Chapter Two: Breaking the Wall
My sister's comment for the previous chapter: "No, I haven't read it yet. Done? AS in completely? As in ready to be published after a titch of editing, I'm sure? THAT kind of done?YAY!!! Send me ALL of it. Now. :D"
Yes, that kind of done. And I won't send you all of it, at least not all at once. But here's chapter 2 for your enjoyment.
***
The second chapter began with the title Breaking the Wall. Wall? What wall? The Fourth Wall, perhaps? Matt hadn’t seen any evidence yet to suggest a first, second, or third wall yet, let alone a fourth one. Well, it would, perhaps, become apparent as the book went on.
Oh no . . . it was happening again. The book was tracing his thoughts. How was it doing that? This was a strange book . . . and it was getting stranger. Throughout the first chapter, the book had started to seem . . . more real than usual. In fact, every time one of the characters had commented on being watched, he had felt like he had actually been watching them, as opposed to just reading about them. But every time they noticed, Matt had come back to reality, and the book had become a book again. But now, it was happening again. He wasn’t just reading about Daniel Farthington pacing, he could see him pacing. He could see Gabrielle watching in concern. The others were no where to be seen; perhaps they had gone out to explore the town a bit. He could even see--though it gave him a headache to think about it--that someone was watching them. But he was watching them. It was like that feeling when he was asleep, and knew he was asleep. It was all becoming very confusing . . . but fortunately at that moment, Gabrielle became aware of him, and the book was just a book again.
***
The Archives, later that day.
Gabrielle looked around. She could have sworn that something had been watching them. But even as she became aware of it, it disappeared. Must have been her imagination. She was bound to be a little jumpy after all that had happened to her today.
The others were out exploring what remained of the town. Daniel remained behind, pacing his small office in distress. Gabrielle felt a bit sorry for him. He had, after all, been here a long time, waiting for this moment. It hadn’t occurred to him that the hardest part might not be the waiting, but the convincing.
"I’m sorry about all this, Daniel," she said.
The man sighed. "It’s not your fault," he said. "I should have known . . . of course you wouldn’t trust this strange man after being thrown into this situation. Twenty years here, and that never occurred to me." He sighed. "There must be some way to convince you."
"How did all this come about?" Gabrielle asked. "I mean, how is it that you’ve been here for twenty years, waiting for us." Daniel sat at his cluttered desk. It was so covered with papers, Gabrielle wondered how he was ever able to find anything.
"My family moved here in 2027, just before I was born. It was unusual, at that time, for families to move in . . . my parents enjoyed music, and they were always looking for a town that had some sort of music program. But when nothing presented itself, they were able to settle for someplace quiet, set apart from the larger city areas. It wasn’t difficult to find a house . . . by 2027, the town was breaking up. The fire in 2000 had caused a huge blow to the community, and things had not been going well before then. People decided that this was no longer a good place to live. My parents . . . they seemed to see something in this place. Some potential for greatness . . ." He drifted off for a moment.
"At first, I was not at all happy to be living here. I was young, and wanted excitement, and this town provided none, especially since it was half empty. Then I discovered the archives . . . and a new world opened up. I became fascinated by this town’s history, the people who had passed through, the events it had weathered . . . and I began to wonder what had gone wrong.
"I became interested in a music building that had almost been built in honor of a great violinist, Annalise Bridges. I guess I had the same passion for music as my parents, and I fell in love with this great musician and her tragic story . . . and I thought ‘If only she had not disappeared, and had found her passion for music again . . . then maybe this town would have the "Bridges Performing Arts Center!" What a wonderful thing!’" He sighed, sadly. "One of the articles about Annalise’s disappearance mentioned the disappearance of Faith Hutchinson ninety years before. So I researched that story as well. Faith was nearly as notorious as Annalise of course, but I loved the story of her engagement to Albert Quinn. All of the letters they exchanged are on file here, of course. And I wondered what would have happened if Faith had not disappeared." He stood again.
"In time, I came to learn about you . . . the infamous Angel Gabriel . . . and eventually, Elizabeth. She was the hardest to find, since she was technically a runaway, but I was able to find her name mentioned among the papers of the Wilsons . . . and of course, her parents were among those killed in the fire."
"Yes," Gabrielle said, sadly. She hoped that the fire, at least, could be prevented.
"I was in the last class to graduate from Blue Springs High School, before the school closed. There were only twenty people in my graduating class. I went to the University of Georgia, majoring of course in history, and got my degree as quickly as possible. But upon my return to Blue Springs, I discovered that things had worsened. The closing of the school had caused many families to move away to other school districts. Even my own family decided that it was time to move elsewhere. But I decided to stay. I had learned so much about this town; I couldn’t leave it now.
"A committee was formed, determined to save Blue Springs. Through new technology, we were able to see that it was possible to save the town, retroactively . . . that is, to change history . . . but that four elements were missing from history. Without those four elements, it was impossible."
"And we were the four elements?" Gabrielle asked.
Daniel nodded. "I remembered my trips to the archives, and brought this to the leader of the committee. We discovered the boulder, realized what it was, and knew that the four of you would likely appear sometime in the future. But we did not know when. It was 2050 by this time, and the twelve people on the committee were all that remained of the town. There was nothing more to be done, except wait."
"And the rest of the committee left?"
"Yes. I volunteered to stay behind. It seemed only right; I was the youngest member of the group, and I knew the most about the four of you."
"You have incredible loyalty, Daniel." Daniel smiled, wanly.
"Thank you. However, loyalty may not be enough, now."
"I want to help," Gabrielle said. "I can be very persuasive. Convince me, and maybe I can convince the others."
