Dandelion<\/p>\n
1<\/p>\n
Standing in the doorway of the library, Zinnia presents the tutu lamp with a wry smile. <\/p>\n
\u201cThird floor guest room,\u201d Darrell says, pausing from unloading the books to wipe his brow and stand in front of the oscillating fan. He is suddenly overcome with vertigo and a sense of d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu. \u201cAnd enough with the judgment.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo judgment, just amusement,\u201d she says, making a billows of her shirt to cool herself off. \u201cThird floor guest room\u2014for all to see.\u201d She mock-pirouettes out into the front hall and mounts the squeaky stairs, footsteps echoing in a strange, rapid way.<\/p>\n
Darrell reluctantly leaves the comfort of the fan and removes the last stack of books from the open box, a sharp twinge in his leg as he stoops down. He scans the spines\u2014more dry legal texts. Carrying them to the wall-to-wall bookshelf, he scales the rolling step ladder, and adds them to Max\u2019s section. <\/p>\n
After he descends, he guzzles some water, pulls back the curtain, and gazes out at the expansive grounds of Wellington Plantation. Max had showed him yesterday where the slave quarters had been situated, past the shed and towards a flank of Spanish-moss-veiled oaks. They\u2019d walked through the field together at sunset\u2014the two of them and a thousand cicadas. At that time, the high grass had seemed to stretch on infinitely, and Darrell had grown nauseated thinking about all the tiny, identical shacks that had once crowded the space. They\u2019d found a hideous, black wooden beam out there, half-moored in clay, which they dragged in and set aside in the library.<\/p>\n
He turns to the desk, where the ancient beam now rests, ashy in the sunlight, and wonders how old the piece is, if it has any historical significance.<\/p>\n
Probably just a piece of lumber from Home Depot.<\/em><\/p>\n He walks back over to the boxes, gazing up at the recessed tray ceiling and crown molding, and feels a dizzying wonderment, questioning the odd fortune that had brought him to this beautiful\u2014but twisted\u2014place. His home.<\/p>\n Suddenly the chandelier light sputters out; the oscillating fan dies. He can hear throughout the rest of the house other quietly humming appliances winding down. From outside, the buzz and chatter of insects begins to fill in the unsettling, midday silence. Despite the heat, he shivers. <\/p>\n He walks over to the side hallway exit. Tries the light switch.<\/p>\n Nothing.<\/p>\n Steps out into the hall, finds the cobwebby electrical closet near the bathroom, and flips the breakers. <\/p>\n Nothing.<\/p>\n On his way back, he hears the stairs creak again as Zinnia descends from the darkness. He finds her in the library, looking exhausted, bathed in sweat, a little haggard.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s up with the power?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n He shrugs. \u201cI tried the breaker. Maybe a power line\u2019s down.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWanna call the power company?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe wait a bit and see.\u201d<\/p>\n She grabs a bottle of water and takes a sip while he slashes open a new box of books. He shelves a few armloads before Zinnia speaks again.<\/p>\n \u201cBy the way, that lamp\u2026\u201d she starts.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, sugar,\u201d he says, \u201cit was my mother\u2019s, not a gift at my coming-out party. I\u2019m a sentimental boy.\u201d<\/p>\n Zinnia watches him dip down for more books.<\/p>\n \u201cYou just have the one, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is it with you and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n The rotary doorbell rings, and they squint questioningly at each other.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll get it,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n He watches her go, blots off a little more sweat\u2014hardly makes a difference; his shirt is soaked through\u2014then follows after. At the foyer, he finds Zinnia leaning against the doorframe (a bit coyly, Darrell thinks). Beyond her stands a large man in mirrorshades, gesturing back towards the road. His thick arms and wide shoulders strain his short-sleeve button-up. The unbearable humidity has already begun to divine beads of sweat from the man\u2019s temples.<\/p>\n \u201cHi,\u201d the man says, face shifting towards Darrell. \u201cI was just telling\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cZinnia,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n \u201cZinnia here\u2014nice to meet you, Zinnia, I\u2019m Frank\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCharmed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, likewise. And you are?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDarrell.\u201d <\/p>\n \u201cNice to meet you, Darrell.\u201d They shake. \u201cAnyway, I was saying I\u2019d drunk too much coffee and was looking for a gas station. Figured there must be one around this exit. My car broke down, and my phone\u2019s not getting any service.