by Nathan Roten
All Graham could see as Damien passed him was the smirk on his face. He needed that. Damien always had a way to lift his spirits. The two had been friends for so long, they just instinctively knew what would make the other one feel better.
The two continued down the street, keeping their eyes locked on Chase as he ran along the top of the buildings, jumping from roof to roof. Chase took a sharp left, and so did they. Next, they turned the corner down the alley and continued their pursuit. Chase jumped from the rooftop, down to a smaller roof covering the back door of the building. With a single pounce, he leapt from the small roof down to the cobblestone road in front of Damien, letting his momentum take him in to a forward roll, then right back onto his feet, not missing a single stride.
“Is this guy part cat or something?!” Damien said, in-between breaths.
“I dunno,” replied Graham, straining to speak at all in-between his labored breaths.
Glad to see Chase back on their level, they picked up their pace. A small black railing stood at the end of the alley. Chase placed his hands on the top and effortlessly swung both legs over top. Fifteen paces later, both Damien and Graham made their way over the railing, but with much more effort being required.
After taking a right behind the next building, Damien and Graham looked all around for any sign of Chase, but was gone. He was nowhere to be seen.
“CHAAAAASE!” yelled Graham.
“Why the running, man? We just want to talk to you!” yelled Damien.
After yelling Chase’s name a few more times, both of them hunched over with their hands on their knees panting as if they had just finished a marathon. Big beads of sweat dripped from their foreheads as their chests moved in and out.
“Hey, surely that little sprint didn’t get the best of you two.”
Graham and Damien quickly jerked their heads up and saw Chase three stories up on the fire escape platform with his arms crossed and leaning on the railing. His hood still hung over his head, but this time they could see the grin on his face.
“Damien, I thought you were suppose to be the star athlete.” Before he said his next word, he ran in a blur down all three stories and stopped right in front of Graham.
“And Graham, well, I have been waiting to meet you for some time now.”
Graham just stared at Chase scrunching his brow and tilting his head slightly to the side like a dog would do when you make strange noises.
“How do you know our names?”
With a serious expression, Chase looked into Graham’s eyes. “I know pretty much everything about you, Graham. I have watched you as you sit in your perch at Wellington every Saturday. I know how you sneak around Greenwood listening in on conversations that are not your business, and I know you carry struggles which you keep buried deep down inside.”
Graham was stunned. He didn’t know what to make of it. He must have looked like a fool as he continued to stare at Chase with an even more inquisitive expression on his face.
Breaking the tension, Chase slapped Graham on the back and chuckled.
“Lighten up man. Ms. Winstone told me about you.”
Looking over at Damien, Chase said, “y tú, mi amigo.”
Relief washed over Graham like warm ocean waves.
“Thought I was a wierd-o for a second there, didn’t ya,” said Chase.
Graham looked at Chase relieved, but sill unsure how to respond. “Yea, you had me going for a second.”
Realizing that now was his chance to finally ask Chase some questions; to finally get some answers, Graham opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Damien.
“Hey, why did you run from us? Why make us chase you all the way down here?”
“Yea, that was a bit odd, wasn’t it. I guess I needed to stretch my legs, although I gotta say, it was very hard to move that slow.”
“SLOW? I could barely keep up!” said Damien, still panting.
“I may have seemed fast to you, but for me, that was a snails’ pace. I am sure by now, you understand why. The real reason, I suppose, is that I needed to get you away from the crowd so I could talk to you. It is hard to have a conversation while everyone is staring at the kid who almost became road kill.”
Chase laughed again as Graham’s cheeks turned light red.
“Yea, well, not everyone is a ‘Johnny McSpeed-ster’ like you,” Graham sarcastically replied.
“Touché,” Chased said with a nod of the head, acknowledging Graham’s sarcasm. “The real reason I brought you two back here is that I know you are searching for something. I hate to disappoint, as I am clearly not Cavaness, but I can take you to him if you like.”
Graham almost fell over with excitement. “Really?!”
The hope emanating from Graham was palpable. If he wasn’t so elated, he may have shed a tear.
“Really, really,” replied Chase. “Maybe you can even get some help with those nightmares of yours.”
“How’d you kn….”
“Ms. Winstone. I think we already had that conversation before the two of you crept into the Parlor Room last night. You are not alone on that one. You know, we three have one thing in common. We are orphans. We have screwed up pasts. Sometimes those things, those vague or horrible memories we tried to burry long ago force themselves to the surface.”
“No kidding,” said Graham.
“I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I don’t have no crazy dreams,” said Damien.
“Well, crazy dreams or not, I am sure there are more questions lingering in your heads.”
“Yea, like the question of how do you move so fast. You are like a blur when you run,” said Damien.
“All in due time. Like a good story, you need to hear it from the beginning. That is why I had to get you away from the crowd,” said Chase. “As I am sure you overheard, I am the caretaker of Portfield Manor. You know, the haunted place.”
Graham and Damien leaned in closer to Chase as they listened.
“There are others who live there, but they are not ghosts and ghouls.”
“Then who are they?” asked Damien.