Daniel looked at her for a moment. "Very well. What do you need to know?"
"I need to know that what you say is true. Maybe there’s something in the archives." Daniel sighed.
"It’s dangerous, sharing future technology. I could corrupt . . ."
"If you know everything about me, then you know I will keep anything you show me a secret. I won’t try to sneak off with the technology, and get rich off of something I said I invented." Daniel still looked unsure. "It’s the only way, Daniel." He sighed.
"Very well. You are very persuasive. Come with me." He led her into the next room. It was bare, except for a few paper bins. On one wall was a speaker grille, a blue button, and what looked like a mail slot.
Daniel pushed the button and spoke into the grille. "Gabrielle Rochester, 24 February 1980 to 24 March 1980, Beta-two-zero." There was a pause, and then a mass of papers slid out of the slot and into a bin below.
"I told the computer to give me everything about you that was significant between those two dates." He took the small stack of papers from the bin and started to return to his cubicle. Then he paused, and turned back to the speaker grille. "Gabrielle Rochester, conversations with Brian Salmon, 25 February 1980, 1500 to 1600 hours." Another stack of papers fell out. Daniel took them, and returned to the cubicle.
He placed the pile on his already messy desk, and handed the first few pages to Gabrielle. Gabrielle began to read.
"When I was in grade school, there was this kid. He used to pick on me everyday. Not unusual, of course; every grade school has bullies. In fact, there’s a good chance that I was the bully some of those times."
"This is a sermon I preached last Sunday," she said. "It was about forgiveness and loving thy neighbor."
"Your last sermon, according to history," Daniel said. "You preached it the Sunday before you disappeared."He handed her a letter. Gabrielle recognized her mother’s hand.
"Dear Gabrielle,
Hi. I don’t know if you remember me. I gave birth to you about thirty-odd years ago."
Gabrielle chuckled, again. "A letter from my mother." Daniel nodded.
"I also have the letter you wrote back," he said. Indeed, Gabrielle recognized her own handwriting.
Daniel then handed her the four letters she had been reading by the boulder just before disappearing. They seemed to be perfect replicas. Then he gave her a newspaper article.
ANGEL GABRIEL VANISHES!
Foul play suspected in disappearance of local evangelist
BLUE SPRINGS, GEORGIA--32-year-old Gabrielle Rochester, better known as the Angel Gabriel, was discovered missing Friday afternoon, when she failed to return to her office from lunch. The young evangelist was last seen walking down Laurel Street in Blue Springs. Several letters written to Miss Rochester were found by a large boulder in a clearing off of Laurel Street. Her assistant, Brian Salmon, has confirmed that she had taken the letters to read during her lunch break. A half eaten lunch was also found near the boulder.
Gabrielle put down the article, and Daniel handed her another.
GABRIELLE ROCHESTER DECLARED DEAD
Candlelight vigil to be held in her honor
BLUE SPRINGS, GEORGIA--Police have announced that 32-year-old Gabrielle Rochester has been officially declared dead, after a month of searching. Miss Rochester had . . .
Gabrielle stopped reading. She really did not want to read about her own death.
"These things could be found in any archive in your time, I’m sure," Daniel said. "But I don’t imagine that you would find this." He handed her the last stack of paper that he had picked up from the machine. It seemed to be a play script.
Gabrielle is sitting and writing at her desk when Brian enters with a large bag of mail and drops it on the floor.
BRIAN: (short of breath, and wiping his brow, as if he has just done very strenuous work) It’s time for your favorite task again.
GABRIELLE: No, no, no . . . Didn’t we just do this?
BRIAN: Yeah, last week.
GABRIELLE: I still have nightmares . . .
BRIAN: Oh, c’mon. It’s not that bad.
GABRIELLE: Said that man not getting ten million letters every day.
BRIAN: (shrugs)The longer you put it off, the bigger the pile is going to be.
GABRIELLE: (sighs) That’s just a week’s worth of mail?
BRIAN: (smiles) Actually we’ve done most of the work already. Most of the letters fall into basic categories, and we have a standard reply for them. But there is the occasional oddity that needs your attention. (Reaches into the bag and pulls out a small handful of letters.)
GABRIELLE: That’s it? (Brian nods.) Well, that’s a little better. What did you bring that bag in here for then?
BRIAN: Oh, I just wanted you to know how hard we all work for you.
GABRIELLE: Yeah, thanks. You just brought that in to scare me.
BRIAN: That too. Shall we begin?
Gabrielle gaped at the page. "This is . . . this is the conversation I had with Brian a couple days ago . . . word for word! How did you . . .?"
"We now have the technology to record any event in history, and have it scripted just like this. It’s fairly new to our time, but it has had a lot of success. Many ancient mysteries have been solved with this."
"This is . . . incredible! Daniel . . . this would do it. If you wouldn’t mind sharing your technology. And you wouldn’t be, really. All they would see is the slot spitting out paper; they would have no way of understanding how the mechanism works. And you could . . . you could show them what happened after they left. They would see that it’s real, and . . ."
"It’s possible," Daniel said, slight hope dawning. "But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about history, it’s that people don’t respond as well to the written word as they do to the real thing. If there was some way they could see it . . ." He looked around, and Gabrielle felt that now familiar feeling of being watched.
Matt jumped, and Daniel seemed to look right at him.
"There may be a way . . ." he said.
***
The former Wilson residence.
Matt was taken away from the Archives, to another part of town. He saw Elizabeth, standing before the long-abandoned household of the Wilsons. She looked at the house, feeling slightly nostalgic. It seemed like both seventy years, and just a few hours, since she had left the house. She noticed something in the front yard that hadn’t been there before. She walked through the gate. The long grass brushed at her knees. You could lose a small child in here, she thought to herself. She came upon the thing she had seen. It appeared to be a stone of some sort. She brushed the grass aside to get a better look, and gasped.
