Emerson saw now that they were deep inside an elaborate cave. Huge, roughly sculpted columns of glittering and jagged rock protruded from the ceiling of lights and plunged into the water. Irene expertly navigated them through the columns toward the bright light ahead of them. The columns and walls seemed lit from within and at different points caught different colors. Walkways and passages were carved in deep relief into the walls, parts of them covered with thick moss and dotted with waterfalls that flowed into the water that carried the gondola.
Irene turned the boat so that they now began to sail toward a steep set of marble stairs that rose up from the water. A set of nine female statues extended along the walls on both sides of the archway that framed the staircase. The gondola sidled up to the stairs and stopped.
“Why isn’t he here yet?” asked Samuel.
“I don’t know, but it makes me nervous,” said Irene. “Jasper, do you think something happened?”
Without responding, Jasper stepped out of the gondola onto the first step and held the hand of the statue closest to the stairs on the left. The statue’s eyes glowed the same bright green as the Alice statue at the boat pond.
“Dad, who are we supposed to meet?” asked Emerson.
“Truman,” said Oliver. “He’s just taking a little longer than we thought.”
“Skylar and Oliver, stay here with Emerson,” said Jasper. “Samuel and Irene, come with me.”
The three of them made their way up the stone staircase until they were out of sight. Emerson looked at Oliver and Skylar. Their expressions of concern matched Jasper’s.
“Did something happen to Truman?” asked Emerson.
“I’m sure he’s fine, Em,” said Oliver. “He probably just lost track of time.”
“Then why is Jasper so worried?” asked Emerson.
“You know him,” said Skylar. “He’s a stickler for punctuality.”
Emerson shook her head several times because she could have sworn she saw the statues along the wall blink. Each of them carried something—one a harp, another a globe, another a quill. They reminded her of a welcoming committee. She had an eerie feeling that they’d been expecting her. She suddenly felt exhausted and weak.
Samuel came back down the steps.
“Max found this at the Crooked Willow,” he said as he handed a book to Emerson.” I think it belongs to you.”
Her eyes widened and she smiled as if it were Christmas morning.
“My book!” she exclaimed. “I thought I’d lost it in the fire. Wait, how did it get to the Crooked Willow?”
“Things that truly belong to you always find their way back,” said Samuel. “Come on. Truman’s upstairs.”
They all sighed with relief.
“Ready to see the rest of the place?” asked Skylar. She stood on the bottom step looking every bit herself now, smiling and full of life.
“There’s more?” asked Emerson.
“This is only the beginning,” said Skylar.
“Is what’s up there as beautiful as this?” Emerson asked.
“We’ll let you be the judge of that,” Oliver said, and they all went up together.
CHAPTER 27
A MAN-MADE GUARDIAN
While the rest of the group took Emerson and Skylar to the boat pond, Truman and Friday whipped across the gleaming marble courtyard of the American Wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, past Artemis, and up the steps to the maze of winding storage display cases until they reached a small, unmarked door. Friday took his cue from Truman’s nervous energy and protectively stood watch. Truman placed his finger at the center of the doorknob, and the knob glowed green.
“And who dares enter this door?” said a deep, gravelly voice.
“Truman Billings.”
A small compartment at the center of the door slid open. A camera focused its aim at the top of Truman’s head. An infrared light scanned a vertical line down to his chin and then back up to the top of his head.
“As you wish,” said the voice.
A symphony of locks turned on the other side of the door, then the knob turned, and the door opened. Truman and Friday rushed inside, the door slammed shut, and the series of locks relocked themselves. The emergency lights were on in the corridor so that Truman could find his way to his workshop.
“You’re tense, Truman Billings,” said the voice, now with a softer tone, and it seemed to follow Truman down the hallway. “And you have a guest with you. How unusual for a loner like you.”
“You’re observant, Orion,” said Truman. “I knew I’d regret giving you that feature.”
“I’m here to help,” said Orion.
“You could start by helping me find my sketchbooks.”
Truman turned the corner into a small vestibule and faced a web of red strings of light. Friday began to back away.
“Heel, Friday.”
The dog did as he was told but with clear trepidation. He sensed they were on dangerous ground.
“Orion, deactivate fiber,” said Truman.
The strings of light retracted into a small black box in the far corner of the vestibule. Orbs of light flickered on overhead to illuminate a passage into a massive workshop. Once across the threshold, Truman stopped and turned back.
“Orion, activate fiber,” said Truman.
“Fiber activated,” said Orion. “Do you think someone’s following you, Truman Billings?”
“You can never be too safe,” said Truman. “Especially now.”
He wound his way through table saws, piles of scrap metal, circuit boards, welding torches, and a sea of drafting tables covered with blueprints. Friday stayed glued to Truman’s side. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the brick walls and were secured to large metal beams on the ceiling. Some of them were stuffed with electrical components, but the majority were filled with long rolls of draft paper and oversized books that had tattered leather bindings.