\u201d<\/p>\n Zinnia lights a cigarette, eyes darting back and forth between Frank and Darrell. <\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a boatload of problems,\u201d Darrell says.<\/p>\n He cracks a polite smile. \u201cCould I use your bathroom?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay,\u201d he nods and points the way. \u201cTake a right at the hallway junction. Second door on the left.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAwesome. Really appreciate it.\u201d The man surges forward.<\/p>\n Darrell steals Zinnia\u2019s cigarette and takes a drag.<\/p>\n \u201cNice butt, nice everything,\u201d she comments.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease.\u201d He rolls his eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen we tell Max about our little visitor at dinner\u2014give me that\u2014what adjectives are you going to use?\u201d<\/p>\n Darrell laughs. \u201cYou are bad.\u201d<\/p>\n A sheepish Frank, sunglasses removed, emerges well after the cigarette has been tossed into the yard.<\/p>\n \u201cEverything go smoothly?\u201d Zinnia smiles.<\/p>\n Frank chuckles and pauses in the foyer, no rush to leave. The floor clock at the end of the hall inaccurately strikes five. \u201cQuite a place you got here. Mind if I make a call or two?\u201d he looks about for a phone, only finding scattered furniture and stacks of boxes lining the walls.<\/p>\n \u201cNo landline,\u201d Darrell says, unlocking his phone, handing it over, and motioning towards a parlor with faded, peppermint-striped wallpaper. \u201cGo ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou guys are the best.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t be long,\u201d Zinnia clucks.<\/p>\n The two of them step out onto the porch, gazing down the drive to see if they can spot Frank\u2019s car in the sizzling heat. No, but the path is too long and wooded to be able to spot much of the road from here.<\/p>\n \u201cNo service,\u201d Frank says, stepping out of the front door and handing back the phone. \u201cMiss?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cZin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cZin, hate to be a bother, but could I try yours?\u201d<\/p>\n She unlocks her phone and hands it over. Frank raises an eyebrow at the Frankenstein Monster Hello Kitty case.<\/p>\n \u201cThat<\/em> was judgment,\u201d Zinnia says when they\u2019re alone again.<\/p>\n \u201cWho is this guy?\u201d Darrell asks, checking his phone. Zero bars.<\/p>\n \u201cDidn\u2019t really say.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHas a kind of martial air, doesn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t look bad in uniform.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing,\u201d Frank says, reappearing.<\/p>\n \u201cImpossible. It had full bars when I handed it to you just now.\u201d She walks up and takes back her phone.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have a computer here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPower\u2019s out at the moment,\u201d Darrell says.<\/p>\n Frank snaps his fingers in frustration. \u201cWell, I\u2019ve taken up enough of your time. Better let you get back to unpacking. Take care, you two. Thanks for everything.\u201d He hops down the front steps.<\/p>\n \u201cGood luck,\u201d Zinnia calls after him, voice twanging slightly. \u201cTake a left at the end of the drive; next house is about half a mile up the road.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWill do.\u201d He waves and strides off down the driveway. \u201cI would say he had real, umm, Harlequin-romance biceps, wouldn\u2019t you?\u201d Zinnia continues as they enter the library.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is with you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI haven\u2019t gotten laid since before Clearview.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou poor thing.\u201d<\/p>\n They unpack a few more boxes, idly chatting, when Zinnia remembers: \u201cThe lamp.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cReally? Still?\u201d Darrell says in a droll voice.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy would you lie about it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI wouldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI saw it\u2014a second one upstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n Darrell studies her: sweat-spotted t-shirt of some band he\u2019s never heard of, ripped shorts, two-months\u2019 growth of lucent blond hair since she\u2019d shaved her head, and the neck tattoo, the reason she\u2019d been cut out of the will.<\/p>\n \u201cYou gaslighting me?\u201d he half-jokes, failing to conceal his discomfort.<\/p>\n \u201cCome see for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n Darrell sips his water. \u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe third floor,\u201d she says in a spooky voice.