Porpington-Potts
Father
Jacob
October 9, 1958-November 12, 2000
Mother
Megan
May 23, 1959-November 12, 2000
Daughter, Loyal Worker
Elizabeth
September 30, 1984-November 12, 2000
Together At Last
Elizabeth backed away from the stone, feeling dizzy. Her parents really had been killed. November 12 . . . that was day after her disappearance. The day of the fire. And there had been a fire . . . Elizabeth had seen some of the results. The hotel that had supposedly burned down was no longer there, except for the foundation, and most of the other buildings on that end of town were gone as well. That much of Daniel’s story seemed to be true. Her parents had been killed in the fire . . . and the Wilsons had buried them here.
Elizabeth threw up.
Suddenly, she had the feeling of being watched. She turned around, seeming to look right at Matt, but not seeing him. "Who’s there?" she asked, looking around. But there was no one to see. "Annalise? Faith? Mr. Farthington?" No answer. But the feeling hadn’t gone away.
Matt knew, somehow, that it was he that she was reacting to. But that was impossible! How could a story character be aware of its reader?
"It doesn’t make sense . . ." he muttered. Elizabeth jumped.
"Who said that?" The voice had been male, but unfamiliar. She started walking back, away from the Wilson’s lawn.
"Can you . . . can you hear me?" Matt asked, feeling foolish.
"Of course I can hear you!" Elizabeth snapped, irately. "Who the hell are you?"
"I’m . . . I’m Matt . . ."
"Matt who?" Elizabeth shouted. "Come out here where I can see you!"
Matt had a sudden craving for a piña colada. "I . . . I’m reading the story."
"You’re reading what story?"
"Your story."
"What?"
"Yours . . . and Gabrielle’s, and Annalise’s, and Faith’s . . ."
"You’ve been watching us?"
"No, reading about you." Elizabeth tried not to lose her temper, but she was growing quite irritated.
"Listen," she said, somewhat evenly. "Either come out here this instant, or . . ."
"I can’t . . . I’m not really there, see . . . I’m--I’m out here, reading this book . . ."
"Well, put the damn book down and come out here!!" Elizabeth said, somewhat unevenly.
"I can’t," Matt said, suddenly realizing that he was having a conversation with a fictional character . . . and reading about it. "If I put the book down, I won’t be reading about you anymore, so I won’t be here."
"But you just said that you weren’t here!"
"I’m not here, as in Blue Springs here. I’m here, as in wherever I am, here."
Elizabeth decided that this person was quite mad. "Are you saying . . . that you are not in Blue Springs, and yet you are able to talk to me?"
Matt struggled for a way to explain. "I . . . I may not necessarily be on earth . . . that is, earth as you know it in the story."
"WHAT STORY?!?"
"The story you’re in."
"I’m not in a story, you great prat; I’m in real life!"
Matt knew better than to argue, even if the person he was arguing with wasn’t exactly real.
"Elizabeth?" the girl turned at the sound of her name. "Who are you talking to?" Faith was walking toward her.
"I was . . . well, I’m not exactly sure who, but there’s someone here!" Faith glanced around.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! I was just speaking to him."
"But I don’t--," She paused, for at that moment, she too felt like she was being watched.
Matt saw Faith walking up. She looked around, just as Elizabeth had, looking at Matt but not really seeing him. "Hello?"
"Hello," Matt replied. Faith jumped.
"Where are you?" she called.
"Um . . . I’m not exactly sure," Matt said. "I mean, I’m sitting here reading a book, and the book is about you."
"Oh, I see," Faith said.
"You do?" Elizabeth asked, incredulous. "Then would you mind terribly explaining it to me?"
"It’s simple. The man is reading a story, and we are characters in that story," Faith explained, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
"But . . . but, this is real! This isn’t a story!"
"It’s a story to someone," Faith said. "If you, for example, were to read about me, it would be a story to you. But it would still be quite real for me. And Mr. Farthington says he has read about all of us."
"Yes," Elizabeth agreed, reluctantly. "But the reader isn’t able to communicate with what he is reading about, is he?"
"No," Faith said. "That is, indeed, a mystery. Perhaps we should ask the reader." She spoke to Matt. "What is your name, sir?"
"Matt," said Matt.
"Very well, Matt. Do you know why you are able to communicate with us?"
"No . . . this has never happened to me before. Normally when I read, it’s just print on a page, but now it seems to be turning real."
"You’re all mad," Elizabeth muttered.
"Is it any stranger than traveling through time?" Faith inquired.
"Traveling through time I can deal with . . . but this is just too weird!"
Faith changed the subject. "They’re calling us back to the Archives. Come." She had certainly gotten past her trance from before!
"Wait! How can you just accept that so readily?"
"I’ve been pulled two hundred years into the future; I’m ready to accept anything." Elizabeth sighed, and followed her away from the house. Matt also followed. Or his perception did. Whatever.
"I . . . I found my parents’ grave," Elizabeth said. "They really were killed in a fire. It’s . . . so strange seeing them here.
"I know," Faith said. "I saw my father’s grave."
"It’s just that . . . I wished so many horrible things on my parents, when I was angry at them . . . I never thought they would actually happen."
They walked back into the Archives. Annalise, Gabrielle, and Mr. Farthington were already there. Annalise looked startled as they entered.
"Is there . . . is there someone else with you?" Annalise said. "I felt like a third person entered the room."
