Stephen pressed his face to the wall and looked into the drawing of a heart.
“No way,” he exhaled.
“What? Let someone else see.” Ben pushed Stephen aside and looked into the hole.
“There’s a room in there, with three doors at the end,” Stephen told Jack. “The one on the right has light behind it.”
“How can you tell—about the light?” Jack asked.
“You can see it coming out from underneath,” Ben answered. “It’s the only light, but you can see the whole room.”
Ben backed up and let Jack have a look. The room through the peephole appeared narrow, with just enough space on the far wall for the three doors. Jack saw black walls and ceiling, and a floor covered in a grid of alternating black and white tiles.
When he pulled his eye away from the hole, Jack was confused—“I think it’s small—like a dollhouse or something.”
“No way—what makes you think that?” asked Stephen.
“I don’t know,” said Jack. “It just does. Hey—is that his ‘deepest vulnerability?’”
“Oh yeah—his heart,” Ben answered. “That makes sense, but what does it tell us.”
“That’s the line about the ‘Truth,’ right?” Stephen asked.
“Yeah,” said Jack. “So, do you think the truth is the light?”
“Is that one of the good sentences, or the lies?” asked Stephen.
Jack pulled out the letter and reviewed his highlighting. “Yeah, that’s one of the good ones.”
“We haven’t proved that yet,” said Ben. “It’s just a theory.”
“Easy enough,” said Jack as he moved towards the ladder. “Stand back.”
“Shouldn’t you just not grab that rung?” said Ben.
“No, we have to prove that the letter is giving us clues,” Jack replied.
Stephen had gone back to looking through the hole in the drawing’s heart. “I think maybe it is a model,” he said.
“Okay—ready?” asked Jack. His head was even with the ceiling and he was about to grab the next rung.
“Sure,
we’re
ready—you’re the one who needs to be ready,” said Ben.
He moved with confidence until his hand was about an inch from the shocking rung. For a microsecond his hand touched and then he drew it back.
“Did it get you?” asked Ben. “Is it on?”
“I don’t think so,” said Jack. He brushed the rung twice more and then actually grabbed it for a split-second before letting it go. “Nope, I don’t think it’s on.”
“Cool—so what’s up there?” asked Stephen.
Jack pointed his flashlight to reveal that the rungs continued for another six feet or so. He pulled himself up, looking back at the hatch that had closed automatically the day before.
“Hey, this panel is back open—I didn’t even think of that,” said Jack.
“Oh yeah, that probably reset or something,” said Stephen.
“Where was it?” asked Ben.
“Right above the ceiling there—Jack’s probably clearing it now,” Stephen answered.
“Hope it doesn’t close now,” said Ben.
Moving fast, Jack descended back through the hole in the ceiling, jumping the last few feet. “Hey—I think I just figured out the next piece,” he had a broad smile.
“What, the letter?” asked Ben.
Unfolding the letter, Jack trained his flashlight on the writing. “Look here, it says ‘Only the first King’s Bishop treads without fear.’ right? Stephen, you said the white King’s Bishop only touches the white squares?”
“Yeah,” said Stephen.
“That room up there has a black and white floor, like a chess board,” said Jack.
“Like the model?” asked Ben.
“Huh?” Jack was surprised.
Ben pointed his light to the anatomical drawing of the body. “The model.”
“Yeah, yeah—like the floor on the model,” said Jack.
“I want to go see,” said Stephen.
“Only step on the white!” ordered Jack. Stephen was already halfway up the ladder.
Gingerly, Stephen climbed through the hole in the ceiling and when his feet disappeared, Jack climbed up after him. Alone in the drawing room, Ben watched Jack disappear. He was about to move towards the ladder when Jack’s face reappeared.
“Come on!” said Jack.
Ben emerged on the next floor to find Jack and Stephen with their feet spread and planted on white tiles. He followed suit and stepped off the ladder onto white, not letting his feet hit the black tiles. Each tile was twelve inches square, so it was easy for the boys to fit a foot on a single tile, but they had to spread their feet awkwardly to plant both feet. The tiles were laid out in an alternating pattern, like a chess board.
Stephen shone his light at the opposite end where they saw three doors. “This
is
the model,” he said.
“There’s no light,” said Ben.
“That makes sense,” said Jack. “He wanted us to know the correct door from the model. We were supposed to figure out that clue.”
“You really want that to be true, don’t you?” asked Ben.
“It
is
true,” replied Jack.
“Well I don’t think we should try either of the other doors, just to prove the point,” said Stephen. He began to walk towards the doors, only touching the white tiles.
Jack looked at Ben and then followed Stephen.
“We really ought to figure out a way to jam this panel, in case it decides to close again,” said Ben.
“I think it’s off because the switch is off,” Jack said as he stepped from tile to tile.
Bending down as much as he could, Ben examined the panel. It was metal and enclosed in a metal shell, bolted to the floor. Ben looked around, but didn’t see anything he could use to block the panel from closing, so he followed his friends over to the door.