<\/p>\n He frowns. \u201cLead the way, Clearview.\u201d <\/p>\n At the end of the front hallway, the stairway rises up in a freestanding spiral. At the base dozes the grand piano, toothless as a centenarian. In a shadowy alcove nearby, the grandfather clock ticks away its watch. Halfway to the second floor a recessed mezzanine full of mottled sunlight juts out over the back porch. The musty second floor hallway, carpeted in scarlet, wallpaper peeling, circles around the open front hall and branches off into darkness, the only light streaming in through the shuttered balcony door above the foyer. The third floor is even gloomier, more cramped than the rest of the mansion, but still could have provided ample living space for a family of five\u2014Darrell\u2019s childhood home certainly had been no larger.<\/p>\n Zinnia leads the way to the guest room and with a flourish presents the closed door to Darrell.<\/p>\n The doorknob screeches as he turns it. <\/p>\n Inside he finds an unmade bed, decapitated headboard in the corner, antique bureau, IKEA mirror, and the lamp in question set on a dulled chrome nightstand. Darrell is disappointed with the mismatched furniture all over again and for a moment wonders if this whole lamp to-do hasn\u2019t just been a ruse to get him to face this very real decorating atrocity.<\/p>\n \u201cLooks\u2026 I won\u2019t say good, but okay<\/em>.\u201d He shuts the door.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I wouldn\u2019t say that either. This way, boss.\u201d<\/p>\n She leads him down the hall to the next room. Her profile flashes blue as she checks her phone in the darkness.<\/p>\n \u201cStill no signal.\u201d<\/p>\n Darrel pulls out his phone, too. \u201cMe neither.\u201d<\/p>\n Zinnia presents the second closed door to Darrell. No amusing flourish this time.<\/p>\n He goes to open it, then stops short.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are we doing, Zin?\u201d he says in a quiet voice.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m showing you what I found.\u201d<\/p>\n He can\u2019t quite make out her face in the dark, and suddenly feels a tremor in his hand. He\u2019s only really known the girl a few weeks. Met her once years ago. She\u2019d had long blonde hair at that time. Then recently, after the honeymoon in Paris, they\u2019d picked her up from Clearview\u2014bald, thirty pounds skinnier, tattoo scrawled across her neck. They hadn\u2019t talked much until they\u2019d all moved in here together. She\u2019s obviously disturbed, a little morbid. He\u2019s thinking especially of that mutilated doll in her bedroom, the one that sets his hackles on end. \u201cWhat the hell?\u201d he says, stepping into the room, checking to see if the previous door communicates through the same wall. It doesn\u2019t. \u201cIt\u2019s exactly the same.\u201d<\/p>\n She creaks in behind him. \u201cI told you. Where do you get these things anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I mean the room. It\u2019s exactly the same.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re right; it is<\/em>,\u201d she says with sudden realization. \u201cI was so distracted by the pink tutu.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid Max put you up to this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDar, come on.\u201d<\/p>\n He approaches the lamp, picks it up, examines it. As he does so, he notices through the chiffon curtain, a stain in the sea of green outside. He draws it aside, looking down into the yard, and sees Frank in his white short-sleeves and khaki pants beside a tree at the edge of the grass, a strange device obscuring his face.<\/p>\n \u201cZinnia, come here. Quick.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Her detached tone suggests she\u2019s checking her phone again.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on,\u201d he whispers urgently.<\/p>\n She sidles up beside him. \u201cWhat\u2019s he doing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m so calling the\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n 3<\/p>\n Darrell and Zinnia step out onto the front porch, respectively wielding a five iron and cavalry saber. Frank stands on the heat-cracked clay driveway, facial equipment replaced by sunglasses, backpack slung over his shoulder. He\u2019s not smiling. Behind him, massive waves of clouds have begun to crash over the deep green tree line of pines, oaks, and magnolias\u2014an impromptu summer storm.<\/p>\n \u201cWould you mind if I come inside?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n \u201cNeed to use our bathroom again?\u201d Darrell suggests.<\/p>\n \u201cWe need to talk. I need to ask you two some\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, we\u2019ll be doing the asking from here on out. What were you doing in our yard just now?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTaking some measurements. That\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat you got in the bag?\u201d Zinnia asks. \u201cSomething messed up like masking tape and rope and shop tools, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, we\u2019re off to a bad start.