More Than Meets the Eye
Emmalie lingered outside the closed office door for several long moments but was unable to catch any sound or motion from the other side. Drawing the deepest breath she could, she propelled her chair carefully toward the one lighted area at the end of the hallway, which she didn’t remember being there on her previous visit. When she reached the corner, she craned her neck to take in as much of the space as she could before entering it.
Unlike every other room stretching into the distance behind, no doors blocked it, and the open area spread on both sides, forming a long T shape with the seemingly interminable hallway. The odd black surface that had previously covered the short wall now stretched across the expanded space, although the remaining surfaces were bare and covered in a nondescript shade of paint, with a few indistinct pieces of furniture placed haphazardly around.
“What is this? Who are you? Where am I?”
Emmalie jumped at the harsh voice and turned quickly to the side of the room she hadn’t been examining, noticing for the first time the figure who sat in the farthest shadowed corner. He didn’t make any effort to stand or move toward her, and Emmalie swallowed hard and turned her chair to face in his direction, being careful to stay within the safety of the hallway opening.
“I—I’m Emmalie. Are you— Did you— Has anyone else—been here?”
“No. Only you. Where on earth is ‘here’?” The person in the corner moved forward a little, and Emmalie gave a little start of surprise at the realization that he sat in a wheeled chair like hers, although not nearly so elaborate. “And what on earth is that?” He waved a hand in her direction, and Emmalie glanced down at herself before realizing that he had probably meant to indicate her chair.
“Oh. This is—well—I don’t know exactly what to call it. I can’t walk, and I haven’t the strength to propel myself by my arms, the way…” She trailed off, her hands hovering nervously over the handles of her chair as the young man pushed a little closer. “My—a dear friend—invented this to—to give me what freedom he could.”
“You’re saying that’s a thing?” The slight lift of her companion’s eyebrows signaled intense disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like that, unless it’s someone tricked out for some goofy steampunk convention.”
“I couldn’t—say whether it truly exists for anyone but me.” Emmalie shook her head slowly. “Especially now that I know—I’m only a character in a story, but—”
“You’re what?” The young man’s hoarse voice rose in astonishment. “So you’re telling me I’m talking to—a figment of someone else’s imagination? Or—are you saying—” His face paled, and he fell back against his chair as the possibilities swept over him.
“I—I can’t tell you anything about yourself.” Emmalie gripped the handles of her chair and moved a little closer, abandoning the safety of the hall. “I only know—what I’ve been told about myself—what I’ve guessed about the rest of the doors in the hall. Did you—come from one of them?”
“So—you’re saying my life is what? Some sick joke for people’s entertainment?” His face had taken on an almost greenish pallor, and Emmalie dropped her eyes to her lap, then lifted them again with a shake of her head that gained strength as it continued.
“No. I don’t believe that. I don’t understand everything. I can’t even begin to. But from the little I’ve seen—I can’t help but believe there’s more. That my story—your story, if you have one—has some purpose beyond just pleasure for those who read it. I know I’ve learned so much from watching my sister and brother in their own story. And maybe my own story can encourage others in some small way I can’t see. It isn’t so much the things that happen to us as how we come through them that brings hope.”
“You obviously know nothing about me.” The young man’s hoarse voice came back a little choked, but he drew a shaky breath, and his shoulders lost just a bit of their stiffness. “And you sound a whole lot like someone else I know. Which I guess isn’t surprising since you’re apparently written by the same person.”
“But, if we’re correct, then—aren’t you as well?” Emmalie offered a hesitant smile, and after a second’s pause, her companion barked an incredulous laugh.
“Touché. All right. Then—” He paused and shook his head as he glanced around. “Fine. I’m Dash. And if you know so much, then what exactly are we doing here, and how do we get back to anything like where we belong?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that. The only time I’ve been here, the author had announcements that she wanted us to make, but she was here to tell us that. I don’t know what else we would be here for.”
“Makes a whole lot more sense out of that.” Dash huffed out a breath as he motioned to a large corkboard on the wall that Emmalie hadn’t noticed in her focus on him and the other side of the room. He reached up and pulled several papers from the pins that held them, then dropped them in Emmalie’s lap and sat back with his arms crossed.
Emmalie scanned the papers curiously for a moment before looking up and facing the odd black wall.
“It seems the only reason I’m here is because she wants you to know that she’s working on my story again, and hoping to make some significant progress during her writing camp next month. If you’re also a writer and interested in joining a community of Christian ladies to encourage and challenge each other for the month of July, she’ll show you where you can go to sign up. And she’s hoping she’ll have more of my story ready to share very soon.”
“As for the rest—” She paused and looked down at the papers again. “I’m not sure which of these is meant for you. She has a new short story coming out on July 4th—part of a futuristic series with themes of freedom and the effects of past trauma?”
“Not ringing any bells.” Dash’s rigid posture didn’t change, and Emmalie offered a little shrug and went back to reading.
“Well, whoever it is, you can preorder it now. Some of this—I’m not sure is meant for us at all… It looks like decorating ideas? And plans for—” She glanced up and around her and laughed. “Oh! I think it’s her plans for this room. Or—her ideas for it, at least; they don’t seem to be entirely finished.”
“Serves her right.” Dash snorted, and Emmalie laid the blueprints on a nearby table and scanned the last sheet.
“The last announcement is that she’s put the first five stories of The Chronic Warrior Chronicles in paperback, so anyone who’s—”
Her words were interrupted by a loud groan, and she looked up to see Dash pressing a tightly-clasped fist to his forehead.
“She did not! Please tell me you read that wrong!”
“The paperback?” Emmalie eyed the paper curiously, and Dash huffed.
“The title. No such luck, though—of course she would. Go on—can we end this as fast as possible?”
“That’s all there is. Just that if anyone’s been waiting for a paperback, they can buy it now.”
A soft click sounded from the hallway, and Emmalie turned and smiled at Dash.
“That must be what she wanted. The doors are open again.”
“I ought to stay here just to spite her,” Dash muttered, and Emmalie tipped her head thoughtfully.
“I suppose you could. But I think I’d rather go back and see what end all of this has been working toward. I hope someday you find the answers you’re looking for.” She gripped the handles of her chair and propelled herself carefully back through one of the open doors, and Dash waited until she disappeared before letting out a heavy sigh and making his way to his own.
After a long moment, the author poked her head cautiously out of the office, fiddled with her wrist control to lock the doors again, and hurried out to the newly constructed alcove to scoop up her notes before pointing her remote at the screen, eyes twinkling mischievously as the picture went black.