"Well," Elizabeth started, ". . . in a way . . . it’s hard to explain . . ."
"You’ve encountered the Reader as well?" Mr. Farthington asked. Annalise looked somewhat perplexed. Matt shared her feeling, but for a different reason.
"The Reader?"
"You’ve no doubt had the feeling ever since you arrived here that you were being watched. Am I right?"
"Yes . . ." Annalise said, slowly. "I thought that was you . . . then I felt it again after we met you. I . . . I just thought I was being paranoid."
"You weren’t," Gabrielle said. "Someone was watching you . . . and is watching us now, I believe."
"He said . . . that he was reading a story. Our story."
"You’ve communicated with him?" Mr. Farthington asked. "Interesting. I don’t believe that has ever happened before."
"But what is he?" Faith asked. Matt tried to suppress his annoyance at being talked about. He was not, after all, technically in the room.
"Throughout the history of out town," Mr. Farthington explained, "there have been several records of feelings similar to what you four have been feeling. Many people talk of the feeling that they are being watched by some unknown person, but the identity of such persons are never discovered. These events are concentrated in several specific periods, including the Civil War and Reconstruction era, fifties, the late eighties, and early nineties of the twentieth century, as well as many times in the last fifty or sixty years. Occurrences seem to become more frequent as time goes on. I’ve become so accustomed to it over the past twenty years, that I barely notice anymore."
"But what causes these feelings?" Faith asked.
"There have been many speculations. During the Civil War, they were thought by many to be the spirits of dead soldiers and villagers. This was a source of some comfort to many who had lost loved ones in the war. During the fifties, with the fear of communism lurking, they were thought to be Russian spies. The late twentieth centuries brought so many ludicrous explanations, that I’ve forgotten them all. But we believe we made our best guess in the last fifty years. Elizabeth, you are the only one here likely to be familiar with Ende’s, The Neverending Story."
"I’ve heard of it," Elizabeth said, "but I don’t really know anything about it."
"I’m not terribly familiar with it either, but I do know that in that story, the boundary between one of the characters and the story he is reading disappears, and he becomes part of the story. I believe there is a similar concept here, except that there are most likely several Readers, and their contact with us is limited to the eerie feeling of being watched . . . until now, apparently."
"Wait," Annalise said. "You’re saying that we are characters in a story, and that something is reading us?"
"That’s what Matt said," Faith said. "He said he was reading about us and what we were doing?"
"Matt?" Annalise said. "It has a name?"
"Of course," Mr. Farthington said. "Matt is probably no less a person than the rest of us. He just exists on another plain of reality, where our plain of reality is a mere story. It is doubtful whether Blue Springs, Georgia exists in his reality, or even this world for that matter."
"This whole concept of time travel was hard enough to except," Annalise said, "but now you’re asking me to believe that some . . . being is sitting in his living room reading about us, and none of us is even real?"
"Oh, we are quite real to ourselves," Mr. Farthington insisted. "But we are only as real to him as he is to us."
"But he is real!" Elizabeth said. "I was speaking with him earlier. Faith heard him too."
"Do you think he would be able to communicate now?" Mr. Farthington asked.
"I don’t see why not," Faith said. "Matt, can you hear me?"
"In a matter of speaking," Matt said. Annalise jumped at the sound of his voice.
"This is interesting!" Mr. Farthington said. "No one has ever been able to communicate with a Reader before. Hello, Reader!"
"Um . . . hello," Matt said.
"Have you been following all of this?" he asked.
"Well, as well I’m able to," Matt said. "It’s a little confusing."
"I would imagine so, yes," Mr. Farthington said.
"This is all fascinating," Annalise interrupted, "but you’re supposed to be convincing us that we should go back and change things."
"Yes, I am," Mr. Farthington said, seeming excited now. "And Matt is going to help me."
"He is?" Faith asked.
"I am?" Matt asked.
"How can a Reader help?" Elizabeth said. "He’s basically an observer, isn’t he?"
"Yes," Mr. Farthington said. "He is an observer of history, in a sense. Anything he reads becomes reality for us."
"Daniel has a computer that can print out scenes from history, as they occurred," Gabrielle said, evidently having helped in this. "All we have to do is tell it what scene we want, and it will give it to us, in the form of a story. If we can get Matt here to read the stories--,"
"And have the four of you stand in as the characters--," Mr. Farthington interjected.
"It would show everyone the scene," Gabrielle concluded. "All we have to do is break the fourth wall far enough so that Matt can enter the story."
"Fourth wall?" Annalise said. "Isn’t that a theatre concept?"
"Yes, but it applies here too," Mr. Farthington said. "In theatre, the fourth wall is the invisible barrier between the audience and what is happening on stage. In some plays, a character will break from the action, and address the audience. This is called breaking the wall. In our case, the wall is the barrier between the reader and his story. That wall has already been broken, since we have been talking to Matt. Now we need to remove it so that Matt can join us."
"I won’t even ask how we do that," Annalise said. "But I’m beginning to see your point."
"I will give him scenes to read. They will become real, and we will be a part of them. I believe I can use these to make my case."
"I think even more can be done," Annalise said, smiling. "If Matt doesn’t mind a little extra reading, I think the four of us should present our argument similarly. Each of us can pick a scene from our lives that should illustrate why we shouldn’t go back and change things. Perhaps we can end up convincing you, Mr. Farthington."
"Perhaps," Mr. Farthington said. "That sound all right to you, Matt?"
"I don’t mind reading," Matt said. "I’ve been doing that all along, after all. Still . . . I don’t know, it all seems a little weird to me."
"Well, why not join us in the story for a moment, and see what you think, and then decide?"
