Chapter Nine: Dr. Holbrook’s Handshake

It had been six days since Elias last whispered about her son. Six days of no name, no toy, no eerie little hints about what no one could know.

Irene told herself it was progress.

She didn’t believe it.

He had described the lake. Down to the algae bloom. The chipped yellow dock. He even laughed when he said, “He liked when you brought sandwiches in the red tin. Even the soggy ones.”

Irene barely remembered that detail herself.

She hadn’t slept much since.

Today she brought no clipboard. She simply sat with Elias in the white therapy room, where a fake window shone sunlight from a panel in the ceiling. He hadn’t looked at her yet.

She crossed her legs. Watched him trace something invisible in the air with his finger.

“Are you drawing again?” she asked.

“Mm,” Elias hummed. “I’m sketching the mouth of the world.”

“Where is it?”

He turned to her, lips smudged with something that wasn’t there.

“It opens when you lie.”

Irene flinched.

She tried to recover, but her hands had already begun their traitorous tremble.

“Elias,” she said carefully, “I want to ask you something real.”

He blinked. Waited.

“If I go too far,” she whispered, “if I fall into your world—will your friend kill me?”

A pause. Then:

“No.”

Relief bloomed, foolish and fast.

“He’ll just make you smile,” Elias said softly. “Until your mouth doesn’t close anymore.”

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Chapter Ten: Welcome Home

Elias didn’t fall asleep.

He willed himself back.

It wasn’t often that the slip happened while conscious—usually, the fog of exhaustion pulled him under. But today, he whispered Grinner’s name into his pillow like a spell.

The air thickened. Static tickled his skin.

And then he was back.

The sky was peppermint-swirl. The trees bent backward, laughing in creaks.

Carnival lights blinked like open wounds.

And standing at the gate, arms wide, was Grinner.

“There’s my darling boy,” he cooed, voice sticky-sweet. “I was wondering when you’d remember your way home.”

Elias ran to him.

Grinner’s arms enveloped him like velvet and bone.

“I hate the real place,” Elias sobbed into his chest. “It tastes like bleach and lies.”

Grinner stroked his hair.

“They’ll try to bleach you clean,” he whispered. “But you are already stained. Gloriously. Like a masterpiece no one understands.”

Elias looked up, teary-eyed.

“Will you show me something new?”

Grinner’s eyes turned gold.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

With a flourish of his hand, the ground beneath them peeled open like paper.

Below: a theater. Velvet seats. A flickering projector. But instead of film, it played memories.

Irene’s memories.

Her son. Her lake. Her red tin. The scream.

Elias gasped.

Grinner chuckled.

“You see, sweet boy… she’s more like us than she knows.”

He knelt behind Elias, whispering into his ear.

“And wouldn’t it be kind of us… to let her visit?”