In Springdale Town by Robert Freeman Wexler Read Free Book Online

snub, another cryptic encounter. A person, even an outgoing person, soon succumbs, shrinks into solitude, even embraces it.
    But that wasn’t him, wasn’t what he wanted. Where was Monique? He thought that he had made some progress, attempting to set up an appointment with her outside the workplace. That wall again. Things had to be done in small steps, but the time involved, he didn’t have the patience anymore. He would tell Monique he was an actor. She would want to sleep with someone who had appeared on television, who knew famous people.
    Someone slid into a booth behind him; the cushion and frame creaked with the person’s weight, and Shelling heard a rumbly voice ask for tea.

14
    Looking back the way we came, I saw no entry, nothing but an unbroken curve of wainscoting that rose to chest-level and, above it, plaster painted a warm terra-cotta. I stood in the middle of the room, under the multicolored dome, while Sammy circled the periphery.
    “What is this place? I didn’t notice us going through a door. We were in the alley–”
    “The transition is always subtle,” she said. She kept walking, trailing a finger along the surface of the wainscoting.
    This made no sense. We had been walking down an alley. Which must have led directly into this place. Since my arrival in Springdale, I had been preoccupied with my past. An autopilot kind of thing, and being so closed up I wasn’t aware enough of my surroundings to notice where we were going.
    “Here’s something.” She looked over at me, but I didn’t move. Who was she, really? We had met, what, an hour ago? Sammy pushed on the wainscoting and a section swung away from her. It could have shut after we had entered, but I didn’t remember coming in over there. Sammy stood by the open section, waiting for me. I joined her.
    “This is ridiculous. How could somebody who has never been here find their way out after the door closed?”
    “This isn’t the way we came in. It’s the way forward.”
    I just stared at her, irritation building inside me.
    “Patrick, I said I would show you places Caroline never took you. She’s lived in Springdale her whole life but knows nothing about this.”
    It must have been obvious from my face that I still wasn’t accepting anything; she smiled and touched my cheek with her fingertips. “Springdale is a complex town, a crossroads, and we’re in its hub. We enter, we find our way through. Maybe something we experience changes the way we look at the world.”
    Sammy emanated a sincerity that I found comforting–a jury would have bought it, no problem. So I smiled back. Her explanation hadn’t answered my questions, but if adventure beckoned, I was ready for it.
    She stooped and passed through the doorway. I followed. Inside, the ceiling was too low to stand erect. The passage appeared to continue in a straight line, lit from a source I couldn’t identify. The indirect light had a misty quality, making it hard to judge distance. A click from behind made me turn. The wainscoting door had swung shut behind us. I pushed, but could find no way to open it.
    Sammy held my wrist. “You can’t do that. There’s only one way to go when you’re in here. Come on.” She turned away and I had no choice but to follow. My neck started to ache from walking hunched. Sammy was only an inch or so shorter than me, so she didn’t have it any easier. For some reason, I was wondering what time I would be returning to the bed and breakfast. Those places were often weird about their guest’s hours.
    “It’s always different here, each time you come,” Sammy said. “Sometimes these corridors run straight out to the cornfields. It’s better when the ceiling’s higher. I feel like I’m walking on chicken strings in here.”
    ~
    After forty yards or so of this, we reached a cylindrical room with a ceiling about twelve feet high. “This is way better,” Sammy said as we straightened. I reached back to rub my neck with both hands.