True and Final Iteration
Logan pries through the slot in the wall with her left eye, seeing every act of a story repeating itself at her every wrong clue, every misstep in the dark echoing in layers upon layers. In her right eye she sees a greying man slurping whisky out of an umbrella straw, looking at his own notes whilst cross legged on the bed.
She remembers him.
He had been there, in the Oldest House, iterations prior to this one. Told her he was a visitor and what his true name was, though he pinpointed, Troubled like that you may not remember it later. Logan doesn’t, really.
There’s an attempt to see right through him—something telling on his relaxed look, on the furniture in the room, or even how he uses a straw. Nothing comes. How did he come here if he’s not an authorized agent? This is not the Oceanview Motel she knows and her mother too. Is he part of this narrative? Did he create this all? To be alive through this hell of a place it could only be; or else Mr. Door has been guiding him all along like the host had done with Logan another few times before. If none of these possibilities are true, then it must be only a blessing that he is there. Wait…
Blessing… Logan narrows her left eye at him. Blessing, blessing… Chester? Chester. Sounds familiar. Chester… Bless-ed? Bless-ing? Bless, just Bless?
Lips still on straw, his eyes lock at the slot, and she is caught.
Logan parts away and stumbles on the hall, covering her mouth to not make a sound. She quickly raises on her feet to wander off from the door—it opens at her first step.
“Miss Anderson!” Chester announces loudly. “I see you are finally close to making a way out.”
The teenager freezes, turning around to see the man relaxed against the doorframe with the glass in hands. Chester seems happy. Probably glad someone else’s playing this little game, too.
“Did you know this?” She says quietly, remembering the stories Saga told her. “Have you made all of this?”
“Me? Oh—no no no.” Chester shakes his free hand, smiling. “Maybe you should wonder what is inside your backpack that’s making all of this happen.”
Logan narrows her eyes at his words and—she can finally see it.
A keychain.
Leave it for her curiosity and she’ll take it.
What better breach into the Bureau other than prying eyes that knows what is inside the House where most doesn’t?
“My backpack?” Logan nudges more. “What are you talking about?”
Chester shrugs. “Better look at it.”
She gets another intuition.
The keychain I left. My property.
It shapeshifts into whatever closest thing around, it doesn’t matter the form.
It has been very useful before and now I miss it. But I must be patient.
Logan waits for a moment; then she opens her backpack, finding a Coffee World keychain attached with a tiny deer figure. Nothing is really off about it, yet Chester shifts in his stance in the corner of her eyes.
“I think you should be careful with it,” he warns.
She looks at him. Raises the Item before her face. “This one? My keychain?”
“You know how Altered Items work,” he says with a hand now raised in defense, “I wouldn’t play around with it like you’re doing.”
Logan throws the bait. “Why are you so concerned? It’s not like it’s yours.”
“It isn’t yours either, Miss Anderson. Look by yourself. You still haven't found what you are searching for.”
Unnerved, Logan starts to spin it around her finger. Chester clearly doesn’t like what she does—one slight twitch of his eye conveying a lot—but he wants to see how far Logan goes. Surely if he wants it so badly he could just do the trick. Reset it all. She can make it up for another time; she knows her mother will be waiting at the end of this road.
Yet at the end of a road there is another one right after, just waiting.
Logan has an idea.
She clutches the keychain in her palm in a tight grip and outstretches her arm. Chester makes a scene: he pretends it isn’t his and stays shocked for seconds, unmoving. Even opens his mouth: “Why are you giving it to me?”
“You seem to know how to handle this better than I do,” she says, pointing at the Altered Item. “Take it.”
“Do I really know?” He looks at her hand and then at her face. “And if you regret this decision?”
“It depends what you’re going to do with it, Mr. Bless.”
He hums… and smiles, wide-teeth-bare, reaching out for the Item. Placing it next to the glass with an umbrella straw makes it react, giving him now another glass with the same details, even the tiny green umbrella. Chester stares at Logan to see her expression, but she presents nothing—she even mimics his sarcasm.
“You’re really smart, Miss Anderson,” he says, chuckling. “There’s a door with an inverted pyramid at the end of the corridor. It will take you back, I hope.”
“And my mom?”
“Your mother will return from her work, don’t worry. Just go, or it’ll get late for you.”
Logan chuckles and catches the impression right away, but this one she lets it linger in her head. She turns around and walks off and into the door…
“Hey, goodnight. I came to see my mother.”
“Miss Anderson, Miss Anderson! You forgot your HRA.”
“Logan, glad to see you! Do you want to hear about a new use for Black Rocks?”
“How is Casey, by the way? I know he isn’t the same guy from the books or the movies…”
All the same questions. All the same as the beginning of this cycle.
“I just came to see my mother.”
The answer leads her to be sat in an empty desk with constant, but not direct, supervision. Logan organizes her backpack in the meantime. She left in a hurry after school and wanted to spend some time with Saga; that’s all she ever wanted to do since. Books and papers are all placed neatly, and a sound calls her attention: her keychain lying on the table, waiting to be caught.
Slowly and carefully, Logan taps inside her own backpack. Finds her keychain tucked in and untouched.
“Logan!” The sound of Saga’s voice is grounding and makes her heart swell in relief. Before she even turns to look at her mother, arms are already wrapped around her and pulled tight. “I’ve been told you’re visiting me. Ready for some girls’ night?”
She holds Saga’s arm firmly, and lets herself sink in the hug, in her warmth, in her comfort.
“Yes!” Logan gets up and, as Saga turns around minutely to wave at a fellow colleague from the Investigations Sector, she opens up the last drawer from the desk and tucks the Altered Item inside it where no one would find so easily. By the time Saga looks back at her, Logan asks: “Where would you like to go?”
“Anywhere you want to, sweetie.” Saga places an arm over Logan’s shoulders, guiding both towards the exit. “It’s at your choice.”