Episodul 220 · The Other Way In

Back at the factory, three months after leaving Vineward, Soles knelt beside the chained door with the foreman’s wrench in his hand.

The route was still simple: the main hall behind him, the factory yard through the door, and the breach in the open space beyond it. He meant to keep the door clear while he worked, then come back the same way.

He loosened the latch’s bolts without pulling on the frame. When the last bolt came free, he caught the plate in his palm and lowered the chain to the floor.

The door opened with a scrape across the concrete. Nothing moved above it.

At the entrance to the hall, the foreman let out a breath.

— Better than the shoulder, Soles said.

— Takes longer.

He set the wrench beside the chain and walked back to the man.

— Have someone repair that frame before you use it again.

— We’ve been asking for six weeks.

Soles took the wrapped blade from his bag.

The foreman watched him uncover it. His attention stayed on the dark edge for a moment before returning to Soles’s face.

— Once you’ve done this, we can reopen?

— Once somebody checks the building.

— I’ve got eighty-six people asking me about Monday.

The question had followed Soles from the gate. He understood why the man kept putting it in front of him. If the opening vanished, there would be a person to thank, a door to unlock, perhaps even a shift to organize.

The crack above the frame would remain.

— I’ll report that you’ve kept everybody out, he said.

The foreman’s mouth tightened.

— That’s not what I asked.

— It’s what I can tell them.

He asked the man to wait with the driver outside the gate. The foreman went slowly, keeping the keys in his hand. Soles waited until he heard the gate close, then returned through the hall.

At the far door, he stopped to examine the yard.

A few paces of bare concrete separated him from the breach. The enclosing wall stood well behind it; the drain ran off to his right. There was room to approach and room to retreat without climbing over anything.

He kept the doorway at his back.

Rain fell through the pale opening. For a moment each drop became a bright thread, stretched sideways across the air. Then the threads broke and ordinary water struck the concrete.

The breach drew together again, narrower than his shoulders. Its lower end failed to meet the ground.

He could close it now. He had no intention of waiting to see what stood on the other side once it finished opening.

Soles brought the blade into his right hand and advanced until the light began to pull at his coat.

He stopped there. The yard was quiet enough to hear rain tapping the door behind him.

In the prison, he had answered the pressure by giving it more strength. Here he wanted a single cut and his hand back. If the edge moved beyond his reach, he would step away and wait.

Finish it.

The readiness ran down his arm. Phenom made the thought of reaching through the opening seem simple, almost restful. Soles could feel how easily he might lean after the blade.

He settled his weight over both feet.

A ripple passed down the breach. Its edge separated, revealing a fine line within the light, then closed again before he could reach it.

He waited through the next ripple.

His shoulders were beginning to ache. The office could call again; the foreman could ask about Monday. Neither would make the opening hold still for him.

He watched the lower edge and let the next movement come.

The light thinned.

Soles used the brief slowing he had practiced with falling washers and the trainer’s padded stick. The rain drew out around the opening, giving him room to recognize the line. He still had to move his own hand in time.

He drove the dark point through it.

The pull caught his wrist. His first instinct was to brace and force the blade deeper, but he brought his elbow back instead. The edge passed through the light and returned toward his ribs.

The opening folded around the cut.

Rain struck his sleeve at its ordinary speed. Soles stepped back, heels sliding on the wet concrete, and let his knife hand drop clear of his body.

The light was gone.

He waited. The yard held its shape: wall, doorway, water running toward the drain. A fresh drop struck the place where the lower edge had been.

His breath came hard. There was pressure behind his eyes, familiar from the moments when he tried to hold the slowing beyond what he could manage.

It eased sooner than he expected.

Soles wiped the rain from his face with his free hand. Something about the last instant had felt different. Usually the world snapped back while he was still finishing the movement he had chosen. This time he had felt the pull begin to change and adjusted his wrist before the slowing ended.

A small difference. Enough to notice when a knife was in his hand.

He remained in the yard until his breathing settled. He could hear the foreman speaking on the road, too far away to make out the words.

Then he went back to the door and picked up one of the latch’s loose washers.

He had spent evenings dropping these into his palm. In the first weeks he had closed his hand too soon or watched the washer strike the floor while the strange extra moment belonged entirely to his eyes.

Now he let it fall.

The washer turned slowly enough for him to see its edge. He shifted his waiting hand, recognized that it was still too far left and made a small correction before the metal struck his palm.

The moment ended at once. He caught his breath and stood still until the pressure behind his eyes began to fade.

He could do a little more than before.

Soles put the washer beside the wrench. He had no wish to find the limit by dropping the knife.

At the doorway, he checked the yard once more, then wrapped the blade and carried it back through the hall.

His own phone was waiting in the bag beneath the clean shirt. Before picking it up, he opened the agency handset.

Closed.

He sent the message.

For a while he held both phones, one in each hand, with the rain sounding against the factory roof.