“It opens in,” said Stephen. “Should I try it?” he asked.
“Go ahead,” said Jack.
With no hesitation, Stephen turned the knob. The door swung inward forcefully and pushed back on Stephen’s tense arm. He lost his balance and stumbled, placing a foot directly on one of the black tiles.
“Watch out!” said Jack.
The three froze and exhaled relief after a few seconds with no apparent repercussions from Stephen’s errant footfall.
“So much for…” Ben was cut off by a grinding sound behind him.
The boys spun around to see the panel sliding shut, blocking them from the ladder.
“Shit!” exclaimed Ben—he ran back over the white tiles to the ladder just as it was traversing the last six inches to the wall.
“I don’t think you need to worry about the white tiles now, Ben,” said Jack.
“I think we do,” said Ben. “Seriously, get back on white,” he pointed his flashlight at Stephen’s feet. When Stephen had retreated, Ben looked at his watch—“We were here almost fifteen minutes before we totally screwed that up.”
“Well I think we need to be worried about what’s past this door—it’s our only option now.”
“Just stand still for a second,” said Ben. “Jack, what else does the letter say?”
“Hold up,” Jack dug out the letter again. “Uh, well there’s some junk and then it eventually says ‘take solace in the fact that at first, level heads have patience while their hands part and meet again.’”
“And that’s a true one?” asked Ben.
“C’mon, we should just be going through the door,” said Stephen. “There’s bound to be another way out somewhere.”
“Who knows how many more traps there are,” said Ben. “I’m not going anywhere until we figure out how to get this panel back open.”
“We should have brought a pry-bar or something,” said Jack. “We knew that panel was…”
Jack was cut off by the sound of the panel sliding again.
“It’s opening,” said Ben. “Jesus, I thought we were trapped in here.”
“How long was it shut?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know for sure—about a minute?” said Ben, checking his watch again. “Maybe we should get something to jam this door too.”
“Seriously?” said Stephen. “Can’t we just see what’s down here?”
“No,” said Jack, “Ben’s right—we need to make sure we have a clear path out.”
“Okay,” Stephen gave in. “But I think that the door probably resets by itself anyway.” He started to make his way back across the tiles.
From white to white, Jack carefully crossed the tiles. When they had joined at the ladder, Ben started to make his way down through the hole.
“Hey—can you hold this for a second?” Jack asked Stephen—he held out his flashlight. Stephen took the light and pointed it at Jack’s hands where he was neatly folding the letter to put it back in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said.
Jack reached back for his flashlight. Stephen handed it over and Jack botched the transfer. The light fell to the floor, landing hard on one of the black squares.
“Shit!” yelled Jack. “Ben get through.”
“I’m through!” Ben called up from below.
“Check your watch!” said Stephen as the panel began to shut again.
Jack reached down and tried to halt the medium pace of the panel, but its speed was unchanged by his effort. He withdrew his hand and the panel finished its travel.
Stephen yelled at the panel—“Tell us when a minute is up.”
A muffled reply came from below: “Okay.”
They waited in silence. Stephen pointed his light over towards the open door on the far wall. Joining with his light, Jack looked at the door as well. The hallway beyond the door seemed to swallow their lights—the floor, ceiling, and walls were all flat black.
Their eyes were glued to the black rectangle and they both flinched when Ben’s voice floated up from below—“One minute!”
“Hmmm,” said Stephen. A second later the panel began to open again.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Jack.
**********
Jack’s dad cooked on the grill. The boys gorged—after returning from the hotel they had worked up an appetite planning and assembling all the tools and materials they thought they would need. For the first time, they had left the stepladder in the woods near the hotel. Jack decided that it was risky to constantly move it in and out of the garage. But, for now, all the preparation was forgotten and the boys focused on dinner.
“This is great, mom,” said Jack.
“Tell your dad, he did the cooking,” she replied.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“What did you do today?” his dad asked. “You certainly have an appetite.”
“Nothing much,” Jack responded. “We played outside, and then messed around up in my room.”
“Did you talk to your mom?” Jack’s mom asked Stephen.
“Yes,” he began, “she said I should ask if it’s okay that I stay ‘til the end of the month.”
“Oh, of course, that’s fine,” Jack’s mom replied.
“And Ben, are you moving in for good?” she asked.
“If that’s okay,” smiled Ben.
“Hey Dad,” said Jack, “I heard a riddle today.”
“Difficulty?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know,” said Jack. “I thought easy, but I don’t know the answer. It’s definitely not a brain-buster.” Jack and his dad had always enjoyed solving puzzles and riddles together. Jack was good at the math and logic problems, and his dad excelled at the language and historic references. When they wanted a good challenge, they would turn to Jack’s “Book of Brain-Busters.”
“What would you consider the key line of the riddle?” his dad asked him.
“It was ‘Level heads have patience while their hands part and meet again,’ I think,” recited Jack.
“How old?”
“Um, not sure. Maybe fifteen or twenty years.” Jack didn’t want to reveal too much information.