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Two
ORMEPASSAGEWl
Nowonderhehadn’tnoticeditbefore:itwasscarcelymorethananarrowalleywaybetweenhouses,litbyasputteringgas-jet.Youdon’tseemanyofthoseanymore,thoughtRichard,andhehelduphisinstructionstothegaslight,peeringatthem.
"‘Thenturnaroundthrice,widdershins’?"
"Widdershinsmeanscounterclockwise,Richard."
Heturned,threetimes,feelingstupid."Look,whydoIhavetodoallthis,justtoseeyourfriend.Imean,allthisnonsense..."
"It’snotnonsense.Really.Just—humormeonthis,okay?"Andshehadsmiledathim.
Hestoppedturning.Thenhewalkeddownthealleytotheend.Nothing.Noone.Justametalgarbagecan,andbesideitsomethingthatmighthavebeenapileofrags."Hello?"calledRichard."Isanyonehere?I’mDoor’sfriend.Hello?"
No.Therewasnoonethere.Richardwasrelieved.Nowhecouldgohomeandexplaintothegirlthatnothinghadhappened.Thenhewouldcallintheappropriateauthorities,andtheywouldsortitallout.Hecrumpledthepaperintoatightball,andtossedittowardthebin.
WhatRichardhadtakenforapileofragsunfolded,expanded,stoodupinonefluidmotion.Ahandcaughtthecrumpledpaperinmidair.