Graham nudged Damien with his elbow. “Let him finish.”
“Let me put it this way. There are two types of people in this world. Those who accept who they truly are, and those who choose to remain ignorant by ignoring their gifts. I know that sounds a bit ridiculous right now, but if you choose accept my invitation, then you will find out how true that statement is.”
“What invitation?” Graham asked.
“An invitation to find out who you really are,” said Chase. “Once every two years, we have an invitation for people like you who we see as unique.”
“You mean broken,” said Graham, not sure if he liked the way this conversation was going.
“Define it how you want, Graham, but I mean unique more in terms of being ‘set apart,’ than I do ‘cast aside.’ You are not broken. You just can’t yet explain what is happening inside. Regardless of the definition, it is your choice. I hate to be vague and cryptic, but unfortunately, I must. If you choose to accept, then we will be at Portfield Manor tomorrow night at 3 am.”
Because they were behind the final building of Wellington, Chase could easily point down the road to a clearing in the trees. Chase looked at Damien, then turned to Graham.
“Portfield Manor is a few miles from here. Since you are a pro at navigating the woods between here and Greenwood, I have full faith that you will be able to make it to the Manor on time. You want answers? You will find them there.”
With that said, Chase ran off down the road in a blur, leaving Graham and Damien in a wake of dust.
“Well that was dramatic,” said Damien in a monotone remark. “What do you think? Personally, it sounds a little hoaky to me. And why three in the morning? What the heck?”
“Maybe, but if this is my chance, then I’m taking it. You do what you want,” replied Graham. “That is, if we make it back to Greenwood without being questioned about our afternoon. Ms. Winstone
has already told me not to come back here. If she knows I have disobeyed her, I may not live to make it to Portfield Manor.”
Graham and Damien turned around and began to walk back towards Building 14, where they would make their way back through the woods, then to Greenwood. They both breathed a sigh of relief as they saw that most of the kids were still out on the playing fields.
“I think we are good,” said Graham. Just then, the gongs of the grandfather clocks could be heard from inside, instructing the kids to come back for study time, then dinner.
“Wow, we couldn’t have timed that any better,” said Damien.
High up on the 3rd floor, Ms. Winstone stood at the window with a cup of tea in her hand, bringing it to her lips for a sip as she watched Graham and Damien emerge from the woods, walking over to mingle in with the other children.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Pathway to Freedom
Disregarding all pleasantries, Ms. Winstone looked sternly into Graham’s eyes. Whatever was on her mind immediately escaped her mouth like a bird from an open cage.
“I thought I told you not to go back into the woods. Now you’ve drug Damien into it.”
Without hesitation, Damien spoke.
“Graham was showing me his favorite places there. I asked him to. He told me about them yesterday, and I practically begged him to let me go see it. Please don’t blame him. It was my idea, Ms. Winstone.”
Taking Damien’s story into consideration, she thought for a moment. The boys caught a quick glance at each other hoping that this would be the end of it. Ms. Winstone studied the two of them for a while longer, trying to decipher truth from fiction. After a moments pause, she decided another question was more important.
“Well then, if you were so keen on seeing the woods, then what of Wellington? Did Graham show you that as well?”
Damien swallowed hard. He did not want to say it, but he knew he had no choice.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Damien, I have no doubt that you hold a certain power of persuasion over Mr. Graham, but my expectation was clear. Wellington is a dangerous place, especially for those who do not seem to fit in. Wellington was and is off limits.”
Damien did not know what to say. He wanted to protect Graham from any possible punishment, but Ms. Winstone’s decisions were like stone statues planted firmly in cement. They were immovable.
Trying to find a balance of justice and mercy, Ms. Winstone looked at Graham. She wanted to show compassion, but if she bent now, the news of her leniency would get around to the other children, and they would try to break her.
“One week of revoked recess time. You are to stay in your room or in a study hall. You eat, you study, and you sleep. Am I clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Damien, since you were mostly unaware of our previous conversations, you are off the hook this time, although I expect you to use some common sense every now and again. You should know better than to wonder off into the woods and down to Wellington.”
With a stern stare and a depth of seriousness he had never heard in her voice before, she said, “Now the expectation is set.”
The two boys sat still in their chairs like statues. Nothing was worse than a rebuke from Ms. Winstone. It was as if she were addressing your very soul.
“I shall also have Mr. Kobble keep a close eye on you two once you return to recess. No more ventures into the woods, or anything else beyond it for that matter. Now, go get ready for dinner.”
The boys stood up from there chairs in unison.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Ms. Winstone.”
“You know I care for you both. Very deeply indeed. Young minds are always searching for adventure and purpose in this world, especially when they feel they have none in their seemingly mundane, day to day activities. Whatever you two are really in search for, you can find it in the library, not in Wellington.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied.
At that, they opened the wooden door and closed it behind them. As they walked down the hallway and up the stairs to their rooms, they could not get over the lump in their stomachs. They did not like the chastisement from Ms. Winstone, nor did they enjoy the thought of deliberate insubordination, but they both knew what they had to do. They had to make it to the meeting tonight, no matter what the cost.