\u201d He raises his slab-like hands submissively, then pulls out identification. \u201cYes, I do have masking tape and rope and some tools, but I\u2019m not a psychopath. I\u2019m Sergeant Frank Kehler, U.S. Army.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cToss it over,\u201d Darrell says.<\/p>\n He complies.<\/p>\n Darrell leaves the shade of the porch and stoops to pick up the wallet from the front steps, furrowing his brow as he flips through various IDs. \u201cWhat the hell are you doing out here, Frank?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSergeant Kehler, if you don\u2019t mind,\u201d he says in a crisp tone.<\/p>\n Zinnia laughs, but Darrell silences her with a critical look.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re in a serious situation here,\u201d Kehler resumes.<\/p>\n \u201cMy thoughts exactly,\u201d says Darrell, tossing back the wallet, and returning to the shade.<\/p>\n \u201cHas anything unusual happened to ya\u2019ll in the past twenty-four hours?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSuch as meeting strange military men with DIY serial killer kits and head gadgets?\u201d Zinnia suggests.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2026\u201d Sergeant Kehler reaches into his bag and pulls out a bulky pair of goggles. \u201cA pair of trundle goggles. Measures distance without having to walk it. That\u2019s all. Oh, and one hundred percent transparency here\u2014I bugged your bathroom earlier. I was going to analyze acoustical oscillations\u2014\u201d <\/p>\n \u201cGoing to what<\/em>?\u201d Darrell says<\/p>\n \u201cLook. Time is short. Our lives are in danger. We need to work together. Fast. So, anything else unusual you can report?\u201d<\/p>\n The two exchange a look, saber and five iron sagging in concert. Thunder rumbles in the distance.<\/p>\n \u201cDoes a duplicating tutu lamp qualify?\u201d Zinnia asks.<\/p>\n Kehler nods grimly.<\/p>\n 4<\/p>\n They lead Sergeant Kehler into the parlor and point him to one of three severe-backed rustic wooden chairs. It groans under his considerable weight. On the floor at the center of the chairs are a couple of empty wine bottles, an open pizza box littered with a few crusts and one fat, shiny Palmetto bug, which Zin conducts out the front door.<\/p>\n \u201cCould I have a drink? I left my water in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cZin, would you mind going to get the sergeant a water?\u201d<\/p>\n She nods, slinging the sword over her shoulder.<\/p>\n \u201cActually,\u201d Kehler stands, \u201cwe should probably go together.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d Darrell asks.<\/p>\n \u201cShe might get trapped on the way back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI summered in this house as a kid, Sarge. I\u2019ll manage,\u201d she says, offended.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can see it from here,\u201d Darrell notes, perplexed, pointing through the columned divider, past a side hallway, into the empty dining room and on to the kitchen door.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you mind?\u201d Kehler nods towards his bag. The sweat has finally blossomed under his shirt, creeping down the sides from his underarms.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCheck the intervening space with the trundle goggles. Just take a sec.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGo ahead.\u201d Darrell sighs.<\/p>\n Kehler fastens the device to his head, flicks a few switches, and a synthetic arpeggio sounds. He adjusts the zoom and a weather-vane-like device above the lenses. \u201cOkay, looks clear,\u201d he says after a minute of reading the space with sweeping eye movements. Rests the goggles on his forehead, ready to be lowered in a pinch.<\/p>\n Zinnia stifles a smile as she salutes and creaks off to the kitchen.<\/p>\n The windowpanes shiver with more thunder.<\/p>\n \u201cSo\u2026\u201d Kehler sits back down. \u201cYou two\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUs two what?\u201d Darrell plants a hand on his hip.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019ll never guess,\u201d Zinnia shouts from the kitchen. \u201cI can hear you by the way,\u201d she adds, swinging back through the kitchen door, bottle of water in hand. \u201cDidn\u2019t get trapped.\u201d She tosses the bottle to Kehler.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks.\u201d His hand engulfs it.<\/p>\n \u201cYou were saying?\u201d Darrell says, taking a seat on the other side of the grease-stained pizza box, resting the five iron across his lap.<\/p>\n \u201cNewlyweds?\u201d Kehler\u2019s eyes linger over the track mark scars on Zinnia\u2019s left arm.<\/p>\n \u201cHow about we just remain the mysterious couple, and you tell us what the hell\u2019s going on,\u201d Darrell says.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m part of an investigative team,\u201d he nods, opening the bottle and taking a sip. \u201cA tanker truck transporting an experimental entity crashed several miles from here yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEntity?