This last title sits stagnant in my mind. It rolls around inside my skull, pinging against memories that have gone dormant but are now waking. I slide the book out and peer at the cover: a deck of cards fanned out on a stone surface, the joker is the only card facing up. A scattering of stars adorns the top third of the cover against a black background. I remember this book, remember seeing it in Levi’s lap when we were kids.
I’d lie on my back in the meadow beyond the farmhouse, the sun warming my face, while Levi practiced his card tricks. He’d let me choose a card from the deck then he’d shuffle it back in, a moment later magically plucking my card from the stack, and show it to me with a wide, gaping grin. I’d nod and we’d start again. He was always good at it, and he liked to practice his tricks with me before showing them to anyone else in the community. He wanted to get them just right, and I’d smile watching him concentrate so deeply that the freckles on his nose pulled together.
We were young then, thirteen, fourteen, and we’d weave our hands together under the hazelnut trees—shy and wary, giggling softly—before we’d run up the path to Pastoral to beg Roona for scraps of dough from the sweet lavender bread she was baking.
I slide the book back onto the shelf, not wanting the memory to tear me open any further.
If these are the books he’s kept hidden all this time, the things he’s kept locked away and safe inside the closet, then maybe he doesn’t have any secrets after all. Maybe he’s more transparent than I realized. A man who is afraid of losing his power, his control over his people, but nothing more sinister than that.
I rub at my eyes, my vision clouding briefly then re-forming.
My eyes settle on another row of titles, lower on the shelf:
Ways to Outthink the Brain by Helga Boar
The Structure of the Mind after Birth by Reginald Cartersmith
And then my gaze falters, skips to a book I remember like a spark across my synapses: the book Levi started reading once he abandoned simple card tricks and the magic of making dandelions and hair ribbons disappear. The book he would read with furious intensity. He would even recite passages to me, as if he were devouring each word and he wanted me to devour them too. He wanted to see if he could do it, if he could really make someone see, hear, smell things that weren’t truly there. If he could make them forget.
I slide the book out and hold it in my hands. It’s a heavy book, dense in content and page count. And it’s not a kid’s book, not for birthday party games. This is a clinical book, a practical application book. It took Levi years to read it all the way through, to understand it.
I let my fingers slide over the letters. I will my unpracticed eyes to focus on the words, and the memories snap through me with sudden, sharp accuracy.
I remember nearly everything.
Everything.
Hypnosis and Practical Applications to Alter the Function of the Brain by Dr. Arthur Trembly.
CALLA
The night sky is teeming with stars, but there is a bite to the air, the possibility of a storm.
We reach the edge of the community and duck into the tree line, not wanting to be seen. Candles throw light against windowpanes and children have been herded into their homes for bed. Pastoral is settling into an evening hush.
We pass the community kitchen and through the windows, I see two figures inside—Alice and Roona—working late as they often do. At least we know Alice won’t be home when we get there.
At the east end of the community, we cut across the main path, moving secretly to the front door of Levi’s house. It’s dark inside, not a single candle lit.
Hopefully Levi has drunk too much, as has been his nightly ritual lately, and is passed out in bed—an immovable human form that wouldn’t wake even if we thumped him on the head.
But we can’t be certain, so Theo pushes open the front door slowly, listening for any sounds. He looks back at me and holds a palm up, gesturing for me to wait here on the front porch, but I shake my head at him. I’m not waiting out here alone. “No,” I hiss. “I’m coming too.” He drops his hand and nods; it’s not worth the argument—we don’t have time—so he turns back for the open door and we both slip inside. The house is cold, drafty, and we move into the office off the living room. My shin thumps against a chair and I let out a wheeze, buckling forward. Theo snaps his gaze back at me and I cover a hand over my mouth, listening for someone moving down the stairs, for Levi to wake. But there is no sound. No movement on the second floor.
Either Levi really is passed out or perhaps he’s not even home, gone somewhere else within the community.
Theo reaches the broad wood desk and his outline bends low, opening one of the drawers. Books line the shelves on the far wall—I can smell their damp, inky scent—and the curtains over the window are drawn closed. Theo pulls out a tangled heap of keys from the drawer, keys to every vehicle that’s ever come to Pastoral, and he places them on the desk then begins sifting through the pile, searching for one key in particular.
“Do you know what it looks like?” I hiss.
He doesn’t answer, his hands working methodically through the keys secured on metal rings, others attached to woven fabric, while some have multiple keys tied together. But then Theo lifts one up, bringing it close to examine it. Hanging from one end is a square piece of metal that reads: Lone Pine Lake. It’s a souvenir, the kind of thing you buy at a gas station or at a small, lakeside store near a campground. A memento.
Memories swirl and collide through me, recalling such places: campgrounds and winding highways and car radios and the smell of tents newly erected after sitting in attics and garages for too long.
“I think this is it,” Theo says, holding the key up for me to see. And then he is quiet a moment, staring at it, and I wonder if he’s recalling a similar flutter of memories. “This is the key to my truck,” he states, as if to solidify it in his own mind.
He pushes the key into the pocket of his jeans, and looks at me, nodding. It’s time to go.
But that’s when I hear it: the banging through the walls.
An echo coming from inside the house. Upstairs.