by H. Duke
Randall hadn’t questioned them much about the gate the previous night. Whatever shock had kept him silent was gone now. “We need to talk.”
She sighed, glancing at her missing door. “Not here. Follow me.”
She led him out through the double doors and into one of the empty study rooms. She closed the door behind him.
“So, what was all that last night?” he said.
She braced herself. Before leaving, Dorian had told her in tense whispers to pretend like she didn’t know anything. She was supposed to say that she found Randall in the restroom after close, talking to people who weren’t there and talking about a tiger.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
Randall’s lips pursed. “Oh, I see how it is,” he said. “You’re going to make me feel like I’ve been seeing things, like I can’t trust my own senses. Do you know how cruel that is?”
She did know how cruel it was, and she hated it. But what else was she supposed to do? She could barely keep her head above water. He went into a diatribe, but she tuned out, staring down at the names etched into the tabletop. She thought it was Mae’s old office that felt oppressive, but the air in here felt just as heavy.
She remembered Mae’s labored breathing, the blue tinge to her fingers that last time she’d seen her. She’d seemed weak, true, but not particularly so. Then on Monday she was gone, felled by cancer. A few months, maybe.
She sucked in air with a pitiful sobbing sound. She hadn’t even realized how close to tears she was.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to blink back the tears even as they spilled down her cheeks. “It’s just been a really terrible wee—” the rest of the words were choked out by a wracking sob.
“Hey,” Randall said, and though her vision was too blurred to make out his face, she could hear the surprise in his voice. “Don’t do that.” This only made her sob harder.
She heard the scraping sound of his chair being dragged around the table. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”
She knew she shouldn’t, but before she could stop herself the entire story came spilling out of her mouth. She told him about how much she needed this job and how it was a miracle that she got it at all. She told him about Barbara’s vendetta against her. She told him about Dorian, and the gate, and everything. Finally, she told him about the meeting with the doctor that morning.
Then she fell silent and started petting Rex’s head. When had the dog jumped up into her lap? Randall let the silence hang in the air for several minutes, probably seeing if she had anything else to say. When she’d been quiet for a while, he nodded to Rex. “He always knows who needs soothing.”
She laughed, glad to have something else to talk about. “Well, he’s very good at his job.”
“That’s quite a story,” Randall said. “Thanks for trusting me with it.”
April wondered for a split second if she was stupid to have said all this to him. But then she felt bad for the thought. He’d risked his life to save hers the previous evening, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t said anything to anyone all morning. That had to count for something.
“That’s not all,” she said, and she told him about Thaddeus’ offer.
Randall nodded. She expected him to tell her how selfish she was, but instead he said, “So it sounds like if you take his offer, you can pay for your grandmother’s treatment.”
She nodded. “Am I a bad person for considering it?”
“You’re human. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
“So, you’re saying that I should take his offer?”
“No. I’m saying you should do what you think is right.” He paused. “Mae was always nice to me, treated me like a human rather than an inconvenience. Not a lot of people do that. But if she really planned to tie you up in this thing without letting you make the choice yourself… well, I don’t know.”
“I think she planned to tell me, but… it was too late.”
Randall nodded. “I hope so.” He paused. “I don’t trust this Dorian guy. Something about him is off. Why does he dress like an extra on Downton Abbey? And why isn’t he here with you now, helping you deal with all of this?”
April didn’t say anything. Despite everything she’d already told him, she hadn’t mentioned the fact that Dorian was from a book, or that the book he was from was hidden somewhere in the library. She wondered if it would make Randall trust him more or less.
“So what are you going to do?” Randall asked.
She waited several minutes before speaking. “I don’t know.” She stood. “I have to get on the desk, or Janet will have my head on a platter,” she said.
“Okay,” Randall said. “I’m around if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
She stood and started walking towards the door, but he stopped her. “Wait. For what it’s worth, I knew Mae pretty good. And if she chose you for this job, well, she had a reason.”
April knew he was wrong. Mae had just met her—how could she really know that April was up to the job? She’d been sick and didn’t have time to find someone better. April must have seemed better than nothing.
Back in Mae’s office, she took out Thaddeus’ business card and brought it with her to the reference desk. As April sat there, she turned the card over in her hands. Use the resources available to you, he’d said.
She pulled up a search engine and typed in, Dorian book.
The first result was a Wikipedia page for a novel titled The Picture of Dorian Gray. The story was first published in the late 1800s—that explained Dorian’s style of dress. She read on, surprised to find out that the book had been called “amoral” and a “work of the devil” when it was first published. Dorian was such a goody-two-shoes, always doing what Mae had told him.
