Bedtime Story (50 page)

It was still early, barely eight o’clock, and there were a lot of people on the street. I raised my hand at the middle-aged gay couple taking their evening constitutional with their small black dog, and tried to ignore the skateboard kids rattling up the middle of the road. Life went on, the way it always did, our small tragedy not even registering on the face of the world.

Jacqui came out behind me and touched me on the shoulder. I didn’t turn to look at her, afraid of what my face might reveal.

“That was quick,” I said.

“I’m trying not to read too much each night,” she said. “We’re getting close to the end of the book.”

I winced.

“You must be exhausted,” she said, her hand still light on my back.

“I am,” I said. “I should probably head for bed.” The thought of going to my apartment, of being alone again, filled me with a cold horror, but I couldn’t just stand there, saying as little as possible to Jacqui, not wanting to risk the truth coming out.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” she said, almost in a whisper. “You could stay here.”

I had waited so long to hear those words.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, I can’t.”

It was hard enough to be in the house with her and David, everything a reminder of how I had failed them.

“Chris—”

“I can’t,” I repeated, starting down the steps, flicking my cigarette butt in the general direction of the street.

“Chris,” she said, in a different tone. “What happened in New York?”

I stopped. There it was: the question, blunt and unadorned, hanging in the air between us. There was no way for me to dodge it, and if I answered it, I would have to lie. Again.

“I’m sorry,” I said, starting down the walk. “I have to go to bed. I’m dead on my feet.”

The stairs were slick underfoot. David went slowly, checking his balance with every halting step. He didn’t want to have to grab at the walls to catch himself: they were covered with a slimy green coating of algae.

“This is gross,” he muttered, keeping to the middle of the staircase. He checked the torch often, vigilant for the slightest hint of the flame sputtering. “The other cave, there was a river running through it, lots of water, but nothing like this.”

Maybe something went wrong with this cave
.

“Gafilair doesn’t seem to have made many mistakes.”

It’s a thousand years old. And you know what the magus said about water
.

They descended in silence for several minutes.

We’re well under the level of the river now
, Matt said.
It’s getting wetter
.

He was right: David’s feet were splashing and water was trickling down the walls.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he murmured, remembering the water in the cavern at Rainbow Canyon.

At least you can still breath
, Matt said, drawing David’s eye back to the torch. It still burned strongly.

“Small comfort,” David said, then stopped. “We’re here.”

The bottom of the staircase widened into a small, square room. If he had stretched his arms out to his sides, he would have been able to just touch both of the slimy walls with the tips of his fingers.

Not that he was inclined to try.

On the opposite side of the room was another metal door, with the familiar symbol of the Sunstone etched into it just below David’s eye level.

He stepped toward the door for a closer look. This Sunstone was different: a hand-shape had been carved into the centre of the stone.

Jeez, I wonder what we should do with that
.

“Could you please stop …”

Sorry
, Matt said.
I make jokes when I’m nervous
.

“I’m scared too,” David said. “Do you think that this”—he looked at the palm-print on the door—“would open for just anyone? Anyone whose hand fit, I mean.”

No
, Matt said simply, as if there were no question in his mind.
These doors were made for you to open. Just like everything else. This is all about you
.

David had come up with the same answer, but it only led to another question. “Why me? Why build a quest and a prophecy out of the son of a tavern owner?”

That’s the way these stories are
, Matt said.
There’s always some farm boy or peasant pulled into a magical quest. It’s just the way it works
.

“Like Luke Skywalker,” David said.

Who?

David felt a sharp pang. Of course Matt probably wouldn’t know Luke Skywalker. Had the first
Star Wars
movie even been released when—

“Sorry,” he said, trying to cut off the flow of thoughts.

That’s—

Before Matt could reply—perhaps to keep him from replying—David stepped to the door and pressed his hand into the carved metal. He heard a click, the sound of a lock being released, and the door swung open with a groan.

The air that came out of the room made him retch. It was thick with rot and decay, and felt almost warm on his face. He noticed another smell, something sharp. It was familiar, but he couldn’t quite recognize it.