\u201d Zinnia says as if hearing the word for the first time. \u201cWhat kind of entity?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s called Project Dandelion. Invisible to the naked eye, its tracking system malfunctioned after the crash, so we\u2019ve been forced to rely on alternative methods to hunt it down.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA robot? An alien?\u201d Zin pursues, stepping behind Darrell and gripping his shoulders.<\/p>\n \u201cWe weren\u2019t told.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs it dangerous?\u201d Darrell asks with growing alarm.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, it was trained to serve humans, but it could be dangerous\u2014though only unintentionally so.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor example, by trapping us?\u201d Zinnia interrupts. <\/p>\n He nods, missing the sarcasm. \u201cDandelion\u2019s primary objective was agricultural\u2014cloning arable land\u2014but it underwent severe mutations during its training, producing a happy accident of sorts\u2014it inserts new pockets<\/em> of cloned space, completely altering the dimensions of the surrounding area.\u201d<\/p>\n Zinnia\u2019s hand claws into Darrell\u2019s shoulder. Shadows wash the room gray\u2014the clouds swallowing the sun.<\/p>\n \u201cTo build, Dandelion needs a human host mind,\u201d Sergeant Kehler continues, wiping his face. The sweat has erupted into a mushroom cloud on his shirt. \u201cIt analyzes the host, assesses its needs, how it should go about inserting spatial clones, and then it repeats that routine indefinitely, but since the mutation, its intentions have become\u2014\u201d \u201cThat was it!<\/em>\u201d the sergeant says with an admixture of excitement and dismay, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a digital recorder. He examines the monitor, presses a few buttons, and walks over to show his two bewildered hosts. \u201cThis is a spectrogram of the sound the house just made. Spatial insertion creates a signature surface waveform. Somewhere in this house a new pocket of space was just created. I advise we all stick together from this point on. In fact,\u201d he adds, stowing away his spectral analyzer and pulling out a tight coil of nylon rope and three carabiners, \u201cI insist on it\u2014we need to go take a look at that lamp.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWait, wait, wait,\u201d Darrell says. \u201cThis entity, why did it come here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen it\u2019s released into an environment, Dandelion follows an exploration heuristic, not entirely predictable, but based on the rules of the heuristic, there were several possible trajectories it would have traveled along before finding a host,\u201d Kehler says, efficiently tying in succession three butterfly knots, spaced about five feet apart. \u201cThis house happens to be on one of those trajectories. <\/p>\n \u201cOnce it finds a host, it begins its nesting phase. First, it analyzes the host\u2019s mind.\u201d He clips one carabiner to the bight of the first butterfly knot, then attaches it to Zinnia\u2019s belt. \u201cSecond, it establishes a home base in some inanimate object.\u201d He repeats the process for Darrell. \u201cThird, it sets up construction boundaries and creates pockets of space based on the cognitive analysis of the host.\u201d He clips into the final knot. \u201cIf we can find and destroy the home base, Dandelion will wipe its work clean and turn dormant, and I\u2019ll be able to report back to my superiors.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s just get out of here. Take my car. Drive to town. Have your superiors come deal with it,\u201d Darrell says.<\/p>\n \u201cNo can do. Dandelion has already set up construction boundaries to protect the home base\u2014it\u2019s nested. When I tried to leave earlier, started walking back down the drive, the scenery just stretched on and on, repeating. It\u2019s the same in all directions. First power goes, then phone service; eventually you can\u2019t leave. And\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd if one of the members of my team discover the construction boundaries, they\u2019ve been instructed to call in Operation Fire Flower.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t like the sound of that.\u201d Darrell says.<\/p>\n \u201cIt gets worse.\u201d A dark look crosses Kehler\u2019s eyes. \u201cTeam members are supposed to check in on the hour every hour. If we fail to do so, another investigator is dispatched to our last known whereabouts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd when did you last check in?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cForty-five minutes ago.\u201d<\/p>\n 5<\/p>\n They step out into the hall, Zinnia first, sword hanging off her belt next to the carabiner. She looks towards the foyer, then down along the box-lined front hallway to the grand piano. The house is quiet beneath the pending storm.