She scrolled down to the summary. A Picture of Dorian Gray was about a young, attractive man (well, that certainly described Dorian) who sells his soul while posing for a portrait of himself. The portrait ages instead of Dorian, and also takes on the effects of his sins, becoming so ugly and twisted that its subject is unrecognizable. The young man—Dorian—commits every sin imaginable over the years, including murder.
Murder. That couldn’t be Dorian, could it? He seemed so committed to doing the right thing. Was it possible that Dorian was from another book, that he was a side-character or UNC, that his name just happened to be Dorian?
She pulled up the library catalog and typed in The Picture of Dorian Gray, then narrowed the search parameters to only books in the Werner collection. Sure enough, the book was there. She wrote down the location and walked out to the shelf.
It wasn’t there. She spent several minutes looking at the surrounding shelves. Perhaps a patron had moved the book to the wrong spot… but no. She finally had to admit that it was missing.
Missing, or hidden?
She walked back to the reference desk and spent what remained of her shift staring off into space. Did it matter if Dorian was the Dorian from the book? He was so obviously different… but then why hadn’t he told her? She deserved to know.
She jumped when Andre made the fifteen-minute announcement over the walkie talkie. She stood and started making her rounds.
Finally, Randall was the last patron left. “We’re closing,” April said to him.
Randall nodded. “You okay? Normally you’re up there typing away or scribbling notes… but you’ve just been staring off into space.”
April nodded. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. Not at all. She felt like her head was going to explode.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” He asked.
Did she? She took a moment to think before answering. Finally she shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to do this on my own.”
Randall nodded and began gathering up his things. Right before he left, he turned around and said, “Make sure to check the restrooms!” Forcing a ghost of a smile on her lips. It didn’t last long.
As soon as
she was alone in the building, she dialed Thaddeus’ number. He picked up after the second ring. “Ms. Walker, what a pleasure to hear from you.”
“How much?” she asked. “How much money can you give me?”
“Enough to cover your grandmother’s treatment at any hospital of your choice, and then some.”
“What would I have to do?”
“You’re the Pagewalker,” he said. “Your will goes, at least as far as the portal is concerned.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You can leave your role as Pagewalker at any time. Simply write it down on a piece of paper, open the portal, and toss it in. It’s as simple as that.” He paused, and when she didn’t answer right away, he said. “He never even told you it was possible, did he?”
“How do you know that? How to do it, I mean,” She asked, wanting to cover up the fact the he’d been right—Dorian hadn’t told her that she could step down from being the Pagewalker. In fact, he’d implied she was stuck with the job.
“This isn’t the first portal my organization has decommissioned.”
“What will happen to him? Once you decommission the gate, I mean.”
She thought he might need more of a hint to whom she was talking about, but he didn’t. “I don’t know. What happens to the characters in a video game once you unplug the console?”
There was silence that went on for several beats too long. He was waiting for her to speak. “I’ll do it.” She hung up the phone before she could change her mind.
Had she really just done that? No matter what angle she looked at it from, it seemed she had been the one who’d been wronged. She’d been tricked into becoming the Pagewalker. Dorian had lied to her about being able to reverse it. And it was dangerous, wasn’t it? Why were they protecting it, anyway? Why maintain it at all?
Small squares of scrap paper were kept on the corner of the reference desk so that customers could write down call numbers. She grabbed on and started to write. She made it as clear as possible; she didn’t want to mess it up by failing to mention something important:
I, April Walker, vacate my duties as Pagewalker. Thaddeus Broker and his associates may enter at any time that they wish.
She examined the note. Not sure what else she could add, she signed her name and dated it for good measure. She still wasn’t sure that she was going to use it. She wanted to talk to Dorian first, at least give him an opportunity to defend himself. Still, she was glad she had it. Now all she had to do was wait until nine.
Her cell phone rang from her purse, making her jump. Who would be calling her now?
She placed the phone against her ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Andre.”
Uh oh. The last thing she needed was for Andre to come back.
She bit her lip. “Is everything all right?”
“I was walking to my car when I noticed Randall hanging around outside.”
Crap. Randall must have been hanging around to make sure she was okay, but Andre wouldn’t know that. “Is he still there?”
“No. I sent him on his way with a threat of calling the cops, but I’m not really sure I like you being here all by yourself.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” April said.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No! No, in fact, I think you should offer Randall a ride. I think that’s why he was sticking around—he’d asked me for a ride earlier.”
“A ride? For Randall?” He sighed. “Okay. If it keeps him out of your hair.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Don’t forget to call me when you leave.”
“I won’t.”
She breathed a sigh of relief when he hung up. She checked her phone. Five minutes to nine. She read the note again, then folded it up until it was small enough to fit in her closed fist. The edge of the paper bit into her palm when she closed it all the way. The pain made her squeeze harder. She walked out and stood in front of the east wall.
