Immediately following the dinner, Roni hastened across the colonnade to the dorm. She stormed down the aisle and knocked on Gram’s door. Hearing a choked Come in Roni entered to find Gram sitting on the bed with her back against the wall, her legs straight out, her eyes puffy, her nose red.
“Have a seat,” Gram said, patting a spot next to her.
“Are you okay? Those nuns had no right to say —”
“It’s okay. I’ve known for a long time the kinds of people they are. Just because they wear the clothes of a nun does not make them nuns. Not in the Catholic sense, anyway.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“I appreciate your loyalty and concern. I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot tonight — about you. I know you better than you think. That loyalty, that concern — it can be a good thing. You must be careful, though. It can mislead you. It can guide you down the wrong paths.”
Roni worried that Gram had been snooping in her room during the dinner. If she found Roni’s tomb bag, it would be years before she trusted Roni enough to take her on an outing again.
Blowing her nose into a handkerchief, Gram said, “Do you remember Princess Nanono?”
Roni thought back, the odd name itching under the dark surface of her memories. “Maybe? I’m not sure.”
“You were just a little girl. Your mother would make up stories for you. She preferred it over telling you stories like Three Little Pigs or The Boy Who Cried Wolf. I made sure you learned those stories eventually, but your mother wanted to teach you lessons her own way — everything had to be her own way. Princess Nanono was the star of her storytelling.
“You loved those stories. Each one basically had the Princess getting into some sort of trouble by making the wrong choice, and by the end she would learn her lesson. There were other characters, but I don’t really remember them well — a talking cookie, I think, and a bird that was her friend. But the important part here is that you loved the stories and as you started to understand the point of the stories, you became fiercely loyal to Princess Nanono. You worried that she made so many poor decisions. And you started to write your own stories for her — ones in which she was more of a heroine than a victim. Do you recall any of this?”
“A little. I have this vague image of a calico cat — yes, its name was Petal! And sometimes it was bad and sometimes good, so I never knew which version I’d get in a story.”
“Good. Then maybe you’ll remember this — one morning, you came to breakfast, and you asked your mother where Princess Nanono lived. You wanted to go visit. Because your mother had made these stories up, they were not written down in any book that you would have seen. So, you believed that she was recounting tales of a person she once knew. You wanted to visit her to share your stories so that you might help Princess Nanono. It was that morning in which your mother had to tell you the truth.
“But you refused to believe it. In your mind, there had to be a Princess Nanono. No choice. Otherwise, it meant your mother had lied to you.
“For almost a year after that, you tried everything you could think of to wheedle out information about where the real Princess Nanono lived. None of us would help you because of course none of us had an answer. But you refused to believe us.
“Of course, no matter how much you wished for it, you would never find Princess Nanono. That person never existed.” Gram reached over and put her hand atop Roni’s. “I know you want to help me. I know you want any chance, no matter how slim, to connect with your mother. But the creature inside that rift is not your mother. It’s not the woman who came up with Princess Nanono. Whatever you think is in that rift, no matter how much you wish it to be, it is not your Maria.”
“Then it isn’t yours either, is it?” The words slipped out of Roni’s mouth before she could stop.
Gram rolled her lips in tight and looked away. With the sharp sniffle, she said, “Go to bed. Stop worrying about your mother. Get some sleep.”
“Please, Gram, you don’t understand —”
“No, you do not understand. I don’t expect it, but you need to believe that you will not understand what that thing is. When we get back to Pennsylvania, maybe you’ll find something in the library to help. But for now, you must accept that there will always be limits to how much of another universe you can understand. And that includes the creatures within it.”
“But if it’s even a small portion of your daughter —”
“Enough. Go to your room, get some sleep, and for once, just listen.”
Gram’s stern face offered no opening for further conversation. Not that Roni wanted it anyway. She stomped off to her room and closed the door hard. Fuming, she thought of the tomb bag. Gram simply did not understand. She had let her emotions get in the way.
Roni wished she could rush over to the library immediately, but she knew she would have to wait. A lot.
Sitting on the edge of the lumpy mattress, Roni listened as the Sisters settled in the dorm for the night. With her jaw clenched and her breathing shallow, she heard every murmured voice, every creaking floorboard, every groan of tired bodies. As the minutes dragged on, the tension in her throat grew worse. She suspected that her voice would be nearly gone by the time she managed to get started on the night’s mission — an old nervous habit that hadn’t surfaced in about two years.
Good thing I won’t have to talk to anybody tonight.
She figured she might not have anybody to talk to for the next several days. Assuming she could complete her mission, none of the nuns would be talking to her and Gram always had enough reasons to play the silent game. Just as well. After the evening’s dinner, she had little but angry words to share with any of the people surrounding her at the moment.
Roni stretched back on the bed and closed her eyes. She had earbuds in and connected to her phone. If she managed to fall asleep, her alarm would go off at 3am. By that time, nobody would be awake.