Graham broke the silence first.
“If we really get the chance to meet Cavaness tonight, it will be worth the loss of a month’s recess. A year’s recess. I don’t care how much trouble I get into.”
Graham gave a quick punch to Damien’s arm as they continued walking.
“Thanks for having my back. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Hey, what are friends for, right? You’ve saved my tail more times than I can count. I’m glad I could finally return the favor.”
Damien held his fist out in front of Graham. Graham smiled, giving Damien a fist bump. Turning the corner, they arrived at their rooms.
“See you in a few minutes,” said Graham.
“Hasta Luego.”
As everyone was cleaning up for dinner, Graham decided it was time to roam the halls in search of the door that would lead them to freedom. Room by room, he looked along the back wall for any exterior doors, and room after room he became increasingly frustrated. So far, he could only locate five doors. The kitchen, the front door the parlor door, and two doors at the end of each wing. With only a few more rooms to search, the next one he came to was the library.
So, this is where I will find my life’s answers, huh. I doubt that.
Amidst his doubt, Graham pushed open the door to have a look around. The Library was a beautiful room. Graham had only been in here a handful of times, though in his pursuit of quiet solitary places, this would actually fit the bill quite nicely. With everyone preparing for dinner, he allowed himself to be enveloped by the solace of the large empty room.
Reading was never his first activity of choice, so it had been at least two or three months since Graham had visited the library. He had forgotten how cozy it was. The craftsmen definitely spent more time in this room than most of the others. Most of the two adjacent side walls were covered with large bookshelves that reached from the floor to the top of the twelve foot plaster ceiling. The exterior wall was mostly windows, and in the middle of the room were stationed two massive study desks stretching over fifteen feet long and six feet wide, with the countertop extending beyond the wooden base enough for the reader to fit their legs underneath. Eight chairs were stationed at the desk with eight lamps on the countertop in front of each chair, so that one could read day or night. The perimeter of the desks were wood panels with ornate, vertical wood trim and solid wood paneling in between.
Looking to the outside wall, Graham searched for an exterior door, but was met again with disappointment when all he could see were large portrait style windows that nearly reached from floor to ceiling. As the anger within him grew, he turned around from the large desks, now looking at the endless rows of shelves that housed book after book, too numerous to count. Like a slow boil, however, his disappointment evolved into curiosity as he paced back and forth staring at the columns of books.
Graham ran his fingers along the spines, reading the titles as he went. American History, From Darkness to Light, The Origin of Man, The Unseen War, then a volume of matching history books of which filled the remaining space on the row.
He contemplated Ms. Winstone’s statement about finding life’s answers in here. No doubt these books answered many questions, though Graham found it hard to believe that any one of these books would hold the resolution to nightmares which caused objects around him to hover off the ground. No, only two people on earth held that knowledge, and so far, Graham could not find a way to get either of them.
Plopping down on his butt, Graham sat down with his back to the tall bookshelf, so that he was facing one of the large desks in the middle of the room. He took out his treasured ball and began to rhythmically bou
nce it from the floor, to the panels of the desk, then back to his hand. Floor - Desk - Hand. Floor - Desk - Hand. The repetition was therapeutic. His mind would begin to clear with each bounce of the ball. His eyes followed it’s path to and from his hand as he allowed his mind to trail off wherever it wanted to go.
Before he knew it, he had made the tosses into a game. He found himself concentrating on hitting different sections of the desk to see if he could hit his mark. First, he aimed at the small vertical piece of trim. Floor - Trim - Hand. He then aimed for the same piece of trim to the right. Floor - Trim - Hand. Nailed it. Scooting over to the next section of flat space in-between the vertical strips of wood, Graham aimed dead center. Floor - Desk - Floor - Floor - Floor…. As the ball struck the wood, it made an odd hollow thud, losing it’s velocity. Instead of returning to him, it fell from the wall and trailed off on the floor. Graham stared inquisitively at the wall and the sudden change in his bouncing pattern. He swung his legs around so that he was on all fours, and crawled towards the large desk. Trapping the ball to the ground to keep it from bouncing, he closed his fingers around it and placed it back into the front pocket of his dark orange sweatshirt.
As Graham made it to the wall of the desk, he ran his hand up and down the trim. It didn’t seem any different than the rest. He shifted to his left and knocked a couple of times in the center of the square panel encapsulated by the trim. Solid. Shifting back to the panel in question, Graham reached up and knocked four times. A much different sound came from this panel, like it was attached to air. Graham’s pulse quickened as his heart began to pound in his chest. He quickly shifted to his right to knock on the adjacent square. Solid as a rock. Sliding back to his left, Graham stared at the panel, wondering why it sounded so different. Could this be some sort of door? He quickly got up and ran to the side of the desk.
Six feet is plenty of room for a secret door, he thought.
Scurrying back to the square, he began to grab the trim with his fingernails to try and pull it open. After tugging at the vertical strips without success, he tried the horizontal pieces next. Straining as hard as he cold without ripping his fingernails off, he grunted and jerked, but the thing would not budge.