<\/p>\n \u201cLooks okay to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs the lamp down here?\u201d Sergeant Kehler asks, adjusting his goggles as he examines the front hall.<\/p>\n \u201cThird floor.\u201d Zinnia says.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s something peculiar by the piano.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPeculiar how?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen Dandelion-inserts new space, adjacent regions undergo a very subtle alteration in their dimensions. I believe I\u2019m seeing one of those now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know for sure?\u201d Darrell asks.<\/p>\n The sky growls again, and the house quakes in response\u2014windows shaking, boxes of cutlery rattling, wood floors popping.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I was only trained this morning. I don\u2019t have any firsthand experience with Dandelion. In fact, I didn\u2019t know it existed until about twelve hours ago. Now, tell me,\u201d he says as they warily approach the base of the spiral stairs, \u201cdoes this piano have any significance to you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, Nooncy used to play for me when I would read in the mezzanine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNooncy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy grandmother. This was before her Alzheimer\u2019s. Could that be\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe home base? I don\u2019t know, but it\u2019s possible.\u201d He approaches, flipping his goggles up and fishing around in his backpack for a handheld device. He switches it on, places it on top of the piano and presses a button. An hourglass appears on the screen, overturning every few seconds. <\/p>\n \u201cWhen Dandelion nests, it leaves behind a strong chemical trace, so that it can range and find its way home.\u201d <\/p>\n The hourglass disappears and a list of red-and-green-highlighted words appears. Mostly red. <\/p>\n \u201cForty-one percent match\u2014definitely not a home base.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo\u2014what\u2014we go through the house, testing everything until your thingy there tells us we found the home base?\u201d Zinnia asks.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s one approach.\u201d He stashes the device and snaps his goggles back down over his eyes. \u201cNot the best one. Couple things you should know: Dandelion chooses its home base according to the cognitive analysis of its host, and the only thing it will not replicate is its home base.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo it\u2019ll be something psychologically significant?\u201d Darrell asks.<\/p>\n \u201cAffirmative.\u201d <\/p>\n The clock strikes the half-hour. They wait for the brassy resonance of the final tubular bell to decay, but then it repeats\u2014elastically rising in pitch\u2014and repeats again and again, higher and higher in pitch, the intervals between each peal halving to a fire bell clangor, then up-bending into a machine-gun rat-tat-tat, and finally blurring together into the rasping cicada song, swelling, ebbing.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the hell is that?\u201d Zin shouts over the noise.<\/p>\n Goggles darting this way and that, Sergeant Kehler shouts back, \u201cDandelion is building! We need to hustle!\u201d<\/p>\n They mount the stairs, looping up towards the mezzanine. The strident whirring dies out at last, and Zin stops abruptly, neck craned. Darrell almost runs into her, then follows her gaze up the stairs.<\/p>\n \u201cHoly\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDandelion\u201d Kehler finishes.<\/p>\n 6<\/p>\n The house has grown. <\/p>\n Above them, tens of mezzanines spill their now-muted light into the winding staircase. The ground floor has been repeated, too, and they find themselves standing before another piano, another grandfather clock. Beyond the mezzanines, the stairs vanish into tar-black shadow.<\/p>\n Zin balks from the aggrandized staircase, hands shaking, retreating to the new front hall piano, and touches the worn wood. It seems to stabilize her, melt her tensed shoulders. <\/p>\n Darrell mounts the rest of the stairs, rushes over and puts a hand on her arm. \u201cYou okay, girl?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine.\u201d <\/p>\n Darrell turns as Kehler reaches them. \u201cHow do we find this home base?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFirst, ascertain which of you is the host.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow do we do that?\u201d Darrell asks.<\/p>\n \u201cSimple. Which of you noticed the disturbance first?\u201d<\/p>\n Zinnia raises a hand.<\/p>\n \u201cThere we go. We just need to analyze Miss\u2014Zin here.\u201d<\/p>\n The two men turn to regard Zinnia, who looks more awkward than ever.<\/p>\n \u201cI think it would help if you told me a bit about yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n She suppresses a smile. Fingers probe her track marks. The tumorous house seems to weigh down on her.