But sleep would not come.
Twice, she considered leaving early — convincing herself that surely everybody had fallen asleep. Near midnight, she even stepped out of her room and walked down to the bathroom. All were asleep except Sister Rachel. She knelt in the middle of her bed and prayed — eyes closed, hands clasped, rosary looped around. If she had noticed Roni, she did not acknowledge the fact. After using the bathroom, Roni returned to her room and attempted once more to get some sleep.
Seconds later, the alarm went off. She startled in bed, a little drool wetting her pillow. Tapping off her phone, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She figured she had managed at least forty-five minutes of real sleep, maybe even a little over an hour. Better than nothing.
It took her fifteen minutes to fully awaken, check over her tomb bag, and step out into the main room. She kept her shoes in the bag and walked the length of the dorm in her socks. With slow, methodical steps, she inched her way toward the exit. She brought down each step gently, making sure the wood did not creak loud enough to alert any light sleepers.
The room had been split in two. The left side nuns all rattled out hefty snores. The right side slept quietly but some of them rolled or kicked or flapped out a hand.
Reaching the far end, Roni did not breathe relief. Instead, she placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. Her hands shivered, and she feared the motion might rattle the lock. The next several moments blurred together — finally turning the knob open, pushing the door out, stepping through, keeping the knob open while grabbing it on the other side, closing the door, and easing the knob back. All without making a sound. With that accomplished, she still did not breathe relief. Instead, she scurried across the cold grass until she reached the circle with the statue of the Virgin Mary and the parked rental car.
She lowered to the ground and put on her shoes. Once finished, she inhaled long and slow and allowed herself a small moment to breathe. Relief.
Roni took another moment to rub her neck, trying to ease some of the tension. But true relaxation would have to wait. She had only accomplished the first part of the evening — getting out of the dorm undetected. Now for the really tough parts.
Hustling across the grass, Roni hoped she moved with the grace of a prowling cat but suspected she clumped along more like a hungry raccoon. Her bag thumped at her side, her feet snapped a twig on the ground, and she tripped at the edge of the concrete path when she reached the library. Only the lateness of the evening saved her from discovery.
Properly humbled, she let her excitement subside so that she could focus on what actually needed to be done. She approached the door to the library like a knight stepping before an ancient ruin — respectful and cautious. In her arsenal, she had a bobby pin and a paperclip. While she lacked experience at picking locks, she understood the basic concept. Starting with a bobby pin in the bottom, she then inserted the paperclip above it, and on the first try, the lock opened. Far too much pride swelled her chest but then deflated as she understood the truth — Sister Ashley had never locked the door in the first place. Roni’s picking skills remained pathetic.
An evening shower opened up as she slinked into the library. Though the rain did not hit hard, its gentle tapping against the dorm would help hide any noises she might make. She chuckled — Perhaps the Lord wants me to get this book.
She brought up the flashlight app on her phone and headed straight for the stairs leading downward. The late hour made the enclosed space feel tighter, darker. Under the stark, blue light of her phone, the dust and cobwebs created strange shadows and added an unnatural texture to the walls. It was like walking through an old black and white monster movie — which only served Roni an extra heaping of nerves.
She sped through the passageways, spying several of her marks in the dust to aid her in making the proper turns. At least, she thought so. Until she reached a dead end.
Tracing back her steps, she inspected the dust mark closer. Which direction did it indicate? Was it even her sign or did something else brush across the corner? Perhaps her fingermarks could have been clearer. She chose a different path which also ended up dead. Back again, and again, and again.
After several attempts, she walked upon her starting point — the staircase. Murmuring swears, she began over in hopes of finding where she had gone wrong. A full hour went by.
Roni’s pace quickened as she scuttled through the passageways once more. Sweat beaded along her back even as her mouth dried with the dust of the dead.
At another intersection which looked both familiar and foreign, she stopped. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a frustrated groan. This could not be happening.
Then she heard a sound that changed everything — Woooooooo.
Roni held her breath so she could distinguish the sound clearly. Wooooooo. Definitely the same cry of wind going through a poorly made bagpipe.
After a few breaths, she stopped again to listen. To her right. She headed down that path until she reached the next junction. Then she held her breath and listened. Wooooo. Straight, this time.
Twice more she had to stop and use that horrible sound as her guide. In less than five minutes, she came upon the big door with the iron ring for a knob. The door stood ajar as if inviting her entrance — Sister Ashley must have forgotten to lock the door in her haste to reach dinner. Roni would be sure to leave it open later to avoid tipping the nuns off. Patting her bag, making sure she still held all of the things she had brought along, she entered the private study of Sister Agnes.
Everything appeared as it had during her first visit — which meant Sister Ashley had returned at some point after dinner to straighten up. Roni wondered if the young gal wanted to follow in the footsteps of Sister Agnes. Perhaps she truly intended to live down here one day — sequestered with only the books around her.