The grandfather clock started to chime. On the ninth ring, the library filled with flashes of light. The crack appeared, and slowly Dorian’s form became visible on the other side. He seemed surprised to find her there. He stepped through the gate, a wary expression on his face. The room behind him was furnished in a similar style to the Werner room. The walls were covered with lush tapestries and and a divan upholstered with red velvet sat in the middle of the floor.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Not any more than usual,” she said.
“Oh.”
She sat there, waiting for several minutes. He watched her warily. “Aren’t you going to close the gate?” she said. “We don’t want anything accidentally crossing over, do we?”
“April…”
April nodded. “That’s what I thought. Is it because you don’t want me to know where your book is so I can’t lock you out, or because you don’t want me to know who you are?”
She waited for him to respond but he just stared at her helplessly, so she continued. “Dorian Gray: the human embodiment of hedonism. I had to look that word up. You killed people, Dorian.”
“I haven’t,” he said. “Not yet. I met Mae at an earlier point in my story, after the painting was made, but before everything else.”
“But you said it yourself—you can’t change what happens. You can only postpone it.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you know that it’s possible for me to leave my position as Pagewalker?”
“What?”
She opened her palm, revealing the folded piece of paper. The color blanched from his face when he realized what it was.
“You’ve been talking with Thaddeus, haven’t you? And you’re accusing me of being untruthful?” This answer was all she needed—he had known, and he’d lied to her.
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “And it’s a good thing I did, otherwise I would have never known the truth.”
“April,” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.
“I can’t believe I was feeling bad about this,” she said. “Now I realize I better get you before you get me!”
“If you throw that paper through the gate you’re making the decision for your entire world,” he said. “Don’t be selfish. Thaddeus is manipulating you.”
“So are you.”
He looked at her, a murderous look on his face. That’s his true nature, she thought. He could only hide it for so long.
“Goodbye, Dorian.”
She tossed the paper through the gate. He didn’t try to stop her. There was a flash of light as it passed through the veil, then it returned to normal. Was that it? She didn’t feel any different. She decided it didn’t matter.
Neither she nor Dorian spoke as she gathered up her things and walked down the stairs. After she’d locked the door behind her, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Thaddeus’ number.
“Hello?”
“It’s done.”
“Excellent. You did the right thing.”
“What happens now?” She asked.
“We’ll take care of the rest, Ms. Walker. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” Click.
She didn’t like the smugness in his voice. She walked to her car and drove away, trying not to look at Dorian standing up in the window. But she felt his gaze all the same.
Chapter 8
“Don’t forget I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” Gram said.
Crap. “I cancelled it,” April said, hoping Gram was in a distracted mood and wouldn’t ask her why.
She glanced up and winced at the way Gram’s eyes flashed at her through her glasses. Gram put her mug of coffee down. “You did what?”
April scrambled to think of a way to explain. “Dr. Applewood has no idea what to do next. He admitted it.”
“They told me to live my life until I can’t anymore. And that is what I’m going to do.”
April sighed. “Is this about the house again? W
hat if I told you I can get money for the payment where we don’t have to take a loan out on the house?”
Gram’s eyes narrowed. “And how, may I ask, are you going to get that kind of money? Got a raise already, did you?”
April looked away. “I can’t tell you, Gram.”
“Oh, no,” Gram said, a look of alarm on her face. “Whatever it is, I forbid it.”
April realized what it sounded like. “No! It’s not illegal or anything like that.”
“It can’t be something good if you won’t tell your own grandmother.”
“It’s… it’s fine,” April said. Why hadn’t she realized she’d need to explain the sudden appearance of a whole bunch of money to her? “Like I said, it’s nothing bad. I think most people would say that what I’m doing is good.”
Gram squinted her eyes and gave April one of her discerning looks. “But you don’t think that, do you?”
Gram could always see through her. “What I think doesn’t matter. What matters is getting you the treatment you need.”
Gram sighed. “And then what? Let’s say I’m lucky and the treatment works. What will you do when the cancer comes back a third time? Or I have a heart attack? No amount of money, however it’s gained, can stave off death forever.”
“Gram—”
“And what if it doesn’t work? Then I’ve spent the last good months of my life being prodded by needles, radiation burns underneath my breasts, and throwing up. I don’t want that.”
She hadn’t thought of what it would be like for Gram to have to go through that again. Suddenly tears were rolling down her face.
“But you’re all that I have,” April said, her voice breaking.
“Oh, sweetie.” Gram’s face softened. “The truth is, we’re all going to die, and we don’t get to decide when it happens. That’s no different than the rest of life. I remember when I got that call about your parents’ accident. I not only lost my son, but I was suddenly responsible for another life—yours.” she laughed. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it at my age. But you know what? I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t change a thing.” She got a faraway, bittersweet look in her eye.