Matt shrugged. "Okay." And just like that, he was a character in the story.
***
End of Chapter 2.
"What's next?"
Yes, that kind of done. And I won't send you all of it, at least not all at once. But here's chapter 2 for your enjoyment.
***
The second chapter began with the title Breaking the Wall. Wall? What wall? The Fourth Wall, perhaps? Matt hadn’t seen any evidence yet to suggest a first, second, or third wall yet, let alone a fourth one. Well, it would, perhaps, become apparent as the book went on.
Oh no . . . it was happening again. The book was tracing his thoughts. How was it doing that? This was a strange book . . . and it was getting stranger. Throughout the first chapter, the book had started to seem . . . more real than usual. In fact, every time one of the characters had commented on being watched, he had felt like he had actually been watching them, as opposed to just reading about them. But every time they noticed, Matt had come back to reality, and the book had become a book again. But now, it was happening again. He wasn’t just reading about Daniel Farthington pacing, he could see him pacing. He could see Gabrielle watching in concern. The others were no where to be seen; perhaps they had gone out to explore the town a bit. He could even see--though it gave him a headache to think about it--that someone was watching them. But he was watching them. It was like that feeling when he was asleep, and knew he was asleep. It was all becoming very confusing . . . but fortunately at that moment, Gabrielle became aware of him, and the book was just a book again.
***
The Archives, later that day.
Gabrielle looked around. She could have sworn that something had been watching them. But even as she became aware of it, it disappeared. Must have been her imagination. She was bound to be a little jumpy after all that had happened to her today.
The others were out exploring what remained of the town. Daniel remained behind, pacing his small office in distress. Gabrielle felt a bit sorry for him. He had, after all, been here a long time, waiting for this moment. It hadn’t occurred to him that the hardest part might not be the waiting, but the convincing.
"I’m sorry about all this, Daniel," she said.
The man sighed. "It’s not your fault," he said. "I should have known . . . of course you wouldn’t trust this strange man after being thrown into this situation. Twenty years here, and that never occurred to me." He sighed. "There must be some way to convince you."
"How did all this come about?" Gabrielle asked. "I mean, how is it that you’ve been here for twenty years, waiting for us." Daniel sat at his cluttered desk. It was so covered with papers, Gabrielle wondered how he was ever able to find anything.
"My family moved here in 2027, just before I was born. It was unusual, at that time, for families to move in . . . my parents enjoyed music, and they were always looking for a town that had some sort of music program. But when nothing presented itself, they were able to settle for someplace quiet, set apart from the larger city areas. It wasn’t difficult to find a house . . . by 2027, the town was breaking up. The fire in 2000 had caused a huge blow to the community, and things had not been going well before then. People decided that this was no longer a good place to live. My parents . . . they seemed to see something in this place. Some potential for greatness . . ." He drifted off for a moment.
"At first, I was not at all happy to be living here. I was young, and wanted excitement, and this town provided none, especially since it was half empty. Then I discovered the archives . . . and a new world opened up. I became fascinated by this town’s history, the people who had passed through, the events it had weathered . . . and I began to wonder what had gone wrong.
"I became interested in a music building that had almost been built in honor of a great violinist, Annalise Bridges. I guess I had the same passion for music as my parents, and I fell in love with this great musician and her tragic story . . . and I thought ‘If only she had not disappeared, and had found her passion for music again . . . then maybe this town would have the "Bridges Performing Arts Center!" What a wonderful thing!’" He sighed, sadly. "One of the articles about Annalise’s disappearance mentioned the disappearance of Faith Hutchinson ninety years before. So I researched that story as well. Faith was nearly as notorious as Annalise of course, but I loved the story of her engagement to Albert Quinn. All of the letters they exchanged are on file here, of course. And I wondered what would have happened if Faith had not disappeared." He stood again.
"In time, I came to learn about you . . . the infamous Angel Gabriel . . . and eventually, Elizabeth. She was the hardest to find, since she was technically a runaway, but I was able to find her name mentioned among the papers of the Wilsons . . . and of course, her parents were among those killed in the fire."
"Yes," Gabrielle said, sadly. She hoped that the fire, at least, could be prevented.
"I was in the last class to graduate from Blue Springs High School, before the school closed. There were only twenty people in my graduating class. I went to the University of Georgia, majoring of course in history, and got my degree as quickly as possible. But upon my return to Blue Springs, I discovered that things had worsened. The closing of the school had caused many families to move away to other school districts. Even my own family decided that it was time to move elsewhere. But I decided to stay. I had learned so much about this town; I couldn’t leave it now.
"A committee was formed, determined to save Blue Springs. Through new technology, we were able to see that it was possible to save the town, retroactively . . . that is, to change history . . . but that four elements were missing from history. Without those four elements, it was impossible."
"And we were the four elements?" Gabrielle asked.
Daniel nodded. "I remembered my trips to the archives, and brought this to the leader of the committee. We discovered the boulder, realized what it was, and knew that the four of you would likely appear sometime in the future. But we did not know when. It was 2050 by this time, and the twelve people on the committee were all that remained of the town. There was nothing more to be done, except wait."
"And the rest of the committee left?"
"Yes. I volunteered to stay behind. It seemed only right; I was the youngest member of the group, and I knew the most about the four of you."
"You have incredible loyalty, Daniel." Daniel smiled, wanly.
"Thank you. However, loyalty may not be enough, now."
"I want to help," Gabrielle said. "I can be very persuasive. Convince me, and maybe I can convince the others."
Daniel looked at her for a moment. "Very well. What do you need to know?"
"I need to know that what you say is true. Maybe there’s something in the archives." Daniel sighed.
