main | table of contents The Reflecting Eye Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 37 Lock and Key The three of them spent the next couple of hours going through some of the manuscripts that the museum had kept in storage on the shelf. They found little, if anything, on any sort of strange unmentionable religions that had started in Monteport before the Nameless One and his followers dominated religious life in the country. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything definitive for you,” said Fala. “That’s quite all right,” said Gammell. “We’ve actually learned some things even if it had not been what we were looking for in the first place.” Fala laughed. “Ready to go? I could go for a smoke myself.” They headed back toward the front of the museum archives. Gammell reached the door first and he gave the knob a tug. It wouldn’t budge. “Is it locked?” he asked. “Here, let me try it,” said Fala. “Maybe it closed itself when we went in.” She pulled on her fur coat first and pushed up the sleeves before giving the door a good hard yank. It still did not budge. She reached in her pocket to get out her key. “That’s odd. I know it doesn’t lock itself. It’s not designed that way. I don’t think someone else locked us in—I mean the only other person who saw us was the custodian and I don’t think he was the key to this place—only the employees who need access to this place has the key.” “Maybe it was someone else?” suggested Verity. “Could be, although it seems highly unlikely,” replied Fala. “The others don’t go to the archives often and they wouldn’t even know that it was unlocked.” She pushed the key into the keyhole and let out a loud screech as her hand immediately jerked away as a spark enveloped the knob and the key. The key fell onto the floor with a clatter. Fala wrung her hand, squinting in pain. “Are you all right?” said Verity. She took her hand to examine it for any burn marks. There weren’t any. “Fine, fine,” said Fala quickly. “I think it was just static electricity.” Gammell picked up the key and tried to put it in the lock. He let out an oath as another spark touched him. He took the key again and gave it to Fala. “I don’t think locks are supposed to be like that. Did the museum install some sort of new security device?” “Not that I know of,” said Fala. Verity briefly touched the knob. It felt cool, but there was a sense of wrongness about it. She was suddenly sure that someone had tampered with it while they were in the back of the archives doing research. “Are we stuck here?” she asked. “Well, now that you say it, there is another exit near the back,” the curator said. “It would be fire hazard if we only had one door. Over here. We can’t possibly have bad luck twice.” They went to the back and sure enough there was another door hidden behind an empty dusty shelf. They shoved it away and Fala took another key and unlocked it without shock. She pushed the door open and they found themselves in a dark unused stairwell.” “Hm,” murmured Fala. “I always knew there was a door back here, but I haven’t been back here before. Something handy to know. And I’ll have to remember to alert maintenance about the problem with the main door.” They walked up the flight of stairs and out the first door and found themselves at the back of the museum on the parking lot. There were only two cars left on the lot, both of them on the side of the building. One was Fala’s and the other was Gammell’s. It was snowing again and Verity wondered when all the precipitation would stop. Or maybe it wouldn’t stop at all and the whole city would be covered in white ice if spring even bothered to come. “I’m going south to meet up with a friend of mine,” said Fala. She took out a cigarette from her pocket and lit it with a lighter. She puffed heavily and sighed with satisfaction. “So you don’t have to wait up for me. It was really nice seeing you today, even if we didn’t get to find what you were looking for.” Verity nodded. “Same here.” “So you two heading home?” “Yes,” she replied. “And then we might visit the East Tower again. We’ve never been to the top or the inside.” “Visually, it’s not too interesting. It’s only something and architect would love.” Fala shook her head and breathed out a stream of smoke. “They say that the Unnamed Days are unlucky days.” “I thought you didn’t subscribe to superstition,” said Gammell. “I don’t. But there are some things I do know.” Fala reached back and took the chain with the crow pendant off her neck and placed it over Verity’s head. Verity touched the crow pendant which felt warm. “You shouldn’t of. I’m not particularly religious.” “Think of it as a gift. A protection charm.” Fala smiled wearily. “Stories say that during the Unnamed Days, Aunat leaves this world altogether and waits until the new year. I take to a different theory. Aunat, the nameless one, is still here, but he’s just sleeping. He knows what’s happening in his dreams.” * * * “Do you remember what they said?” murmured Verity as they entered Gammell’s lighthouse and took off their coats. “The fifth day. The fifth hour before. It’s the fifth hour before the new year. Perhaps that is the time when the distinction between here and there becomes so thin that we can simply walk across from one place to another.” “You’re beginning to sound as crazy as me.” “Are you afraid that I am?” “No.” Gammell went back to the kitchen to boil some water in the stove. Agitated, Verity paced the living room wondering what was happening, where things were happening, when things were happening. Was everything going to end? And if they did nothing and just stayed at home like every other normal person, would they wake up with another new year? Or would things be so changed that life would be drastically different, that there wouldn’t be any sort of life? Something on the edge of her mind whispered. She shook her head. She was not hearing anything. “Did you say something?” called out Gammell from the kitchen. He strolled out and looked at her. “No, I didn’t say anything.” They were quiet for a moment. The whispers—they were definitely there. And they were getting louder. Verity turned her head in attempt to discern where it was coming from. She began to climb the stairs to the second floor. The whispers were coming from the bedroom that they had taken to sharing. Verity’s duffle bag was lying on the floor underneath the window overlooking the winter sea. She unzipped the bag and shoved past a sweater to get at the leather pouch. She lifted it out of the duffle bag and took out the mirror. Gammell had followed her upstairs and was standing beside her. Verity had turned the reflecting glass face up. It didn’t reflect their images. It didn’t even reflect the room around them. Instead, the mirror was completely black and the surface looked textured and rippled. The whispering was loud, almost distinct. “What are they saying?” she said. “Time, here, there, now. It’s a mixture of things, warnings and prophecies of things to come. At first I thought the voices were all in my mind.” “I had thought so too.” She held out her free hand over the mirror. Was it just her eyes playing tricks on mind again or did the mirror itself warp in a convex fashion trying to meet with her hand? “Don’t touch it,” said Gammell. She quickly turned the mirror over to prevent herself from giving into the temptation. The strange, obliquely angled writing was on the back. But had it changed again? “That’s odd,” he said. “I swore it said something else before.” “No, it’s not you. This is actually the second time that the writing has changed.” He was silent for a moment before he said, “Soon. Whether it is fate that will take a turn or a set of choices that will be presented to us, it’ll be happening soon.”