The Night Country

35

The door wasn’t there, then it was. A crooked rectangle like a child’s rendering, its seams all lined with light. It hung there a moment, defiant.

Then—it opened. Behind it was a wedge of chilled gray air the color of stone. Another day stood through that door. Another world. Was it the Night Country?

A woman stood in the doorway.

First she was just a shape, singed at the edges with light. Then she was a stranger stepping through, all dressed in shabby black, her pale blond hair in braids. Her eyes had the amoral shine of a cat’s. If she was surprised to see me, she gave no sign of it. She was a puzzle I might’ve kept staring at, but there was someone else coming in behind her.

Someone dazed and thin and taller than I remembered. His eyes were wide and his arms outstretched like he was walking into cold water.

I went still as snow.

There was so much I’d remembered wrong. He was leaner than he had been in my mind. Hungrier. He moved like someone hungry and restless. His jeans were worn to whiteness. He’d cut off his hair.

He hadn’t seen me yet. I had a little time to get my head around this. I had a few more seconds to get it right.