"It’s dangerous, sharing future technology. I could corrupt . . ."
"If you know everything about me, then you know I will keep anything you show me a secret. I won’t try to sneak off with the technology, and get rich off of something I said I invented." Daniel still looked unsure. "It’s the only way, Daniel." He sighed.
"Very well. You are very persuasive. Come with me." He led her into the next room. It was bare, except for a few paper bins. On one wall was a speaker grille, a blue button, and what looked like a mail slot.
Daniel pushed the button and spoke into the grille. "Gabrielle Rochester, 24 February 1980 to 24 March 1980, Beta-two-zero." There was a pause, and then a mass of papers slid out of the slot and into a bin below.
"I told the computer to give me everything about you that was significant between those two dates." He took the small stack of papers from the bin and started to return to his cubicle. Then he paused, and turned back to the speaker grille. "Gabrielle Rochester, conversations with Brian Salmon, 25 February 1980, 1500 to 1600 hours." Another stack of papers fell out. Daniel took them, and returned to the cubicle.
He placed the pile on his already messy desk, and handed the first few pages to Gabrielle. Gabrielle began to read.
"When I was in grade school, there was this kid. He used to pick on me everyday. Not unusual, of course; every grade school has bullies. In fact, there’s a good chance that I was the bully some of those times."
"This is a sermon I preached last Sunday," she said. "It was about forgiveness and loving thy neighbor."
"Your last sermon, according to history," Daniel said. "You preached it the Sunday before you disappeared."He handed her a letter. Gabrielle recognized her mother’s hand.
"Dear Gabrielle,
Hi. I don’t know if you remember me. I gave birth to you about thirty-odd years ago."
Gabrielle chuckled, again. "A letter from my mother." Daniel nodded.
"I also have the letter you wrote back," he said. Indeed, Gabrielle recognized her own handwriting.
Daniel then handed her the four letters she had been reading by the boulder just before disappearing. They seemed to be perfect replicas. Then he gave her a newspaper article.
ANGEL GABRIEL VANISHES!
Foul play suspected in disappearance of local evangelist
BLUE SPRINGS, GEORGIA--32-year-old Gabrielle Rochester, better known as the Angel Gabriel, was discovered missing Friday afternoon, when she failed to return to her office from lunch. The young evangelist was last seen walking down Laurel Street in Blue Springs. Several letters written to Miss Rochester were found by a large boulder in a clearing off of Laurel Street. Her assistant, Brian Salmon, has confirmed that she had taken the letters to read during her lunch break. A half eaten lunch was also found near the boulder.
Gabrielle put down the article, and Daniel handed her another.
GABRIELLE ROCHESTER DECLARED DEAD
Candlelight vigil to be held in her honor
BLUE SPRINGS, GEORGIA--Police have announced that 32-year-old Gabrielle Rochester has been officially declared dead, after a month of searching. Miss Rochester had . . .
Gabrielle stopped reading. She really did not want to read about her own death.
"These things could be found in any archive in your time, I’m sure," Daniel said. "But I don’t imagine that you would find this." He handed her the last stack of paper that he had picked up from the machine. It seemed to be a play script.
Gabrielle is sitting and writing at her desk when Brian enters with a large bag of mail and drops it on the floor.
BRIAN: (short of breath, and wiping his brow, as if he has just done very strenuous work) It’s time for your favorite task again.
GABRIELLE: No, no, no . . . Didn’t we just do this?
BRIAN: Yeah, last week.
GABRIELLE: I still have nightmares . . .
BRIAN: Oh, c’mon. It’s not that bad.
GABRIELLE: Said that man not getting ten million letters every day.
BRIAN: (shrugs)The longer you put it off, the bigger the pile is going to be.
GABRIELLE: (sighs) That’s just a week’s worth of mail?
BRIAN: (smiles) Actually we’ve done most of the work already. Most of the letters fall into basic categories, and we have a standard reply for them. But there is the occasional oddity that needs your attention. (Reaches into the bag and pulls out a small handful of letters.)
GABRIELLE: That’s it? (Brian nods.) Well, that’s a little better. What did you bring that bag in here for then?
BRIAN: Oh, I just wanted you to know how hard we all work for you.
GABRIELLE: Yeah, thanks. You just brought that in to scare me.
BRIAN: That too. Shall we begin?
Gabrielle gaped at the page. "This is . . . this is the conversation I had with Brian a couple days ago . . . word for word! How did you . . .?"
"We now have the technology to record any event in history, and have it scripted just like this. It’s fairly new to our time, but it has had a lot of success. Many ancient mysteries have been solved with this."
"This is . . . incredible! Daniel . . . this would do it. If you wouldn’t mind sharing your technology. And you wouldn’t be, really. All they would see is the slot spitting out paper; they would have no way of understanding how the mechanism works. And you could . . . you could show them what happened after they left. They would see that it’s real, and . . ."
"It’s possible," Daniel said, slight hope dawning. "But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about history, it’s that people don’t respond as well to the written word as they do to the real thing. If there was some way they could see it . . ." He looked around, and Gabrielle felt that now familiar feeling of being watched.
Matt jumped, and Daniel seemed to look right at him.
"There may be a way . . ." he said.
***
The former Wilson residence.
Matt was taken away from the Archives, to another part of town. He saw Elizabeth, standing before the long-abandoned household of the Wilsons. She looked at the house, feeling slightly nostalgic. It seemed like both seventy years, and just a few hours, since she had left the house. She noticed something in the front yard that hadn’t been there before. She walked through the gate. The long grass brushed at her knees. You could lose a small child in here, she thought to herself. She came upon the thing she had seen. It appeared to be a stone of some sort. She brushed the grass aside to get a better look, and gasped.
