you. What’re you doing?”

  Apparently I’ve made a habit of doing stupid things. I didn’t even think about someone following me. I never even looked around. I felt like a complete idiot. I’ve been on edge ever since my mom told me she came asking about the book. I was super paranoid, and yet I didn’t have sense enough to look around and make sure no one was following me? Embarrassed, I ignored her question and said, “Why did you want to talk to me?”

  She stood there for a few seconds, just staring at me. I can’t imagine what was going through her head right then. I could see by her expression that she knew I was being suspicious. I’d be disappointed in her complete lack of brains if she didn’t.

  The whole situation was overwhelming. I was standing next to the Impala that belonged to the men in gray suits. I’d witnessed a murder committed by these men and then I’d stolen from them. They could come out of the building at any second and find us there.

  Would they know me if they saw me? Would they know Sherry? Or would they think we were just a couple of local kids? It wasn’t a gamble I really wanted to risk.

  Finally, she said, “The other day after school, you were looking for Zachery. Did you find him?”

  “No,” I lied. “He wasn’t in the library when I got there. He must’ve already left.” It was a surprisingly smooth lie. I barely even thought about it. It was like the words just poured out of my mouth all by themselves.

  She stared at me. She studied my face. She even squinted at me a little, like she was trying to see the lies written there. I shouldn’t have been able to look back at her like that. I’ve never been able to look her in the eye without dropping my gaze, embarrassed. In fact, I’d barely ever been able to talk to her without stuttering.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Zachery lost something. A book. He says someone took it from his backpack while he was in the library.”

  “Why would someone steal a book in a library? Aren’t there enough to go around?”

  That confused her a little, threw her off. “It was an important book,” she explained.

  I shook my head, as if I didn’t understand. “Important how?”

  “It didn’t belong to him. He’s in a lot of trouble now.”

  “Well it wasn’t his fault, was it? I mean if someone took it out of his bag, what’s he supposed to do?” I was really impressed with myself. I had no idea I could lie so well.

  It was almost scary.

  Sherry sighed. “I guess the real owner didn’t see it that way. Zachery was really upset about it. He was kind of freaking out.”

  I didn’t blame him one bit. “That’s too bad fo
r him, but what does it have to do with me?”

  She stared at me for a moment again, still studying my face. I stared right back, willing my face to remain straight, though my heart was pounding and I felt like I was starting to sweat in spite of the day’s cool temperature. “I was hoping maybe you saw something.”

  I shook my head again. “Like I said, he was gone by the time I got there.” I cocked my head to one side and said, “Maybe I missed him while I was in the restroom. I stopped there on my way up.”

  I don’t even know where that little detail came from. It just sort of popped out of my mouth. It’s like these letters. The experiences are all mine, but the words feel like they’re coming from somewhere else.

  It’s strange.

  Sherry thought so, too. I could tell. She looked confused.

  “Wait,” I said. “Do you think I stole Zachery’s book?”

  “No,” she replied. But she said it a little too quickly. “I mean… I guess I was hoping maybe you’d taken it by accident or something. Something easy to fix, you know.”

  “I don’t have it,” I said. And that was the truth. I didn’t have it. It was hidden. And it’ll stay hidden until the men in the gray suits are gone.

  I don’t know what I did, whether it was something in my voice or some small tell in my face, but I saw her eyes narrow a little. I’ve never been all that good at reading people’s faces, but I clearly saw suspicion spread across her face like a shadow.

  She knew.

  “What’s so special about it, anyway?” I asked, changing the subject. “I mean, it’s just a book.”

  “I told you,” she said. “It didn’t belong to him. The real owner’s really mad at him. I guess it was a really rare book or something. One of a kind.”

  “So he’s going to have pay for it?”

  Again, she looked confused. “I don’t… Maybe… I don’t know what’ll happen.”

  Now it was my turn to study her face. She wasn’t exactly lying to me, I realized. She really didn’t know what would happen if Zachery didn’t find the book. But she wasn’t telling the whole truth either. “Why did he have the book in the first place if it was so valuable?”

  She hesitated. Again, she squinted at me, studying me. I kept my face straight even though I was screaming inside. “He was borrowing it for a project.”

  Again, not a lie, but also not the whole truth. A project? She knew it wasn’t just a project. I’d seen them all together, talking about making all their dreams come true. But I was also sure she didn’t know the truth about the real owners of the book. She had no idea that the men in the gray suits had tortured Zachery into doing their bidding. She certainly didn’t know they were murderers. I may not know her as well as I’d like to, but I know she wouldn’t go along with any of this if she knew the truth.

  “So does he think I stole the book?” I asked. “Do I need to go talk to him or something?”

  “No. I didn’t say anything about you. He was so upset, I thought…”

  “That he might come beat the crap out of me?”

  She seemed startled by the thought. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

  I was pretty sure he would. He was desperately terrified of the fat man. If he thought I had the book, he’d beat it out of me if he had to. I had no doubt he’d kill me if I didn’t give it back.

