THIS WAS THE FIFTH DOOR HE KNOCKED ON, and the only one who didn't slam the door when they saw who he was. Light flooded through the doorway, making a stark contrast to the velvet blanket that covered the sky. He had to cover his face to not be blinded. He hated the light. That's why he agreed to come at midnight when the only light came from the pale white moon. Through the cracks of his fingers, he saw a woman watching him closely. Her lips were turned down; her eyebrows seemed permanently furrowed together. Her eyes ran down him, taking in every detail. He shifted on his feet, shoving his hands deep within his disheveled coat. Without a word, she opened the door wider and ushered him inside. As soon as he was in the house, she shut the door and twisted a series of locks.
"Ma'am, I'm—" he said.
"I know who you are, Larry Marshall," she said. "I'm Dottie Knight. They told me you were coming, but I didn't think you'd be so late."
"I got lost, ma'am. All the houses look the same."
She raised a brow, looking unimpressed.
"I've never been good with directions, and half of it was indecipherable, then I lost the paper, and I couldn't—"
"Enough," she said. He shrunk back as her eyes turned cold. Then she smiled. "You look like you need some rest, Mr. Marshall. Follow me please."
She led him to the parlor room. The room was clean for the most part. He couldn't see a speck of dust anywhere. The only thing that remained out of place was a coat strewn across a loveseat. But as perfect as it was, it felt staged. They were on Broadway and Dottie Knight was the stage manager, conductor, and star of the show. She made it her mission to have everything the way she wanted it.
He looked around, trying to decide where he should sit before sinking in a plush armchair. His feet ached, the pain pulsating as he took the weight off them for the first time in ages. Across the room, Dottie remained standing, her face unreadable. She never took her eyes off him, and he squirmed under her gaze. It was no wonder she was in charge. She could make grown men go run to their mothers with tears streaking down their faces. He didn't understand how someone so physically unimposing could elicit such a reaction, but he knew that it was better for everyone to stay off her bad side.
"Do you have it?" she asked.
Larry froze. For a moment, he had nearly forgotten why he'd come. But, as he was reminded of his assignment, he scrambled to reach into his coat pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dottie's nose wrinkle. His face grew warm as it dawned on him that he stuck out like a sore thumb in her clean, shiny home. While he looked like he'd just gone dumpster diving, she looked like she had just left a fancy dinner. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun, and there wasn't a single wrinkle in her clothing. He pulled out a small notebook that looked as filthy as his coat before extending it towards Dottie. She made no effort to take it, so he slowly retracted his arm.
"Just put it on the table," she said. His face became even warmer as he placed the notebook on the side table. "Have you read it?"
"There's not much that I could read, ma'am," he admitted. "Most of it's in some other
language."
She nodded, her lips pursed. "I see. What you managed to read—could you tell me about that?"
"It sounded like a bunch of nonsense, ma'am. Just the ramblings of a madman," he said. "He, or she, kept going on and on about the government lying to us. Said that politicians only look out for themselves and that, if we were wise, we'd kill 'em all."
"That doesn't sound mad at all," Dottie said. She walked across the room and picked up the notebook. She flipped through the pages, stopping on a few before shutting the book again. "Whoever wrote this must've known an awful lot."
"What do you mean?"
She shook her head. "It's confidential, Mr. Marshall."
"Oh."
Dottie raised a brow. This may have been the first time someone didn't question the confidentiality of something. It was almost human instinct to question the legitimacy of something. After all, that's how she got to be in charge. But this man seemed to not care. Where did they find someone like this? How could someone be so content with not knowing? "Nevertheless, you already know more than you should," she said. Even if Larry didn't care about having an overabundance of knowledge, she relished in dangling information in front of someone's face. "I'm surprised you got this far."
"What are you talking about, ma'am? What do you mean?"
She hid a grin. Perhaps he cared more than he let on.
"When you got this notebook, did your boss tell to be careful, to not trust anyone you met until you got this to me?"
"No, ma'am. Should he have?"
"He must not have known either," she said. She didn't dare elaborate. Larry shifted in his seat. "When you got here, you said you lost the directions."
"Yes, ma'am. I was going down an alley, and I think someone grabbed me, and they—"
She raised an eyebrow. "You managed to get away and keep the notebook? Interesting."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but what's interesting? I don't understand."
"I think it goes without saying that a lot of people have tried, and failed, to get this thing. Its contents hold things that no man should know. It holds things that no man could ever dream of. Legends and stories have formed around it. When that happens, a lot of crazy people think that it's more magical than it actually is. Treasure hunters try to get a hold of it. They think they can exploit whatever they find inside."
"But they can't, because it's just a normal notebook."
"They can, because it's just a normal notebook," she corrected. "Everywhere this notebook has gone, a great civilization has fallen. People will do whatever it takes to make a government collapse, and this notebook has always been a means to do so."
"But it looks so...plain, ma'am. It doesn't look like it's anything special."