Porpington-Potts
Father
Jacob
October 9, 1958-November 12, 2000
Mother
Megan
May 23, 1959-November 12, 2000
Daughter, Loyal Worker
Elizabeth
September 30, 1984-November 12, 2000
Together At Last
Elizabeth backed away from the stone, feeling dizzy. Her parents really had been killed. November 12 . . . that was day after her disappearance. The day of the fire. And there had been a fire . . . Elizabeth had seen some of the results. The hotel that had supposedly burned down was no longer there, except for the foundation, and most of the other buildings on that end of town were gone as well. That much of Daniel’s story seemed to be true. Her parents had been killed in the fire . . . and the Wilsons had buried them here.
Elizabeth threw up.
Suddenly, she had the feeling of being watched. She turned around, seeming to look right at Matt, but not seeing him. "Who’s there?" she asked, looking around. But there was no one to see. "Annalise? Faith? Mr. Farthington?" No answer. But the feeling hadn’t gone away.
Matt knew, somehow, that it was he that she was reacting to. But that was impossible! How could a story character be aware of its reader?
"It doesn’t make sense . . ." he muttered. Elizabeth jumped.
"Who said that?" The voice had been male, but unfamiliar. She started walking back, away from the Wilson’s lawn.
"Can you . . . can you hear me?" Matt asked, feeling foolish.
"Of course I can hear you!" Elizabeth snapped, irately. "Who the hell are you?"
"I’m . . . I’m Matt . . ."
"Matt who?" Elizabeth shouted. "Come out here where I can see you!"
Matt had a sudden craving for a piña colada. "I . . . I’m reading the story."
"You’re reading what story?"
"Your story."
"What?"
"Yours . . . and Gabrielle’s, and Annalise’s, and Faith’s . . ."
"You’ve been watching us?"
"No, reading about you." Elizabeth tried not to lose her temper, but she was growing quite irritated.
"Listen," she said, somewhat evenly. "Either come out here this instant, or . . ."
"I can’t . . . I’m not really there, see . . . I’m--I’m out here, reading this book . . ."
"Well, put the damn book down and come out here!!" Elizabeth said, somewhat unevenly.
"I can’t," Matt said, suddenly realizing that he was having a conversation with a fictional character . . . and reading about it. "If I put the book down, I won’t be reading about you anymore, so I won’t be here."
"But you just said that you weren’t here!"
"I’m not here, as in Blue Springs here. I’m here, as in wherever I am, here."
Elizabeth decided that this person was quite mad. "Are you saying . . . that you are not in Blue Springs, and yet you are able to talk to me?"
Matt struggled for a way to explain. "I . . . I may not necessarily be on earth . . . that is, earth as you know it in the story."
"WHAT STORY?!?"
"The story you’re in."
"I’m not in a story, you great prat; I’m in real life!"
Matt knew better than to argue, even if the person he was arguing with wasn’t exactly real.
"Elizabeth?" the girl turned at the sound of her name. "Who are you talking to?" Faith was walking toward her.
"I was . . . well, I’m not exactly sure who, but there’s someone here!" Faith glanced around.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! I was just speaking to him."
"But I don’t--," She paused, for at that moment, she too felt like she was being watched.
Matt saw Faith walking up. She looked around, just as Elizabeth had, looking at Matt but not really seeing him. "Hello?"
"Hello," Matt replied. Faith jumped.
"Where are you?" she called.
"Um . . . I’m not exactly sure," Matt said. "I mean, I’m sitting here reading a book, and the book is about you."
"Oh, I see," Faith said.
"You do?" Elizabeth asked, incredulous. "Then would you mind terribly explaining it to me?"
"It’s simple. The man is reading a story, and we are characters in that story," Faith explained, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
"But . . . but, this is real! This isn’t a story!"
"It’s a story to someone," Faith said. "If you, for example, were to read about me, it would be a story to you. But it would still be quite real for me. And Mr. Farthington says he has read about all of us."
"Yes," Elizabeth agreed, reluctantly. "But the reader isn’t able to communicate with what he is reading about, is he?"
"No," Faith said. "That is, indeed, a mystery. Perhaps we should ask the reader." She spoke to Matt. "What is your name, sir?"
"Matt," said Matt.
"Very well, Matt. Do you know why you are able to communicate with us?"
"No . . . this has never happened to me before. Normally when I read, it’s just print on a page, but now it seems to be turning real."
"You’re all mad," Elizabeth muttered.
"Is it any stranger than traveling through time?" Faith inquired.
"Traveling through time I can deal with . . . but this is just too weird!"
Faith changed the subject. "They’re calling us back to the Archives. Come." She had certainly gotten past her trance from before!
"Wait! How can you just accept that so readily?"
"I’ve been pulled two hundred years into the future; I’m ready to accept anything." Elizabeth sighed, and followed her away from the house. Matt also followed. Or his perception did. Whatever.
"I . . . I found my parents’ grave," Elizabeth said. "They really were killed in a fire. It’s . . . so strange seeing them here.
"I know," Faith said. "I saw my father’s grave."
"It’s just that . . . I wished so many horrible things on my parents, when I was angry at them . . . I never thought they would actually happen."
They walked back into the Archives. Annalise, Gabrielle, and Mr. Farthington were already there. Annalise looked startled as they entered.
"Is there . . . is there someone else with you?" Annalise said. "I felt like a third person entered the room."
"Well," Elizabeth started, ". . . in a way . . . it’s hard to explain . . ."
"You’ve encountered the Reader as well?" Mr. Farthington asked. Annalise looked somewhat perplexed. Matt shared her feeling, but for a different reason.