  “I just thought since you were there that day that maybe you’d know something about it. That’s all. It was a longshot, but I was hoping.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you. I can ask around.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “Thanks anyway.” She turned and started to walk away.

  “I had another dream about you,” I told her. Again, I had no idea where the words came from. It was like I wasn’t in control of my own mouth. “I dreamed you were dead.”

  Like last time, she gave me a smile. This one, however, looked a little strained, as if those words had unsettled her. “Dreams aren’t real,” she told me, just like last time.

  “Sometimes they are,” I said again.

  She stood there a moment, staring at me.

  “Just in case…” I said. “Be careful. Don’t…you know…take any chances. Don’t do anything stupid. Just in case.”

  She nodded. The smile had faded completely. “Sure.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.”

  She turned and walked across the pavement to the grassy area that separated the lot from the road beyond. Her bike was lying in the grass there, waiting for her.

  Before riding away, she looked up at me again and said, “By the way, why were you looking for Zachery that day, anyway?”

  I was caught completely off guard. I stared back at her. I had no answer. I never thought to come up with a convincing reason for why I might be looking for him. For a second or two I stood there, panic welling up inside me. But then I got control again. “Someone asked me to give him a message,” I lied. “Some kind of note. But I never found it so I gave it back to the girl who sent it. I didn’t read it or anything.”

  The lie was as smooth as the others, but it didn’t fool her. I could tell. She saw the truth in that brief moment before I could compose myself.

  She nodded. Then, without another word, she left.

  I stood there and watched her as she peddled away. I felt bad for lying to her. And I felt worse realizing that I didn’t trust her. I still wanted to save her, but I wasn’t sure I could. And the worst feeling of all was suddenly understanding that if I had to choose between her and the book, I wouldn’t be able to save her.

  If it came down to it, I’d have to let her die.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on it, however. As I watched her disappear, I was suddenly aware of a presence. Someone was standing directly behind me.

  I turned to find myself face-to-face with the tall man in the gray suit.

  “There you are,” he said. His voice was almost a growl.

  I took a step back, startled.

  He puffed out a cloud of smoke from his cigarette and then tossed it aside. “How does a kid like you do it?”

  “Do what?” I croaked.

  “How do you fuck up the energy around you like that?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. I opened my mouth to ask him, but I never got the chance. The last thing I saw was his fist coming at me.

  I dreamed that I was inside some small, empty room illuminated by a single window. The walls were bare wood. The floor was concrete.

  I was sitting under the window, my back against the wall, writing this letter.

  When I was finished, I took the other pages from my backpack and added them to it. Then I stood up, pushed the window open a crack and simply dropped the pages through it, as if throwing them away.

  That was the entire dream.

  When I woke up, I realized that it had come true faster than any dream before it. I was inside that same room, lying on the floor, my head aching from where the tall man hit me.

  As I stood up, I realized that I was inside a little tool shed of some sort. I looked out the window. Immediately, I recognized the house on the other side of the lawn. I’d been inside that house. It was the same house where I watched them murder the woman.

  My heart sank.

  I could think of only one reason they’d bring me back here.

  I tried to open the door, but it was locked from the outside. I tried the window, but it only opened a crack and it was too small to crawl through anyway. I’m trapped here. All I can do is write this letter and wait for the men in the gray suits to come find me.

  I don’t understand why the dream told me to throw it out the window when I’m done. There’s nowhere for it to go, just a bush growing below the sill. How is it supposed to find you?

  I guess it doesn’t matter. This might be the end for me anyway. Maybe
it’s better to just throw them away and spare you from knowing how badly I screwed all this up.

  Wish me luck, I guess.

  I’ll need it.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Eric finished reading the letter and then sat there for a moment in silence, letting it all soak in. It was unsettling. Why would Hector go after the gray agents by himself? It made no sense. He was no match for those monsters.

  Did the book make him do it? He seemed to think that it chose him as some kind of protector, that it was his destiny to claim it and keep it out of the hands of those who would use it to do harm. But what if the book was only using him to find its way back to its former owners? After all, if one was willing to assume that a book could contain the sort of consciousness necessary to decide for itself who it wanted to be with, what was to stop it from choosing the agents?

  Were books inherently good? Or were they inherently evil?

  He didn’t even know whether people were inherently good or evil.

  His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen.

  THAT CAN’T BE THE END, said Isabelle.

  Eric felt the same way. There had to be another letter out there somewhere. It couldn’t end like this.

  Although it certainly didn’t look good for him. Locked in a tool shed behind the mystery bungalow, waiting for the gray agents to torture him to death. He couldn’t think of a single reason why they wouldn’t kill him.

  And yet…

  YOU’VE BEEN IN WORSE SITUATIONS

  It was true. He’d found himself in a lot of dire situations these past two years. Somehow he’d managed to escape them all with his life and even all of his limbs, if not always his dignity. It was as if the universe simply wouldn’t let him die.

  He was almost eaten by a giant fish once. If he could say that, then there was no reason to write Hector off as dead just yet. They were linked, after all, caught in an endless circle, connected by the boy’s dreams and these letters. If the universe was protecting him, then it had to be protecting Hector, too.

  Right?