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Solomon turned over and silenced his alarm. He yawned long and wide, and considered turning off the third alarm and getting up, but decided against it. There remained much more to learn, to figure out, and he wasn't sure if he could trust what the stranger was telling him. The idea of finding her again, to extract something useful from her, did not appeal to him. She spoke in riddles, and she seemed exasperated during their last visit; he was not interested in exacerbating her frustration. She had revealed the garden to him, and whether it was the path to the tower or not, it was at least something. That she did not deviate from it in reference gave him a fair amount of confidence in its veracity.

But he dallied. He closed his eyes and turned over, once again moving through his ritual breath work to bring him into the dreamspace lucid. He focused on the corridor. If what she said was true, then all he had to do was walk the length of it without pause and he would arrive at the tower. He just needed to stay focu--

Light burst in his field of vision, then dimmed to a small and steady glow. Solomon turned his attention to its source and watched as an old woman held a match to a candle's wick. The candle sputtered to light, and the old woman shook her hand, extinguishing the match. She lifted a bulbous glass tube from nearby and placed it over the candle. The flame rose, and the glass sent its light to peer at the room around it. The table on which the candle sat was small and pressed up against a wall. Chairs were stacked against the wall on either side of the little table, limiting the distance the light could travel. Opposite were stacks of folding tables. The old woman was standing in a makeshift lane between the tables and chairs, and Solomon stood just outside the circle of light.

Picking up the candle holder with care, the old woman turned away from Solomon and began walking in the opposite direction from where he stood. Not wanting to be left alone in the dark in this unknown place, he followed from some distance. He was unsure if the old woman was aware of his presence and preferred not to find out, at least not right away.

Though the light strained to reach the top of the chair stacks, it found the far wall in a few steps, illuminating more of it as they approached. The stacks ended, and a little space opened up against the wall. The old woman turned and moved to a door set into the wall to one side. She seemed reluctant to open the door, pausing as she gripped the handle. Solomon wondered if he was being shown another place where the presence had taken its toll. The thought lasted a breath, for with a breath the old woman found her resolve and opened the door. Low light streamed in, illuminating the corner of the room and the old woman standing in it. From his vantage, Solomon could see a portion of the old woman's profile. It appeared she was crying, though he couldn't be certain. The light remained too low and he was not close enough.

A low murmur floated in from the space beyond. With another breath, the old woman stepped through and closed the door behind her, plunging Solomon in darkness. He placed a hand on the wall and followed it to the door where took hold of the handle. With some trepidation--not wanting to make any more noise than necessary--he turned the handle and cracked the door open. Bright light poured in through the crack, blinding Solomon. He shut the door and stepped back, allowing his eyes to readjust to the dark.

Odd. When the old woman opened the door, there was low light coming in from the other side. Did she, perhaps, have more light raised in the adjoining room? Better prepared to face the brightness, Solomon took hold of the door handle and cracked the door open. Bright light flooded in and waited for his eyes to adjust before opening the door further. He popped his head out with care, out of a desire to not draw attention to himself. What he saw surprised him. He threw the door open and stepped over the threshold, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Continued after the break

He stood in an empty field. Lush grass stretched out from the squat building behind him and coursed through the giant trees in the distance. The sun hung overhead, its warm rays juxtaposed with the cool breeze brushing against his skin. It was a beautiful day. It was a beautiful scene. But it was empty. There was no old woman. There were no people causing a low murmur. There was only the grass, the tress, the sun, the breeze, Solomon, and the building behind him.

He stepped away from the building and turned to look at it. There was nothing striking about it. Nothing out of a place. It was a regular building of wood, metal, and drywall with the typical sloping roof. He walked around the building to see if he might find anything of note, but came up empty, arriving back at the door with no great revelation or item of interest.

With this much light pouring in, Solomon thought he might see better inside, and thus find something useful to his ends, but when he tried to pull open the door, it stood fast. He wiggled the handle and tried again, but to no avail. The door was shut tight against him. With nothing else to do, he began moving toward the tree line.

Solomon walked and wondered what he was doing here. Where was this place in relation to the garden? To the corridor? Was he closer to arriving at the tower, or farther away? As insistent as he was about returning to discover more, he began to feel like he knew even less than when he began. He tried not to board this train of thought; he'd been through this over and over again already. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder to see how far he had walked, but the building was gone. There was only the great field of grass behind him. Without any other recourse, he turned his thoughts to what he might find among the trees and kept moving.

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