"The Reader?"
"You’ve no doubt had the feeling ever since you arrived here that you were being watched. Am I right?"
"Yes . . ." Annalise said, slowly. "I thought that was you . . . then I felt it again after we met you. I . . . I just thought I was being paranoid."
"You weren’t," Gabrielle said. "Someone was watching you . . . and is watching us now, I believe."
"He said . . . that he was reading a story. Our story."
"You’ve communicated with him?" Mr. Farthington asked. "Interesting. I don’t believe that has ever happened before."
"But what is he?" Faith asked. Matt tried to suppress his annoyance at being talked about. He was not, after all, technically in the room.
"Throughout the history of out town," Mr. Farthington explained, "there have been several records of feelings similar to what you four have been feeling. Many people talk of the feeling that they are being watched by some unknown person, but the identity of such persons are never discovered. These events are concentrated in several specific periods, including the Civil War and Reconstruction era, fifties, the late eighties, and early nineties of the twentieth century, as well as many times in the last fifty or sixty years. Occurrences seem to become more frequent as time goes on. I’ve become so accustomed to it over the past twenty years, that I barely notice anymore."
"But what causes these feelings?" Faith asked.
"There have been many speculations. During the Civil War, they were thought by many to be the spirits of dead soldiers and villagers. This was a source of some comfort to many who had lost loved ones in the war. During the fifties, with the fear of communism lurking, they were thought to be Russian spies. The late twentieth centuries brought so many ludicrous explanations, that I’ve forgotten them all. But we believe we made our best guess in the last fifty years. Elizabeth, you are the only one here likely to be familiar with Ende’s, The Neverending Story."
"I’ve heard of it," Elizabeth said, "but I don’t really know anything about it."
"I’m not terribly familiar with it either, but I do know that in that story, the boundary between one of the characters and the story he is reading disappears, and he becomes part of the story. I believe there is a similar concept here, except that there are most likely several Readers, and their contact with us is limited to the eerie feeling of being watched . . . until now, apparently."
"Wait," Annalise said. "You’re saying that we are characters in a story, and that something is reading us?"
"That’s what Matt said," Faith said. "He said he was reading about us and what we were doing?"
"Matt?" Annalise said. "It has a name?"
"Of course," Mr. Farthington said. "Matt is probably no less a person than the rest of us. He just exists on another plain of reality, where our plain of reality is a mere story. It is doubtful whether Blue Springs, Georgia exists in his reality, or even this world for that matter."
"This whole concept of time travel was hard enough to except," Annalise said, "but now you’re asking me to believe that some . . . being is sitting in his living room reading about us, and none of us is even real?"
"Oh, we are quite real to ourselves," Mr. Farthington insisted. "But we are only as real to him as he is to us."
"But he is real!" Elizabeth said. "I was speaking with him earlier. Faith heard him too."
"Do you think he would be able to communicate now?" Mr. Farthington asked.
"I don’t see why not," Faith said. "Matt, can you hear me?"
"In a matter of speaking," Matt said. Annalise jumped at the sound of his voice.
"This is interesting!" Mr. Farthington said. "No one has ever been able to communicate with a Reader before. Hello, Reader!"
"Um . . . hello," Matt said.
"Have you been following all of this?" he asked.
"Well, as well I’m able to," Matt said. "It’s a little confusing."
"I would imagine so, yes," Mr. Farthington said.
"This is all fascinating," Annalise interrupted, "but you’re supposed to be convincing us that we should go back and change things."
"Yes, I am," Mr. Farthington said, seeming excited now. "And Matt is going to help me."
"He is?" Faith asked.
"I am?" Matt asked.
"How can a Reader help?" Elizabeth said. "He’s basically an observer, isn’t he?"
"Yes," Mr. Farthington said. "He is an observer of history, in a sense. Anything he reads becomes reality for us."
"Daniel has a computer that can print out scenes from history, as they occurred," Gabrielle said, evidently having helped in this. "All we have to do is tell it what scene we want, and it will give it to us, in the form of a story. If we can get Matt here to read the stories--,"
"And have the four of you stand in as the characters--," Mr. Farthington interjected.
"It would show everyone the scene," Gabrielle concluded. "All we have to do is break the fourth wall far enough so that Matt can enter the story."
"Fourth wall?" Annalise said. "Isn’t that a theatre concept?"
"Yes, but it applies here too," Mr. Farthington said. "In theatre, the fourth wall is the invisible barrier between the audience and what is happening on stage. In some plays, a character will break from the action, and address the audience. This is called breaking the wall. In our case, the wall is the barrier between the reader and his story. That wall has already been broken, since we have been talking to Matt. Now we need to remove it so that Matt can join us."
"I won’t even ask how we do that," Annalise said. "But I’m beginning to see your point."
"I will give him scenes to read. They will become real, and we will be a part of them. I believe I can use these to make my case."
"I think even more can be done," Annalise said, smiling. "If Matt doesn’t mind a little extra reading, I think the four of us should present our argument similarly. Each of us can pick a scene from our lives that should illustrate why we shouldn’t go back and change things. Perhaps we can end up convincing you, Mr. Farthington."
"Perhaps," Mr. Farthington said. "That sound all right to you, Matt?"
"I don’t mind reading," Matt said. "I’ve been doing that all along, after all. Still . . . I don’t know, it all seems a little weird to me."
"Well, why not join us in the story for a moment, and see what you think, and then decide?"
Matt shrugged. "Okay." And just like that, he was a character in the story.
***
End of Chapter 2.
"What's next?"
posted by nonentity | 9:27 PM
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