Don't Open That Door - GoM 1

11

Tom and Samuel played soccer in the broad yard north of the farm house. Their voices and laughter echoed all over, even inside Bootter's workshop, where Alex sat at the worktable, surrounded by a wall of books from the safe.

It took her a while to find something, but she finally discovered a reference in Bootter's journal that led her straight to what she was looking for: a whole section on 'channeling phenomena' in one of the books.

The first chapter said the same Tom had said the night before. It also consigned dates and reports about tests performed over the last two centuries. What caught her attention was that the subjects of those tests had to choose the orientation of the energy they were about to channel—the options being angelic, neutral and evil.

"Well, that's radical," she muttered, turning the yellowing page.

There was a sheet of paper between the next pages. Alex recognized Bootter's handwriting. A letter? She gasped when she saw it was addressed to her.

"You're still too young to explain this to you, squirrel. And I may not be around when you're old enough to understand it. However, I'm sure that if you ever need to know about it, you'll find your way to this book and this letter. If you're reading this, it means it's time for you to understand what's happening inside you."

"Anything?"

Alex looked up at Tom, standing at the doorway, sweaty and panting. Her first instinct was snapping the book closed, and she only realized she'd done it when he frowned. She opened the book again and signaled at him to come closer.

"This volume has several chapters on channeling," she said.

"And what does it say?"

"I still haven't read it, but..." Alex showed him Bootter's letter. "Grandpa left me a letter with those chapters, to explain what it's got to do with me."

Tom didn't take the letter. He noticed she looked confused, so he sat down opposite her, waiting for her to go on. But she didn't.

"Not usual," he ventured.

"At all. We lived together, we didn't need letters. And this... I remember this stationary. He bought it about the time I started high school. So he wrote this some fifteen years ago. That's five years before his died. He had plenty of time to tell me about it."

They fell silent, looking down at the words Bootter had kept for her for so long. Alex shook her head, put the letter back where she'd found it and closed the book.

"I'll read it later," she said, and tried to smile. "Where's the little man?"

"Exploring the apple tree outside the house."

She grabbed several books to take them to the safe. "I'll be done here in a minute."

Tom nodded, looking around. "So here's where you used to spend time with your Grandpa."

"The indoors time, yeah. Every chance I got, as much as I could."

Alex smiled and waved for him to take a look inside the safe. Tom leaned in to read the titles.

"Bet I won't find any of these at your store."

"Nor any other bookstore. Take your time to poke around. I'll keep an eye on Samuel."

"Don't worry. He'll call if he—"

"Dad! A tree house!"

Alex hurried out. "That's off limits, you little rascal!"

Tom was left alone in the workshop—the place that meant so much for Alex, which she opened to him without hesitation. He looked out the door to check on Samuel. The boy stood on a thick branch, right by a tiny platform with a tiny shelter made of whitening boards. Alex climbed up the apple tree, threatening Samuel with unspeakable punishments for the trespasser of her secret shelter.

Tom smiled, like every time he saw them together, and turned to face the workshop. He performed a thorough inspection of the herbs collection, taking the time to touch and smell some of them. It was amazing, how many different herbs were stored in that small shed.

He spotted the trapdoor and crouched down before it, wondering what he'd find under it. There was only one way to know. He grabbed the old iron ring and pulled up, opening the trapdoor.

Among the incredible variety of unusual weapons, the first thin that caught Tom's eye was the long bow wrapped in a rustic cloth. He hesitated before grabbing it, and his hand caressed rather than touching the dark wood, gracefully molded. He straightened up to take a better look at it. The string was in perfect shape, so he fixed it and stretched it, taking the bow to his face. It felt different from any other he'd ever tried; stronger, powerful. He wrapped it again in its cloth, with the care and reverence of one handling a precious object, and put it back with the rest of the weapons.

When he came out of the workshop, Alex and Samuel were sitting together on the same branch, talking as she pointed at something in Mount Baker's massive figure to the north. Tom went to the tree and looked up at them.

"Everything okay up there?"

"Al know a bunch of cool stories about the mountains!"

"Why don't you tell'im some while I close the shed?" Alex said. "We better get going, if we wanna be in time for the parade."

"Come up, Dad!"

Alex climbed down in a few steps. She didn't expect to feel Tom's hands on her waist, but she allowed him to help her to the ground. She turned around to face him and found herself in his arms.

"Need a hand to climb?" she said, fighting back her impulse to kiss him.

"Climb? Why?"

Samuel anticipated Alex. "The stories can only be told up here, Dad."

She flashed a mocking smirk. "Don't worry. I'll bring you the ladder."

Tom scoffed and reached up to the lowest branch. A moment later he was halfway to the tree.

Alex headed to the workshop, still trying to take in the whole situation. There she was, with Tom and his son in her family land, and Bootter's workshop was wide open as it'd never been before. All of her past and secrets were exposed and accepted in such a natural way that it felt just surreal.

She put to books back in the safe, thinking what would've Bootter said about such... openness—did that word even exist? She chuckled under her breath. Surely she didn't know half the names Bootter would call her for letting a stranger into his precious workshop.

When she closed the safe, she noticed the trapdoor handle was in a different position. Tom had opened Bootter's small armory. She opened it as well, curious to see what he'd seen.

Bootter had stored so many things in there that not even her could tell there were a dozed blades missing. She'd taken them home when she was discharged from the hospital. To start instructing Claire.

She smiled, noticing the old bow was wrapped too carefully in its old cloth. Of course it'd catch Tom's attention. Claire and her weren't strong enough to even stretch the string an inch, so they'd never paid it attention. But Tom wasn't only an experienced archer. He was tall and strong enough to use it. Her smile widened when she pictured Tom using Bootter's bow.