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I WOKE to find Edgar working in his laboratory with a pot of tea at his side.
“Good morning, Calla,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“You must be hungry. Would you like some fruit for your breakfast?”
“That sounds great.”
Edgar left the lab table and loudly rummaged around in the washroom. He returned with an empty basket.
“The fruit tastes a lot better when it is freshly gathered from the garden,” he explained. “Please follow me outside.”
Edgar opened the laboratory door, the only way out of the workshop. We walked outside to a clearing surrounded by the dense woods that I’d only seen through the workshop windows. A dirt path extended from the door to a square garden full of plants that I’d never seen before. Shrubs, leafy greens and oddly shaped vegetables shared the space with spring flowers and haphazardly placed trees. I guessed that the trees were fruit trees when Edgar started picking round eggplant-colored balls the size of oranges and placing them in the basket.
“These are delightful,” he said. “They taste like Italian plums, but have the texture of Honeycrisp apples. I call them plumples.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Edgar smiled proudly. “They’re also good for maintaining youthful skin and repairing damaged hair.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The idea of something called a plumple taming my frizzy curls was just too funny. The thin wisps of white hair that Edgar had left on his head did look pretty shiny, though.
After Edgar and I filled the basket, I turned to go back to the workshop to have breakfast. I stopped at the door when I noticed he wasn’t following me.
“Are you coming back inside?” I asked, my stomach grumbling.
He shook his head and motioned for me to follow him. We walked into the woods, passing through a layer of tightly packed trees. My stomach stopped grumbling when I saw what was on the other side. A brook of clear silver water twisted through a glade with far fewer trees. Rays of sunlight glimmered through the treetops and reflected off of the brook. Winston Lake suddenly became a murky memory of a muddy swamp.
Edgar sat down in front of the brook and began washing the fruit. I sat next to him and dipped my hands in the water. An icy smoothness glazed my fingers. The brook had the same silver sheen up close that it did from farther away. Instead of rolling, the water stayed completely still. The brook amazed me. I wanted to know all about it.
“How did you build your workshop in the middle of a place like this?” I asked.
Edgar dropped the plumple he’d been washing. There was no splash. The fruit sank into the brook for the slightest fraction of a second before it broke the water’s surface. Silvery drops of water clung to the dark floating plumple.
Edgar stared at his empty hands.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. I fetched the plumple out of the water and took a bite. It was crunchy like an apple and sweet like a plum, just like Edgar said it would be.
“Mmm,” I exaggerated, trying to wake him up. “This is amazing.”
Changing the subject didn’t work the way it had last time—when Edgar froze after telling me he had a wife and daughter. Edgar sat there, staring.
I passed my hand in front of his face to see if he’d snap out of it. “Edgar?”
At first I thought he had taken a stroke or something. I kneeled at the edge of the brook and reached for his hands.
“Edgar,” I whispered. “What’s happening? What are you looking at?”
He frowned and blinked. Then he looked around him. He sighed when his eyes met mine.
“Shirlyn?”
I squeezed his hands. “No, it’s me, Calla.”
His cheeks grew red when he recognized me. I let go of his hands and stood up.
Edgar eyed the basket of plumples on the ground. “I—I’m sorry. I’m very sorry, Calla,” he said as he got up from the ground. Then he turned and walked away.
So much for breakfast.
***
I NEVER AGAIN ASKED Edgar direct questions about his family or how he got to the workshop in the woods. Occasionally, though, when our conversations got too close to these topics, he withdrew by either staring into space or grumbling in agitated confusion.
Despite his odd behavior, Edgar didn’t prevent me from exploring the grounds surrounding the workshop on my own. In fact, he encouraged it. I kept up with my daily jogs. At first I didn’t stray too far from the workshop. I wasn’t sure what I’d find out there. I wanted to stay in shape, though. Since meeting Valcas, I’d learned that the ability to run from something or someone was a huge advantage. And, each day I got braver.
One morning I left the workshop and Edgar’s tonic fumes to get some fresh air. I ran past the garden and through the thick layer of trees that led to the brook. Needles from overgrown branches stuck out from the trees and scratched me as I burst through. The heavy scent of pine burned the insides of my chest. I had an easier time once I neared the brook. I ran alongside its twists and bends, curious to see where it ended. I passed by more trees and plants. The farther I ran the wilder and larger the plant life seemed to get.
I ran faster as if I were trying to race the brook. The water reached and stretched, pulling out ahead of me every step of the way. The finish line never came. Heaving, I stopped to catch my breath. I looked up around me. The pine trees were fringed in magenta and gold. Some of the plants were as large as the workshop, which would have been weird enough if the entire plant hadn’t been a single leaf growing out of the ground. I rubbed my eyes. Sweat stung my eyes. I winced. What was this place?
I turned around and walked back toward the workshop. As my breathing slowed, I realized that my footsteps and breath were the only sounds that I could hear. There was no rustling of leaves or buzzing of insects. Like the brook, everything maintained an eerie stillness. There was no life aside from me, Edgar and the trees and plants.