Part 1, Chapter 9

 

IX: The Door

 

“Battleship?”

Ray was standing at the doorway of the bedroom, holding up a box of the board game. The box was tattered, and the color had worn off its edges. “Wanna play?”

Paula was in the bedroom, sitting at the desk and writing—she’d found some blank sheets of papers, and had taken to journaling as a form of entertainment. Ray had peeked over her shoulder once as she wrote, and she at once became very angry with him for invading her personal space. He had since tried to nip his curiosity and not read her entries, which took just about all the power of his neurological functioning.

Paula wore her denim jacket over a defiantly clean white shirt, and a pleated pink skirt—all stolen. The shirt was too small, but passed as slim-fitting. Her hair was untangled, and her skin was free from dust or sand. If Ray hadn’t known her and came across her now, he would never have guessed she didn’t come from a nice home. She lifted her head from the paper and furrowed her brow at him.

“Did you…get that from the dumpster?”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say no so, so badly, because he wanted to play Battleship so, so badly, and didn’t want to risk Paula rejecting it for its second-hand nature.

“Doesn’t matter where I got it. Point is that I have it.” He shook the box, as if trying to entice an animal with a treat. “Battleship?”

Paula let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

Beaming, Ray plopped onto the floor and opened the box voraciously.

“No instruction manual, but I think I remember how to play.”

Paula paused and tilted her head. “Yeah, I think I do too.”

They unfolded the two cases and placed their ships onto the pegboards, and the game began (with improvised pieces—one of the ships was missing, and had been replaced in the box with a yellow thumbtack). Ray was losing to Paula, hands folded in urgent analysis and contemplating his neck move when in the corner of his eye, he noticed something dark.

 He peered out through the doorway, and saw Hitchcock standing again before the locked door, staring stiffly ahead. Ray sighed. “Again?”

Paula turned and saw the bird. “Hm. Was he like that this morning before we went for a walk?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Ray rose to his feet and crouched next to his bird. He wiggled his fingers in front of Hitchcock’s eyes, but the bird had no reaction. His wings were tucked neatly on either side, and his beak pointed towards the door.

“Hey. Buddy,” he said, poking the bird’s side. “You good?”

Paula picked up a nub of chalk from the little pile on the floor. She stood up to face the chalkboard and drew a steady line connecting “raven” to “locked door”. Maybe they’d written “bird” in the wrong category; maybe Hitchcock had something to do with the Hole, instead of something about their pasts.

“Maybe he belonged to whomever lived here before,” Paula suggested, “and that’s why he likes hanging out in here, and follows people around.”

“You think? A pet raven?” Ray couldn’t help feeling a bit sad; he’d become quite comfortable with the thought that the raven simply liked him, and didn’t want to imagine Hitchcock someday returning to some owner.

“It’s just a guess.”

“Then what’s with the door obsession?”

“I’m not sure.”

Ray offered his hand in front of the bird for him to step up, but Hitchcock remained still. With his other hand he scooped him from behind, and now the bird stood on his palm, still unmoving.

Ray clicked his tongue. “C’mon, little guy… What’s up with you?”

“There’s nothing there, too—it’s just a door,” Paula said.  She tilted her head at the bird. “Maybe he’s just a little stupid.” She gripped the metal door handle and pulled.

The door opened with a heavy groan from its hinges. A blast of warm and stale air rushed over his face, with a faint foul smell.

She stepped back, face pale. “Wasn’t it locked?”

“Did you—put in a code? In the keypad? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“No, I didn’t. Why did it open so easily?” Her breathing quickened, and she ran her finger nervously through the rosy tips of her hair.  “Someone was in here, someone was in here,” she mumbled.

“No,” Ray said. He stood behind her, arms crossed indifferently. “It just got easier to open ’cause I’ve been pulling at it so much.”

Paula turned to him and spoke in a grave voice. “Are you absolutely sure? How can you be absolutely sure?”

“I just am.”

She studied his face. It was stiflingly quiet. Ray wished he could see the expression eyes made under her glasses. But even though it was hidden from his view, somehow her gaze was still strong enough to make him look away.

The truth was that Ray actually wasn’t absolutely sure something else hadn’t opened the door. In fact, Ray had lied to Paula.

Something had unlocked the door.