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Part 3-7: Vision
I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to take the book back to any of our places, lest it act as some kind of homing beacon for Eden. Fergus offered his office space up as storage, but even that seemed too risky. In the end, I decided to stash it under the end of the stairwell near our usual alleyway door. Convenient, hidden, centralized. Something like that.
After the adrenaline from the vine fight wore off, my mind and body declared an emergency shut down mode. The next thing I knew, I woke up in my bed, sore, with strong light beating against the fabric of my drapes. It was past noon.
My bladder welcomed me back to the land of the living and promptly informed me that I had forty seconds until it ruptured. I bolted to my washroom, then decided to spend a good three quarters of an hour showering, washing my hair, some exfoliation; if I had to go back and do the Clockworld thing all over again this evening I needed some damn TLC prior.
Rosy cheeked, bathrobed, squeaky clean, and leading a veritable fog bank of mist out of the bathroom door, I strode into the kitchen, intent on constructing a massive falafel wrap.
Dack swiveled on one of the stools, a cat on his lap like a cartoon villain.
“Christ! Have you been here the whole damn time?” I said.
He shrugged. “Since maybe ten?”
“Doing what?”
“Monitoring, mostly. And waiting for you to get up.”
“Well, I’m up. New task, get some falafel wraps rolling. I’m going to, uh, change.”
I retreated to my room and put on some clothes. By the time I’d returned, he’d found most of the ingredients and was busy fending off various Lobsters.
“Where’s ‘Luxe?” I asked. I’d not heard her at all since getting up.
“Out with Persi, buying up some headsets so we don’t have to do the whole texting thing,” he said, while halving falafel balls. A green parrot perched atop the fridge, eying the food.
I gave it a warning stare. “And Fergus’ll be done work at five, five thirty?”
“Should be, yeah.”
“D’you miss work?” I asked, suddenly nosy. I blamed the lack of falafel wrap in my belly and hurried to build mine so I didn’t have to focus on seeing if he was offended.
“All the time,” he said. “But…”
I said nothing, not wanting to push it further. I tried to chop my peppers quietly.
“But?” croaked the parrot.
Dack snickered, and said, “…But I think some things can be more important, y’know?”
“Y’know!” agreed Lobster.
I tore a little piece off my wrap and flung it up at the bird. Lobster snagged it midair and flapped off with his prize.
“I know, I think,” I said. A strip of homemade tzatziki sauce, and my breakfast / lunch was complete. We munched in silence, listening to sounds of the lively zoo I call a condo. I didn’t feel like talking about what was possibly in store for the evening, but barring that topic, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Eating helped slow the mounting feeling of awkwardness, but my ravenous appetite made short work of the meal. I thought about finding my phone, debated if that would be really rude or not, and then realized I wasn’t one hundred percent sure where it was. This provided me with a conversational lifeline.
“So, I pass out hard last night or…?” I said.
“Mm!” Dack swallowed a mouthful. “Sorry, yeah, you did. Fell asleep in the car. We sort of zombie walked you to bed.”
“Nice, nice. Um…”
“Yup.”
My brain came up with the brilliant suggestion to ask about him and Deluxe, and my face must have betrayed my opinion of that line of questioning, as Dack looked at me wide-eyed and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Just, ah, you know. All this nutty shit. Those vines in the clock room, they… and the—and the book.”
I remembered it then. Stashed under the stairs in the building. I’d figured we needed it, though I couldn’t recall why I’d felt so certain. I’d been exhausted, suffering from who knows what kinds of debilitating mental shocks.
“I know,” said Dack. “It’s… well, I still half don’t believe any of it. Like, I’ve experienced it. Saw Persi disappear, saw those doors switch places, Willy and… and yeah, those vines were real, right? I’ve seen it all but when I sit right here, right now, eating a falafel wrap—how can any of it be?”
“I’ve this to remind me it’s real,” I said, floating my right hand up. The Queen’s Band’s yellow flecks tinkled and flashed under the kitchen lights. As it did, I pictured a blue book in my hand—or maybe, the blue book pictured me holding it. The vision was a mere blink, a passing thought, but there was no mistaking it.
“Question is, do I trust it?” I asked, turning my hand this way and that.
“Trust it? What do you mean?” said Dack.
“That book. The Secret to Living. I don’t think it was necessarily me that wanted it so badly.”
“Wasn’t you? Then…?”
“I really don’t know, Mr. Vines. But I do know that I want to go get it. When will Deluxe and Persi be back?”
“She said they may be a while,” he said, glancing at the wall clock.
“Let’s make a little trip then.”
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