I don’t like this
.

Standing outside the room, David shifted from foot to foot, passing the torch between his hands. He almost convinced himself that he was just waiting for the foul air to clear.

David
.

“Okay,” he muttered. “First things first.” He clenched his hand tightly around the handle of the torch.

David—

“We’ll just take a look, see what we’re dealing with.”

David, that smell—

He pushed the torch into the doorway, hoping to get a better look.

The torchhead crackled, and the room exploded.

I
POURED MYSELF A CUP
of coffee and walked back to the desk, lighting a cigarette as I opened up my in-box. The morning sun was bright through the window, and I drew the curtains. Last night had been a brutal night of terrifying dreams.

The top message header read Re: Interview Request.

I closed the message without writing down any of the contact information—there was no point. Two weeks ago, anything Carol Corvin could have told me about her son’s injuries would have been another piece of the puzzle.

But now it didn’t matter: I knew what the puzzle looked like, and it would never be solved.

It took a long time for David to get to his feet again after the explosion. He stood up slowly, wincing at the pain in his back where he had fallen against the edge of the stairs.

I was trying to tell you
, Matt said.
That smell—it was some sort of gas
.

He took one step toward the doorway. “Oh my God,” he said. Before him was the most beautiful, the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

The very air in the next room seemed to be on fire, ribbons and rivulets of orange flame shimmering and dancing, moving almost as if they were alive. It reminded him of the night his father had woken him and bundled him onto the front porch, pointing to the sky where curtains of light seemed to waver and dance. The heat now coming from the doorway was overpowering, but the flames showed no indication of spilling into the antechamber.

I think it’s methane
, Matt explained.
From the rotting plants and the slime
.

“No, I think somebody did this on purpose,” David said. “Look.”

The flames in the air were starting to fade as he watched, retreating to the centre of the room, losing the intensity of their colour. In the dying light of the flaming air, the symbol of the Sunstone was plainly visible, carved into the floor of the chamber in deep channels. Flames rose from the outer circle, low enough to step over, but from the sun at the centre of the room burst a pale orange tower of flame almost as tall as David.

And as the flames extinguished in the rest of the room, leaving only a smell of ash, the fires of the Sunstone showed no sign of fading.

David slumped in the doorway.

He did it on purpose
.

“Yeah,” David agreed. “Gafilair designed it like this. Someone would open the door with the torch he left, which would light the gases, which would light the symbol.”

Not someone
, Matt said.
You
.

He gazed into the flames. They seemed to be growing higher.

“I’m pretty sick of it being all about me,” he said. He felt so tired, so cold. All he wanted to do was wake up in his own bed, and find out that all of this had been a dream. Back with his mom and dad.

It’s a test
, Matt said.

“I know it’s a test. I’m sick of all these tests. I just want to get the Stone and go home.”

No
, Matt said.
It’s not a test like that. It’s not that the book wants you to fail at finding the Stone
. He struggled to find the words.
They want you to get the Stone. It’s the only way to get to a happy ending. It’s not so much a test as it is a … a trial. It’s a way for you to demonstrate your worthiness
.

David wished he could see the other boy, read the expression on his face. “What?”

You’re the hero of the story, right? That means you have to get the Stone. But because you’re the hero, you’re the one who does get it. It’s already been decided. You already have everything you need to get the Stone
.

David tried to wrap his mind around what the other boy was saying. “So because this is all about me, I’ll get the Stone, simple as that?”

We just have to figure out how you do it
.

When I let myself into the house, David’s sheets were peeled back and the living room was empty.

“Hello,” I called out.

“We’re in the bathroom,” Jacqui replied.

I was bracing myself to find David slouched on the toilet again as I came around the corner, and was pleasantly surprised to see him in the bathtub instead.

And even more surprised to see that he was smiling.

“We decided it was time for a bath,” Jacqui said. She was wearing
jogging pants and a T-shirt one size too big, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

“I think he likes it.”