“Friday, come here, buddy,” said Truman as he directed Friday to a clear space in the corner.
Friday followed the instructions and remained alert. He never took his eyes off Truman as he searched through the workshop and finally grabbed a satchel from a hook on the far wall.
“Going somewhere, Truman Billings?” asked Orion.
“Going a lot of places, Orion. You’ll have to keep an eye on things while I’m away.”
“That is my job. That is why you built me.”
“Orion, where are my sketchbooks?”
“By the exoskeleton.”
“Right where I left them,” said Truman.
“Of course they’re where you left them,” said Orion. “I don’t let anyone else in here. And certainly not the unauthorized visitors who tried to get in today.”
Truman froze.
“Who tried to get in today?” he asked. “And why didn’t you tell me as soon as I came in?”
“Don’t worry, Truman Billings. I got rid of them.”
“Them? As in more than one?” asked Truman.
“Lots of them. But they were no match for me.”
“Who were they?”
“I didn’t ask their names,” said Orion.
“What did they want?”
“To see you, Truman Billings. Apparently, you’re very popular.”
“I don’t think popularity has anything to do with it, Orion.”
“They said they had urgent business to discuss with you.”
“When were they here?” asked Truman.
“An hour ago. At the outdoor entrance.”
“How did you get rid of them?”
“My gun-firing soundtrack, complete with air pellets,” said Orion.
Truman laughed. “Good job, Orion.”
“Thank you, Truman Billings. My first time using it. It was kind of fun.”
&nbs
p; Truman ripped through the sketchbooks to make sure he had all the drawings he needed.
“Do you know who’s looking for you?” asked Orion.
“I know a lot of people who might be looking for me,” said Truman.
He hadn’t seen anyone from the In-Between in years. Cassandra had started a small community center in the basement of a low-rise apartment building in Chinatown. She wanted a place for kids like Truman who had aged out of the foster system but didn’t have any place to go. The nickname “The In-Between” stuck because it described that time when they were no longer kids but not yet adults. Most of them felt their first sense of belonging and acceptance there. As a foster kid, Truman had been rootless and without a community. But then for the first time in his life, he was surrounded by people who understood him, who shared his perspective.
Though the In-Between eventually became a twisted place, it didn’t start out that way. The seed was good, but the fruit was rotten. Now it was a place that turned people like Truman into cult followers for Cassandra.
When he was in school, Truman wasn’t good with people. He was brutally bullied—physically, mentally, and emotionally. The school cafeteria was a battlefield. To avoid it, he went to the shop studio at lunch and during every free period he had. He went early in the morning and stayed late after school. He would have slept there if they let him. A few times he hid in the custodial closet at the back of the room so he could stay overnight when it was especially bad at one of his foster homes.
Once everyone was gone, he had free rein to wander through the school undetected. He would go into the kitchen to get food, use the showers in the boy’s locker room, and indulge his wildest dreams in the shop room by building all kinds of contraptions. Making things with his hands made him feel powerful and capable. He knew he could build a better life when he got to be an adult. All he had to do in the meantime was survive.
His imagination kept him alive. He could see that now as he pulled down more of his sketchbooks and diaries to put into his satchel. He flipped through the last sketchbook he had used before leaving the In-Between. The Heart Mantle was his crowning achievement, and he had designed it for Cassandra as a way of repaying her for all the kindness she had shown him.
She always wore a black tunic. Once Truman asked her why, and she told him that she had many scars on her chest from an operation she’d had. She and her sister both had genetic defects that weakened their hearts, something that caused her to constantly fear that hers would stop beating. The Heart Mantle he designed for her had four sets of pumps so if one gave out, another would kick in and keep her heart pumping.
He remembered her reaction when he showed her the plans. Huge tears tumbled down her smiling cheeks. She couldn’t speak. Finally, she said that after so much fear, a feeling Truman knew well, she saw a way forward toward all her dreams.
She brought doctors to the In-Between, mad scientists who had no regard for humanity and who experimented on Truman’s friends at Cassandra’s command to figure out how to incorporate the Heart Mantle into a human body. She became obsessed with the idea of fusing machines with people to give them superhuman capabilities. She demanded that everyone in the In-Between submit themselves for experimentation as a sign of dedication to her. Truman was horrified. This is not at all what he intended.
One night, Nora snuck into the In-Between in disguise. She saw Truman standing apart from the crowd, hiding his eyes from the most gruesome displays of loyalty that Cassandra demanded. Nora shoved a piece of paper into his hand and told him to go to the address written and ask for a man named Samuel. If Truman told Samuel that Nora had sent him, he would be given a place to hide. Her words were burned into his memory.
“There are always people who want to help,” Nora told him. “We aren’t always easy to see, but we’re out there. Samuel’s one. I’m one. There’s more to life than this. This isn’t even living at all. Don’t be fooled into believing that it is.”
The next night, Truman overheard Cassandra talking to one of the doctors.