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s my sister-in-law,\u201d Darrell says.<\/p>\n \u201cAhh.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was in rehab till recently,\u201d she adds.<\/p>\n Kehler nods.<\/p>\n \u201cBut before that, my Pop-pop wrote me out of his will\u2014out of inheriting Wellington\u2014because of this.\u201d She points to her neck.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat does it mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLatin for \u2018fuck off.\u201d<\/p>\n Kehler winces. \u201cClassy. So, Zin, your sister\u2014\u201d Kehler begins.<\/p>\n \u201cBrother,\u201d Zinnia corrects him.<\/p>\n \u201cBrother\u2014\u201d Kehler blinks, glancing towards Darrell, \u201cinherited this plantation; do you feel any resentment towards him as a result?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou love your brother\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAffirmative.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2014but resent your Pop-pop.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBrilliant, Dr. Phil,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n Sergeant Kehler sighs. \u201cWell, help me out here. We need to think like Dandelion\u2014find a central psychological issue, and then work out an associated object. Think back to your youth, maybe. Anything of moment to you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis part of your training?\u201d Darrell asks dubiously.<\/p>\n \u201cA fifteen minute crash course early this morning\u2014yes. They instructed my team that if Dandelion has started to nest, we need to delve into the host\u2019s psychology.\u201d He glances at the phosphorescent hands of his watch. \u201cWe need to move. Talk and move. It\u2019s approaching one hour since my last check-in. They\u2019ll be sending someone for me any minute. We need to find that lamp. Might give us a clue about how to proceed.\u201d<\/p>\n 7<\/p>\n As they ascend, new levels scramble together above and below with that pitch-tweaking echo\u2014Dandelion at work. Other staircases spring up beside them and obliquely through the one they\u2019re scaling, till soon they\u2019re lost in a colossal genome model. After a while they pass beyond the mezzanines and pianos and clocks, entering the scarlet-carpeted gloom of the second story. \u201cHere we are,\u201d she breaks off from a vignette as they leave one variety of darkness for another\u2014a sublevel of the now-inaccurately-named third floor. Lightning crackles behind thousands of shuttered balconies, tens of thousands of slats of light, stretching on all around them. The house suddenly shakes with a bombardment of deafening thunder, then rain crashes against the front of the house and surges towards the back, with a Niagara whoosh.<\/p>\n As they proceed down the hallway, Kehler speaks, but his voice is drowned out by the Dandelion-intensified roar of the storm, the cavernous echoes of hundreds of rain-thrashed roofs. He pulls out several headsets, hands them out, and soon the noise is dampened. Kehler\u2019s voice cuts across crisp. \u201cZin, of all of this, what has been most prominent in your mind recently? Just one thing. Maybe even what you were thinking about before you found that tutu lamp.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell\u2026\u201d she begins, leading the way down the dim corridor, seeming to debate what to say. \u201cI know this guy who lives in the area. He\u2019s connected. I was thinking about calling him\u2014getting high.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cZin, you weren\u2019t!<\/em>\u201d Darrell reaches out and grabs her hand.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry, Dar. I don\u2019t want to let you and Maxy down\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n Pop! <\/em>The pitch-tweaked creaking floorboard bursts over the headphones.<\/p>\n \u201cUh, ya\u2019ll?\u201d<\/p>\n They turn towards Kehler, but he\u2019s no longer right behind them, instead about fifty yards away, staring mystified at the section of rope that had once connected them\u2014now severed, hanging limp.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened?\u201d Zin asks.<\/p>\n \u201cDandelion made space,\u201d Kehler says, sprinting up to them, gathering up the slack rope into the coil. \u201cWe must have been standing between the point of insertion when it happened. I thought this system would keep us tethered together, but it seems it didn\u2019t read the rope as integral to the cloned space. Need to stay close, people. Keep moving.\u201d<\/p>\n Zin throws open the door to the guest bedroom. <\/p>\n Undisturbed, exactly as it had been before. Beyond the chiffon curtains, rain lashes the windows, lightning sparks, blindingly glimmering down arrays of replicated space, like a pixelated pyrotechnic display. <\/p>\n \u201cThere it is,\u201d Darrell says, pointing to the tutu lamp.