The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [62]
“What’re you doing?” my father asks.
“She made it easy. I’ll fit,” I tell him as I look up at the black square hole. There’s a flicker of white light inside, from the flashlight. “Serena, anything up there?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
As I climb closer to the top rung, bits of dust continue to tumble my way.
“You’re not gonna fit,” my dad says.
Only one way to find out.
I put my arms straight up.
“Just like Superman,” Johnsel jokes. No one laughs.
I thread my arms through the hole, then my head, as I slowly extend my knees. The darkness descends like a noose.
“You’re too big,” my father warns.
He’s wrong. The hole swallows everything above my chest. I feel around, palming the dusty floor of the attic. All I need to do is boost myself up. But just as I push off the top rung, something catches my back . . . or, more specifically, my backpack, with the comic inside. Dammit. I’m definitely too big.
“Told you,” my dad calls out as my feet kick wildly from the ceiling.
A bright light blinds me. “Throw the backpack up here,” Serena says.
“Just drop it—I’ll catch it,” my dad promises from below.
The lady or the tiger.
I choose neither.
Thrashing wildly, I’m halfway through. The edge of the hole digs into my stomach. I don’t care what it takes. I squirm and shimmy like a worm as splinters and sharp rocks bite at my belly. My backpack tugs like a leash. Above me, Serena grips my left bicep and starts the tug-of-war. I wriggle and plant my elbows. She digs in her feet and jerks harder. The hole pinches my rib cage. The leash stays taut, pulling and yanking me . . . and then . . . then it isn’t.
Like a baby shooting from the birth canal, I fly forward as Serena tumbles back on her ass. The flashlight zigzags as she falls. My stomach scrapes across the attic floor, leaving a wide, swerving wake through the dust.
“You okay!?” my dad calls out as he hears the crash. He’s tempted to join us himself, but he knows he won’t fit.
I’m still catching my breath, which I can see in the beam of light from above. There’s no insulation. It’s freezing up here. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness, but I don’t need to see Serena to know what she’s thinking. “Go ahead—say the line,” I tell her. “I’m more stubborn than my dad.”
She climbs to her feet, brushes off the dust, and stays hunched to avoid hitting the attic’s low, slanted ceiling. But she’s not the least bit annoyed. “You really believe your father’s stubborn?”
“C’mon . . . the way he insisted on coming to Cleveland . . . then held his breath like a fifth grader so I couldn’t say no to you coming, too?”
“That’s not stubborn, Cal. Your dad’s terrified.”
“He’s not alone,” I shoot back. “If Ellis made that next flight, he’ll be here any—”
“He’s not terrified of Ellis,” Serena says. “Your father’s terrified of you.” She doesn’t yell it at me. She’s concerned. Almost sad.
Down on my knees, I take a deep breath of sandy air as dozens of small stones stab through my pants. “Me? You’re joking, right?”
She shakes her head, and the beam from the flashlight shakes with her, tracing the inky air. But she never loses sight of what we’re here for. Pointing the light across the empty room, she’s already on the hunt. “You need to understand, Cal—in this world, we’re not humans having a divine experience. We’re divine beings having a human experience.”
“Yeah, I took yoga once, too.”
“See, there it is again: That’s what he has to fight.” Above our heads, the rafters crisscross like wooden monkey bars. On our left, the eroded brick chimney rises through the room and out the roof. The floor’s so thick with dust, it looks like the moon—and with each step, a cloud of it explodes upward. Serena keeps heading deeper, ducking lower and lower until she’s chicken-walking toward the far corner of the attic. But she never slows down. It’s amazing, really. No fear.
“Think about it, Cal. In this life, y’ever notice that you face the same challenges again and again? We all do. They’re challenges to your soul. We repeat them until we face them and master