“We need those detailed plans,” the doctor said to Cassandra. “You’re going to have to get that sketchbook from him. Now is the time. We’re ready. And once we have that, we won’t have to hide down here in the In-Between. We’ll be able to capture the entire world with our powers.”
“You mean I’ll capture the entire world with my powers,” said Cassandra. “I’ll get it from him. All I need to do is ask. It’s time for the In-Between to rise up into the light.”
Panicked, Truman ran deep into one of the tunnels of the In-Between. His first impulse was to keep running and take his sketches with him. Afraid that he’d be hunted by Cassandra and the doctors once he fled, he took one copy of his original drawing and made one change to the second copy he left behind: the prescribed material to build it would quickly disintegrate when exposed to light. Truman reasoned that if Cassandra ever ventured out of the In-Between, her heart wouldn’t be able to function in the daylight.
Samuel gave Truman a job and a place to stay. At that point, Samuel was just creating the Crooked Willow, and Truman was a genius builder. He helped Samuel design the café and then build it from the ground up. Finally, Truman got to see what his imagination could make in the real world when he worked with other people. And he could see people benefit from what he’d created.
One day Nora came into the Crooked Willow and saw Truman sketching. She was so impressed with his drawing that she took him to see Raymond, one of the lead curators at the Met who specialized in medical and machinery history. Though gruff and short-tempered, Raymond had a penchant for helping talented, curious people succeed.
Raymond flipped through Truman’s sketchbooks and examined them with his nose practically touching the pages. He traced the lines of Truman’s inventions with his fingertips: a light-weight exoskeleton that could be worn by anyone to provide the ability to walk to someone who couldn’t or to enhance the athletic ability of someone who had full use of his body. There were prosthetics of all shapes and sizes. These drawings were inspired by all the injuries and carnage he’d seen Cassandra cause in the In-Between. If his friends ever escaped, he wanted to be able to help them piece their lives and bodies back together.
Without saying a word, Raymond had taken off down the stairway that descended deep into the guts of the Met, where Truman now stood. Nora and Truman had to run to keep up with him. Out of breath, they reached a large, empty room with high ceilings and stone walls.
“This should do,” Raymond said.
“Do what?” Truman asked.
“Make a good place for your workshop.”
“My workshop?”
“How are you going to build those inventions you sketch without a workshop?” asked Raymond.
“I didn’t realize I was going to build them,” said Truman.
“Of course you’re going to build them. They’re not doing anyone any good on paper.”
And that was it. Truman had spent every spare moment in the workshop ever since. When he wasn’t at the Crooked Willow, he toiled away here, completely undisturbed. In his workshop, he was free to create anything he could imagine. Raymond made sure Truman had all the tools and materials he needed. When Raymond learned about Truman’s past in the In-Between, he suggested that Truman build Orion to protect himself and his work.
Truman placed the last of his sketchbooks into his now-overflowing satchel. “Orion, watch things while I’m gone.”
“Don’t I always? Good luck, Truman Billings. Sounds like you are going to need it.”
“Come, Friday.”
The dog ran to Truman’s side. He was more than ready to leave.
Truman wound his way through a labyrinth of corridors, this time to a door leading to the outside. He opened it slightly to look outside.
Orion had one more tidbit for Truman.
“She said she was looking for
you because you owed her something you promised to give her,” said Orion.
“Who?”
“The woman with the black cape and the wild white hair,” said Orion. “She said you’d built a way to bottle the stars, and you promised to help her do that.”
Truman looked at Friday with a resigned expression.
“Thank you, Orion. That’s helpful information.”
“You are welcome, Truman Billings. I am always here to help. And if it is a long time before I see you again, be safe.”
Truman and Friday stepped slowly through the door. If people had been there only an hour ago, they could still be around.
“Coast is clear,” Truman said under his breath as they rounded the corner toward Fifth Avenue.
“Or is it?” said Cassandra, sweetness dripping from her words.
Truman froze as he came face-to-face with Cassandra. Friday growled as the hair on his back stood on end.
“Did you really think you could hide forever?” she asked.
Truman locked his eyes on Cassandra, willing himself to remain strong.
“Truman, dear, this world isn’t ready for us. Yet. It asks us to be something we’re not. Our world, the In-Between, is the one for us. And now we’re going to make the whole world the In-Between. It makes me sad to see you wasting your time trying to fit into a place where you’ll never belong. And a place that soon won’t exist anyway. You’re squandering your precious talents on people who won’t ever appreciate you, not the way I do.”
Cassandra unbuttoned the top of her tunic and peeled it away from her chest. The ruby-colored Heart Mantle replaced her chest from shoulder to shoulder, from the clavicle notch to the base of the sternum. Truman was entranced and terrified. His eyes widened until they hurt.
“I didn’t design it to be used that way,” he said.
“I know,” said Cassandra. “But isn’t all the best technology meant to be tinkered with? We made some improvements to your design.”
Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters Page 10