The room felt smaller than before as if it wanted to lean in and watch everything Roni planned. Well then, watch this, she thought, getting straight to work. She set the bag down next to the desk and positioned herself at the foot of the bed. Bending at the knees, she gripped the heavy wooden frame and lifted. It had been heavy enough with the help of Sister Ashley, but alone, Roni budged the thing only two inches. She repeated the motion — moving the bed two inches at a time.
After she had managed close to a foot, she stopped to catch her breath. She slumped onto the bed and stuck her arm toward the crevice Sister Agnes rested in. Not enough room yet.
Ignoring the dampness of her shirt against her back, Roni lugged the bed three more times. While this did not make getting the book as easy as earlier in the day, she did manage enough space that she could spider her fingers around the book’s spine. The hard surface rubbing the back of her fingers had to be the bones of Sister Agnes — Roni closed her eyes and tried to wash away any image that thought dared to conjure.
Despite the awkward angle, she managed to pull the book free. With a soft yip, she dropped onto the floor and hugged the large volume to her chest — breathing hard, sweating, and hoping she had not disturbed Sister Agnes too greatly. The nuns would be mad at her for stealing the book. They would be furious if she had damaged Sister Agnes.
Holding the book, feeling its energy pulse against her chest, Roni posed a simple question — what next? Her plan had been clear enough. She wanted to take the book back to Pennsylvania. After her research had proved fruitless for finding a way to save Maria, she at least could return this book to the caverns.
No. She could not start lying to herself now. Not after she had made it this far. She had done this for one reason only — to save Maria. No. Full honesty. To save Maria, her mother. The only reason this particular book could have been secreted all the way down here instead of returned to the caverns was that it held value connected with the rift.
The real question was not what now? But rather what exactly is the nature of the universe contained in the book?
“Only one way to find out,” Roni muttered to the empty room.
She clambered to her feet and held the book at arm’s length. Experience had taught her how dangerous a book like this could be, so she had to be careful how she went about opening it. A quick scan of the room confirmed her suspicions — the old bed frame was the heaviest object.
Roni lifted the stained mattress and looked at the rope lattice underneath. It might work.
Taking out her journal and pen, she sat at the desk and wrote a quick entry describing the events that had led up to this point. If things went badly, she wanted some record of what had happened. At length, she returned the journal and pen to her bag and set them aside.
Next, she moved the desk chair so that its back pressed up against the bed frame and that it faced the door. Roni stepped over the frame, putting one leg between the gaps in the rope. She then lowered herself to her knees. With the chair in front of her, she propped the book up against its back.
All she had to do was reach around to the front of the chair and open the book. Whatever came out of it or went into it would be facing the direction of the door — not her. If she lost control of the book and the room depressurized, she hoped the weight of the bed would anchor her to this universe. The distant voice of a long-forgotten science teacher reminded her that any system was only as strong as its weakest point.
She yanked hard on the ropes. Though they held, she thought they surely would be the first thing to snap. But everything in the room was old and brittle except the hardwoods. She would just have to make do.
She reached for the book. But stopped.
Moving fast, so as not to lose her will, she unfastened her belt and looped it around the side runner of the bed. She slipped her arm through the loop and tightened it as far as it would go. Between that and the rope and the bed frame itself, if she fell into the book’s universe, she suspected her limbs would stay behind.
Blotting that image from her mind, she used her free arm to stretch out and pull the front cover open.
The book cover resisted. That suggested a different pressure level inside that book’s universe — one that would suck all the air from the room until the pressure equalized. Either that or the old book had not been opened in ages and might simply be sticking. Reworking her grip, Roni took a deep breath and readied to pull harder on the cover.
The study door opened and Sister Claudia entered with Sister Ashley by her side. They took one look at the book and screamed.
Roni jolted, her heart jackhammering against her chest. As she disentangled from the bed, Sister Claudia entered and immediately sidestepped out of direct line of sight of the book. Sister Ashley followed to the opposite side.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry that I came down here without you,” Roni said. “I know you think this book is part of your history, with Sister Agnes and all, calling it the History of Secrets. But that’s not true. It’s one of the Parallel Society’s books and it can cause you great harm. I’m trying to help.”
Sister Claudia clasped her hands behind her back. “Do not make matters worse by lying to us. We did not scream because we thought you had betrayed us. We did not scream out of fear.”
“A little fear,” Sister Ashley said. “I did not want to be in front of that book.”
“We were taken by surprise. That’s all. And now that we see what you’ve done, we know you have to ability to change things for us.”
Roni settled on the edge of the wood frame. She frowned. “I do?”
Sister Ashley knelt next to Roni. “This is going to be a glorious day. We finally have somebody willing to touch the book and able, too. We finally have somebody who can help us.”
“I’m going to help you?”
“Oh, indeed,” Sister Claudia said, her eyes darkening as she lowered her head. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”