"And that's what makes it so dangerous, Mr. Marshall."
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
Her lips curled upward, a wicked smile gracing her face. "No, most people don't. It's a simple concept to grasp, but so many people make it out to be harder than it actually is. You see, people tend to that think only extraordinary objects can do extraordinary things, but they're very, very wrong. In reality, it's something as simple as this notebook that can do the damnedest things."
"I'll take your word for it, ma'am."
She laughed. "You'll come to understand soon enough, Mr. Marshall. But, first, we need to leave. I presume you already have everything you need?"
He rose to his feet. "Why? Where are we going?"
"I'm afraid we've overstayed our welcome. The homeowners will be here soon."
"What? This isn't your house? Did you break in or something?"
"I prefer to think of it as borrowing, but we need to go."
"Why? I still don't understand."
"You don't need to understand to leave the house, Mr. Marshall, so I suggest you follow me. Unless, of course, you'd rather stay."
She slipped on the coat that lay on the loveseat. She reached into one of the pockets, getting out a pair of gloves, then pulled them on her hands. A slender finger pointed at the notebook. He handed it to her. Her nose wrinkled as she snatched it out of his hand and slipped it into a pocket. Then she smiled, waiting to see if he would stay or leave.
"And if I don't go with you?" he asked.
"Then you can explain to the police how you broke in."
His face paled. Without another word, he followed behind her as she went out the back door. They disappeared into the night as he heard the gentle roar of a car pulling into the driveway. Dottie looked back at him and, even though it was hard to see, he knew she had a smirk stretched across her face.
"You ready for an adventure, Mr. Marshall?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," he said, "but I'll go on one anyways."
They seemed to walk forever down the cold pavement. The inky darkness became brighter as the sun started to rise. Larry wondered where they were going, but he knew better than to ask.
She'd say something about the location being confidential, something about him not being allowed to know. He wondered what she would say if he asked for a pair of shoes. But he kept his mouth shut, choosing to walk in silence.
As dusk turned to dawn, Dottie stopped. Larry looked at her, his face impassive. A chill ran down his spine. He shoved his hands into the coat pockets.
"What's going on?" he said.
"Do you trust me?" she asked.
"Until you give me a reason not to, ma'am," he said.
"Good, because this might sting a little."
She moved faster than he could process, pulling the trigger on a gun he didn't know she had. His body fell to the ground with a thump. Blood flowed out of his wound, staining the pavement. They'd have her head for this; they wouldn't understand. No one could know about this notebook. No one could know the secrets that lay hidden in its pages. No one should be able to abuse its powers. Larry knew too much. He read the notebook. She had to get him out of the way. It was a shame that it had to come to this. He could've been a good ally, but she couldn't risk anything. Allies were a dangerous thing to have. She couldn't afford for this to go wrong. No one was allowed to get in her way.
Dottie pulled out her phone and called the only person who would help, no questions asked. "Hey," she said, "I need your help."
"No, it's nothing serious. I just need help getting rid of a body."
"What do you mean that's serious? No, he was trying to steal the notebook. I had to get him out of the way."
"I really need your help with this. Please."
"Thank you so, so much. I owe you one."
She hung up, pocketing the phone. She cast a sad look down at Larry. It really was a shame that it had to end this way. He seemed like he was nice enough, but he was too curious for his own good. She was doing him a favor. If he was able to, he'd be thanking her. (Or cursing her; she wasn't too sure.) She shook her head and turned away.
She was running out of time; she needed to get away. So, she continued down the street, distancing herself from the corpse. When she was a few blocks away from the scene, a dark car pulled up beside her. The window rolled down, revealing a familiar face. Though it was still dark, Dottie knew that this was her ride. She climbed into the passenger seat, buckling herself in.
"What did you do this time, Miss Knight?" Harris asked.
She held up a finger as she fished the notebook out of her coat. His jaw went slack as he looked at it. "I found it. After all these years, I found it."
"How did you—"
"That's a secret, Harris," she said, "and you know how I feel about my secrets."
"Right. Sorry, Miss Knight," he said as he began to drive down the road. "What are you planning on doing now?"
A smirk curled across her face. "I think it's time I cast my bid in the election."
"But you say the government always lies?"
"The government does always lie, but how else am I to dismantle it?" She leafed through the pages of the journal. She had a lot of reading to do if she wanted to succeed. "The best way to start the fire is inside the house."
"What if the people find out what it took to get you in the house?"
"By then, it'd be too late."
The wave of morning traffic began to hit. Harris gripped the steering wheel tighter, keeping a close eye on Dottie. No one was allowed to get in her way, and he'll be damned if he ever tried to. She was going to get everything she wanted.
"The country's going to burn," she said.
The seriousness of her statement didn't match her demeanor. Her head was leaned against the car window, her voice holding a tiredness that came with burning the midnight oil. But the finality of her statement was clear. The people wouldn't know what hit them.