The Hunt for Tyrell Banks

Chapter 31 - Of mice and men and monsters

The novel sat on the kitchen bench, a solid thing that seemed to weigh much more than the paper it was comprised of.

Riley reached for it. Drew back. Reached for it again. Drew back.

"Riles, I had it in my bag the whole day," I said, and I would have rolled my eyes if it wasn't so cliché. "It's just a book."

"I understand, Ms. Warrick," Riley said, and finally worked up the nerve to take the book properly in his hands. "But we both know it's not a 'normal' book now, don't we."

"Armitage doesn't exist anymore. Dr. Rusty said it's gone. That it vanished." I took in a deep breath. "So, maybe it is just, like, a 'normal' book. Maybe the magic is gone, and mom and dad are also gonna be normal ... er, soon."

Riley inspected the book's cover. "'At the Mountains of Madness' by H. P. Lovecraft," he read, and he looked at me. Then put the book back on the bench. "I would not be placing my hope on any such miracle, Hanna. Not after last Saturday night." He rubbed his chin with one hand. "Your teacher gave this to you? As assigned reading?"

"Yeah."

"A little uncanny, wouldn't you say?"

I shrugged. "I ... think it's okay? I mean, Mr. Roberts – my teacher – he was right about Edgar Allen Poe being eleventh grade reading for Common Core and stuff. I looked it up."

Riley chuckled. "My, you really are quite studious, aren't you."

"Yeah, I guess I am," I said, and grinned. "But yeah, it sort of makes sense that he'd give us this. Lovecraft was inspired by Poe, and this one's not a long book. It'll serve as a good intro into, you know, classical Romanticism, mystery, the supernatural, all that."

Riley had one eyebrow raised. "Ma'am, I wonder sometimes whether you are truly sixteen years of age, or whether perhaps a much wiser soul is inhabiting your otherwise youthful frame."

"You calling me old?"

He appeared to give this some thought. "Yes."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome," he said, smiling. "In the meantime, I am now somewhat suspicious of your English teacher, Mr. Rupert."

"It's Mr. Roberts. And you think he ... you think he somehow knows about mom and dad? Or, like, that he knows about Armitage and all that trouble we had back ho – back over east?"

Riley looked at me carefully. "I am careful not to form any opinion until I have the facts, Ms. Warrick,," he said. "And you mentioned that there's an inscription in here?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, and I took the book and opened it to the page where the tiny little sentence had been written. "There. It says 'parents are monsters and must be killed.'"

Riley leaned close, squinting. Then he rubbed the line with his thumb. "It looks like it's been there a while."

I guffawed incredulously. "You can tell how long something has been written in a book?"

"To some extent, yes," he said, and gave me a knowing smile. "This line here was written with a ball-point pen, likely a Bic. You can tell it was a ball-point by the pressure marks at the tips of the letters, particularly the ones at at the start of the word. You see here, the word 'parents'? The 'p' is indented just at the top there. Now, if I turn the page – " He flicked the page over – "you'll notice there are no indentations beneath, which means the paper has, for want of a better term, 'healed' itself. More importantly – " He went back to the inscription, " – ink that is black like this will partially smear, even after several weeks. However, once the ink has completely oxidized ... well, the smearing can only occur if you re-wet the page."