Read Online Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) by Lori Williams, Christopher Dunkle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lori Williams, Christopher Dunkle
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made the
monumental mistake of telling this to Kitt.
A monumental gleam
burst from his eyes like fire. The fox had returned.
“A basement,” he
repeated.
I have never
considered myself to be a man of proper philosophy, so should the following
musings strike you as unnatural or maddening, please ignore them. But there are
those moments, I believe, in this existence, where one can nearly see the
unfolding of events in time by trying very hard not to. Kind of a gained sense.
There are also, I believe, moments within moments where one can just barely
deduce the splitting of a metaphysical road. The changes in time, the forking.
Possibility. Out of the corner of his eye, one might see a very tired Will Pocket
rise from his chair while another, equally likely, Will Pocket chooses to
remain seated and humor the ramblings of Kitt Sunner. One could then see the
first Will Pocket mumble goodbyes and head out into the night rain while the
second scratches his head and bites his tongue at Kitt's proposal of a “grand
exploration.” At the biting of the tongue, a third Will Pocket might appear,
choosing to withhold reservations while the second is loudly complaining and
the responsible first is half a mile away, looking for safer shelter. Minutes
into this supposed possibility, the second Will Pocket throws his hands up in
frustration, tells off the thief, and turns his back as Kitt begins pulling at
floorboards. The third Pocket, passively waiting for the rain to clear, offers
no vocal objection and finds himself somehow holding up pieces of carpet while
his companion checks the floor. Time presses on and the enthusiasm of Kitt
Sunner discovers a half-broken handle screwed into a square cut of wood beneath
a moved workbench. It is at this moment that the third Will Pocket begins
seriously wishing that his choices would have led him to become either the
firm-resolved second, his hands at last clean of this whole affair, the first,
moving further and further away, or a previously unmentioned fourth Pocket who
had the divine intuition not to follow Kitt across the city in the first place.
This however was
not the case.
“Give me a hand
with this,” Kitt said, twisting his fingers around the handle. “It's hard to
get a good grip.”
“Looks like
someone took a hammer to it.”
“Yeah, looks like.
Probably so the room won't be disturbed.”
“So let's not
disturb it.”
“That's not very
adventurous of you, Pocket.”
“I'm not—”
“I've got a better
idea. Let's jump on it.”
I closed my eyes
and counted out a hundred alternative progressions of reality. I was happy to
learn that none featured a Pocket even remotely willing to hop up and down on
an unknown door.
“Jump on it
yourself.”
“Fine,” Kitt said,
and did exactly that.
“Getting
anywhere?” I asked.
“I don't know. Can
I borrow your bottle again?”
“It's not magic.
Going through old windows is one thing, but wood—“
“Hold on! It's
moving!” Kitt jumped again and sank about an inch into the floor.
“You'd better be
careful,” I advised.
“I'll be fine.
Watch this.” He lifted a knee to his chest and then slammed it back down. The
wood instantly splintered and Kitt's leg went through the door.
“Wow,” I said.
“Impressive.”
“Don't be too
impressed. I didn't mean to do that.”
“Oh. You need a
hand?”
“There's...something
under me. Feels like a step. I think there's a staircase down there. Can you
help me up?”
“I just offered
to—“
“Here.”
Kitt offered his
hand and, clutching his arm, I pulled him up and out of the floor. A large
chunk of wood came with Kitt's leg. He shook it off and bent over the hole he
had made.
“It's dark down
there,” he said.
“Shouldn't it be?”
Kitt pulled at
splinters until he had broken most of the door away. He then took his first,
cautious step into the darkness.
“You'd better be
careful,” I repeated.
“Sure, sure.” He
took another two steps. His chest
monumental mistake of telling this to Kitt.
A monumental gleam
burst from his eyes like fire. The fox had returned.
“A basement,” he
repeated.
I have never
considered myself to be a man of proper philosophy, so should the following
musings strike you as unnatural or maddening, please ignore them. But there are
those moments, I believe, in this existence, where one can nearly see the
unfolding of events in time by trying very hard not to. Kind of a gained sense.
There are also, I believe, moments within moments where one can just barely
deduce the splitting of a metaphysical road. The changes in time, the forking.
Possibility. Out of the corner of his eye, one might see a very tired Will Pocket
rise from his chair while another, equally likely, Will Pocket chooses to
remain seated and humor the ramblings of Kitt Sunner. One could then see the
first Will Pocket mumble goodbyes and head out into the night rain while the
second scratches his head and bites his tongue at Kitt's proposal of a “grand
exploration.” At the biting of the tongue, a third Will Pocket might appear,
choosing to withhold reservations while the second is loudly complaining and
the responsible first is half a mile away, looking for safer shelter. Minutes
into this supposed possibility, the second Will Pocket throws his hands up in
frustration, tells off the thief, and turns his back as Kitt begins pulling at
floorboards. The third Pocket, passively waiting for the rain to clear, offers
no vocal objection and finds himself somehow holding up pieces of carpet while
his companion checks the floor. Time presses on and the enthusiasm of Kitt
Sunner discovers a half-broken handle screwed into a square cut of wood beneath
a moved workbench. It is at this moment that the third Will Pocket begins
seriously wishing that his choices would have led him to become either the
firm-resolved second, his hands at last clean of this whole affair, the first,
moving further and further away, or a previously unmentioned fourth Pocket who
had the divine intuition not to follow Kitt across the city in the first place.
This however was
not the case.
“Give me a hand
with this,” Kitt said, twisting his fingers around the handle. “It's hard to
get a good grip.”
“Looks like
someone took a hammer to it.”
“Yeah, looks like.
Probably so the room won't be disturbed.”
“So let's not
disturb it.”
“That's not very
adventurous of you, Pocket.”
“I'm not—”
“I've got a better
idea. Let's jump on it.”
I closed my eyes
and counted out a hundred alternative progressions of reality. I was happy to
learn that none featured a Pocket even remotely willing to hop up and down on
an unknown door.
“Jump on it
yourself.”
“Fine,” Kitt said,
and did exactly that.
“Getting
anywhere?” I asked.
“I don't know. Can
I borrow your bottle again?”
“It's not magic.
Going through old windows is one thing, but wood—“
“Hold on! It's
moving!” Kitt jumped again and sank about an inch into the floor.
“You'd better be
careful,” I advised.
“I'll be fine.
Watch this.” He lifted a knee to his chest and then slammed it back down. The
wood instantly splintered and Kitt's leg went through the door.
“Wow,” I said.
“Impressive.”
“Don't be too
impressed. I didn't mean to do that.”
“Oh. You need a
hand?”
“There's...something
under me. Feels like a step. I think there's a staircase down there. Can you
help me up?”
“I just offered
to—“
“Here.”
Kitt offered his
hand and, clutching his arm, I pulled him up and out of the floor. A large
chunk of wood came with Kitt's leg. He shook it off and bent over the hole he
had made.
“It's dark down
there,” he said.
“Shouldn't it be?”
Kitt pulled at
splinters until he had broken most of the door away. He then took his first,
cautious step into the darkness.
“You'd better be
careful,” I repeated.
“Sure, sure.” He
took another two steps. His chest
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