Chapter One Continued
Abernathy Penn Arrives
Penn entered.
The door closed behind him without a sound. He paused just inside, not to gather himself but to register the room. Intake tables. Sorting lamps. Rufus at the console. Thessaly near the provisional trays. Nothing appeared disordered, yet something in the air carried a tense density that did not belong to routine processing.
He adjusted the cuff of his left sleeve - not fidgeting, merely ensuring alignment. The fabric was dark and finely woven, structured but not severe. His tailored jacket followed the line of his shoulders precisely. He wore no ornament beyond a narrow watch whose face was unadorned and legible.
There was about him a faint trace of vetiver - dry, rootlike, almost austere. It did not announce itself. It simply remained if one stood near him long enough.
“Intake anomaly?” he asked.
His voice was low and even, English in cadence though not exaggeratedly so. Each word was fully articulated, shaped with care. He spoke with deliberation and economy, each syllable carrying its full weight.
Rufus gestured toward the console display.
Penn did not step forward immediately. Instead, he removed his gloves - thin, slate-colored kit leather - folding them once and placing them on the edge of the intake table. Only then did he approach the fragment.
He did not touch it at first.
He leaned in and examined the margins. The fold. The edge where the tear had separated the paper from its former whole. His gaze moved methodically, as though every surface offered equal testimony.
“Origin?” he asked.
Rufus gestured toward the intake console. “Channel Seven. Recovered Ephemera. It triggered the wrong protocol.”
Penn inclined his head slightly.
He lifted the sheet with two fingers, supporting its underside with the other hand. The movement was unhurried.
The fragment had no author metadata. No ink analysis had yet been conducted. The paper stock was contemporary but not distinctive. It felt neither old nor newly written.
The fragment bore the opening lines of what appeared to be a story written by hand in ink.
“Here, try this.” Frank says.
“What is it?” Bob.
“Not sure yet.” Frank.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bob.
“That means I am just making this shit up on the spot.” Frank.
“OK…” Bob says with a look of incredulity.
“In fact, this thing, that I don’t know yet what it is, has yet to come into existence as possibly some sort of McGuffin – I make no apologies for it – and, for that matter, Bob, I am making you up as well. Currently you and the thing I am trying to get you to try are just larks of my imagination, a momentary experiment in writing something.”
Bob, somewhat confused, looks at his hands, then looks around him trying to figure out where he is and for that matter, who he is other than merely the name “Bob.”
“What the fuck?” Bob.
“Yeah, that’s what I am thinking too… What the fuck?” Frank.
Frank, all of a sudden, looks down at his own hands, feels his mouth, looks at Bob.
“Wait a minute. I don’t think I am making you up. I am starting to think somebody else is making both of us up.” Frank.
They both look at each other.
He read the first line.
His expression steady.
He read the second.
Only at the third did one see the faintest narrowing of his eyes — not shock, not offense, but recalibration.
The tone was not archival.
The diction did not belong to institutional correspondence.
The profanity, though minimal, did not sit comfortably within the Hall’s usual submissions.
He finished the page.
He turned it once beneath the light. No watermark.
“There is no continuation? This tear at the bottom might mean the remainer was removed.” he asked.
“None located,” Rufus said.
Penn held the fragment a moment longer.
He did not appear disturbed.
If anything, he appeared attentive in a new register.
Two figures, an interaction, an unformed offering questioned, premature self-awareness.
And the phrase.
“Here, try this.”
“Is it dangerous?” Rufus asked.
Penn took a slow deep breath, lowered the page and regarded him mildly.
“No,” he said. “It is merely unfinished.”
to be continued