Inner Cover

“Don’t you remember?” 

I heard this distinctly as though the written words echoed through the library. “Who said that?” was my brilliant response, but there was no reaction from any of the other patrons

“It was oh so long ago now, I think.” The voice continued. “We walked in the park, next to the lake where the ducks swam. People walked their dogs and the sun shone so brightly then, before it went dark. I’m glad that you’ve come to let the light in again.”

I could only sit bewildered with the dusty book on my lap. I looked at the cover where bright blue eyes twinkled covered in block letters reading, “The Girl Inside.” I took one more look around and returned to the page.

The words there reflected the ones which I’d heard. “I looked through the window at the people walking through the park. I could hear the dogs barking and the children laughing while feeding ducks by the water. I was free, looking through the glass at life beyond.”

The page rustled in my hand. “I was, too. The sun felt warm on the cool autumn days and the sounds were cheerful; then it all went dark.”

It was entrancing. Was I reading or listening? The longer I sat, the more difficult it became to distinguish the two and I gradually forgot to care as I turned the pages.

“It's so nice that the window is open again. I feel the breeze and hear the children.” The voice grew coy, gently chiding, “Just when I thought that you’d left me in the dark forever.”

I read on. “We walked down the street to that little coffee shop on the corner and stopped by the window. There were pastries and croissants displayed and they looked so good that I couldn’t help but want one.”

I felt her arm link in mine, tugging gently as I was pulled toward the door of the shop. “Come inside and talk. I haven’t had coffee in oh! so long and a Danish would be simply delightful.”

We stood at the counter and ordered, creamy cappuccino with a Danish for her and plain coffee for me. She walked to a small corner table and I followed, holding her chair for her as she sat.

“How gallant!” She exclaimed with a playful twinkle in her eyes. “You are such a romantic.”

I hadn’t really noticed the eyes before, but they were beautiful, like deep winter pools, dark blue with pale crystalline ice on top. A person could get lost in eyes like those and perhaps I did. At the very least the next thing I heard was her questioning me.

“Are you listening to me?”

I was startled, sucking in a deep gasp of air as though I’d briefly stopped breathing. “Well, I suppose I was just sort of lost there for a moment.”

She pouted. “And I thought you were a romantic! Here I am just talking away and you aren’t even paying attention to me.”

I felt paper beneath my fingers, turning a page? Where? The table in front of me had only my cup for decoration. “Actually,” I heard myself saying, “I seem to have been drowning in your eyes.” Her pout turned into a smile and I continued, “Thank you for bringing me back to reality.”

Was this reality? Something seemed wrong, different, as though I belonged elsewhere. I looked toward the front window and saw a pale reflection of myself but not sitting in a coffee shop. I was sitting in a chair holding a book, with bookshelves rising around me. I looked back around as a soft hand brushed my cheek.

“Are you still here?” Her smile was warm, inviting and the touch of her fingers beckoned me to her side. “I don’t want to be left in the dark again.”

In the dark? Who would leave this lovely woman in the dark? I turned from the window to see her leaning toward me, the rich luster of those eyes speaking with soundless eloquence of desire for freedom. They did seem like frozen pools, beautiful but cold.  Her skin was perfectly smooth, pale enough to match the crystalline blue of her eyes. Her hair was swept back to each side of her head like a raven’s wings and just as dark. Only the smile relieved the coldness of her visage.

“You seem so distracted today, almost like you would rather be somewhere else, not like yourself at all.” Her hand stroked my cheek gently and those eyes seemed to dampen, “Don’t you want to be here with me?”

Paper rustled in the background and the scene seemed to flash momentarily and almost as though I was reading a script I replied, “Where else could I possibly want to be?”

Her bright smile melted some of the ice across that beautiful face, but the eyes remained chill. She lifted her cup, sipping almost daintily, and her face cast an almost sly look over the rim. “Have you finished your coffee?” Some still remained in the bottom of my cup. “If you’re ready, I’d love to continue our walk. I’ve wanted to see the park for a long time now. I don’t remember when the last time was”

We stood and walked out onto the sidewalk and she linked her arm in mine, conspicuously staying to the side away from the street, as we stepped away to the left. People bustled along the sidewalk on the other side and cars moved along the street but no one walked on the side with us and something seemed odd about the traffic, though I couldn’t quite imagine what it was. We had walked several blocks and before us lay the street’s end, a cross street with a line of trees and short iron fence on the far side, before it struck me.

The entire scene was, for lack of a better term, quaint.

There was a slightly faded quality to the colors and the cars were all older, antique even. None of the other stroller’s clothing seemed modern and the place through which we walked almost seemed the setting of a movie in an earlier era. I stopped and looked at the display window next to which we stood. The store advertised hardware, Warren Bros. Hardware painted on the window, and the display was of children’s toys. Tricycles and wagons were artfully arranged in front of a board depicting smiling, cherubic faces. When was the last time I saw a small hardware store selling such items? I couldn’t remember. I stepped around my companion, wanting to step inside and look, and felt my arm pull tight as she held me back from the door. Again, I felt a brushing sensation in my fingertips and was sure that I heard a soft rustling of paper in the background.

“You don’t want to go in there.”

“But I do. I haven’t seen that sort of store with such a display in years.”

She pouted again, “I don’t want to look at a dusty old store.” She tugged on the arm to which she still clung, urging me toward the end of the street and the enclosed trees. “I want to walk in the green outdoors, in the light”

I stretched my hand toward the door handle and her pout deepened almost to a frown. She said nothing but I sighed and dropped it away, turning with her toward the park ahead. She smiled brightly again, hugging my arm as she linked hers in it again and stepped away, seeking the street’s end.

We passed through an arch in the iron fence on a graveled path leading between the large oaks. The sun shone brightly upon the lake where ducks swam and people walked their dogs beside it. We strolled slowly along without speaking, her clinging tightly to my left arm. At the far end of the lake was a shed, a strange shed. It was dusty and had double doors opening opposite one another with some sort of liner falling away at the upper corners which rustled like paper. A breeze brushed by me and rustled those hanging corners and I looked around, expecting something but seeing nothing. We stopped less than a foot from the doorway yet there seemed to be no light inside.

“Well go on, silly.” She said in a laughing voice, giving me a gentle push.

“Why?” I could think of no reason to enter a dark, disturbing shed standing alone and out of place in a strange park. Why was I even here? The sound of a page turning rode the wind.

“I was told that there are worlds inside.” The voice was winter’s heart and the shove she gave me was not gentle at all. I stumbled through the doorway. Behind me came a clapping sound, not the slamming of doors, more the forceful closing of a book.

Everything went dark.

The girl walking by caught my attention, pale skin, dark hair, walking briskly and exuding a strange air of triumph. I looked across the room and saw that the man who had been reading in the corner was gone but I hadn’t noticed. “Strange,” I muttered, “You’re slipping, Cleo Robinson, you’re slipping.” Talking to myself made everything seem better.

Whenever he had left, the man had apparently dropped his book to the floor, which irritated me immediately. I stalked over to retrieve it for reshelving. It was lying face-down when I picked it up and I turned it over to read the title. A pair of dark brown eyes seemed to look in panic at me from the cover and large block letters printed over them read, “The Boy Inside.”