<\/p>\n Kehler strides over. Takes a reading as he\u2019d done with the piano. \u201cThis is closer to a match than the piano,\u201d he concludes.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d Zinnia asks, looking over his shoulder at the display.<\/p>\n \u201cIt means this is one of the first things Dandelion copied when it began its work. The longer it works, the weaker its chemical trace on its surroundings. In other words, the home base is close. Now, Zin,\u201d he turns towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder, \u201cyour substance abuse is likely important: salient in your mind and thus likely something Dandelion would read into. Think. When you would shoot up, what would you do? Rituals beforehand? Anything important. A common thread.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh!\u201d Zinnia exclaims, putting a hand to her mouth. The fingernails seem to have been gnawed down to the quick. \u201cI\u2019ve got it! Geraldine!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho?\u201d Darrell asks.<\/p>\n \u201cGeraldine. My doll.\u201d<\/p>\n Oh, it would be that freaky thing, <\/em>Darrell thinks.<\/p>\n \u201cI would stick it with a sewing needle every time I shot up. It turned into a kind of ritual, and she became a kind of prison wall for daily tally marks. They told us in Clearview that the best path to recovery was to remove all of these little associations with our addictions, but I kept her. I felt I needed the link to my old self. Otherwise it would be like losing years of my life.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you have this with you?\u201d Kehler grabs her other shoulder, gaze intense. He looks grizzly-bear powerful beside the scarecrow ex-addict.<\/p>\n \u201cIn my room with all the other junk, right next door\u2014or hundreds of doors down now, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s move.\u201d He glances at his watch. \u201cBeen fifteen minutes since I should have checked in. Any minute they\u2019ll be finding my empty car.\u201d<\/p>\n 8<\/p>\n They sprint in a tight clump past room after room of tutu lamps and IKEA mirrors. Five minutes pass. Ten minutes. Kehler curses. The others are too terrified to speak, ears peeled for the drone of aircraft beyond the rain and thunder. <\/p>\n \u201cHere!\u201d Zin exclaims as a pink door with traces of peeled stickers materializes out of the gloom.<\/p>\n They burst into the room. Darrell has never been in here before, only having seen it in passing, always with the same impression\u2014the room, the doll, everything Zin is<\/em> that Frankenstein Monster Hello Kitty phone case\u2014the adorable transformed into the grotesque.<\/p>\n And there she is, reclining on the aged pink dresser\u2014a one-eyed, bald amputee in a torn dress, left arm a porcupine. Zinnia dashes forward, draws her sword, and slashes sideways. A clean blow. Geraldine\u2019s head goes flying, caroms off the wall, and bounces to a stop at Kehler\u2019s boots.<\/p>\n \u201cWooh!\u201d Zin exclaims, eyes wild, ready to slice more.<\/p>\n Kehler hunches over and takes a reading on the doll head. For a minute there is nothing but the muted rain whisper-screaming through their headphones.<\/p>\n Then, from a distance, Darrell sees the results flash on the display.<\/p>\n 9<\/p>\n They stand in a circle, gazing down at the head. The rain abruptly stops. Sunlight filters in through the pink chiffon and shredded black curtains framing the windows and balcony door. The heat trickles in soon after.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t get it. Geraldine had to have been the home base. I can\u2019t think of anything else it might be.\u201d<\/p>\n Kehler scrutinizes Zinnia for a moment. \u201cYou were the one that first noticed the disturbance.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, we established that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut it was your lamp?\u201d He turns to Darrell.<\/p>\n \u201cMy mother\u2019s,\u201d he corrects him. \u201cI could never bring myself to get rid of it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have much left from her. And to me that lamp is so heartbreaking. She always wanted to be a ballerina. Never happened for her though. She says it was on account of her being black, not the type of graceful swan stage directors looked for in her time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe it\u2019s you<\/em>,\u201d Kehler muses.<\/p>\n \u201cMe?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I didn\u2019t notice any\u2026. Oh, god.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDar, what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know what it is. It wasn\u2019t the lamp to begin with. Something happened to me yesterday evening. Max and I were having a walk after dinner, and I remember the sound of the cicadas was overwhelming, and this intense nausea struck me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere was this?\u201d Kehler asks.<\/p>\n \u201cThe old slave quarters. Just a field now. I brought something back into the house.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou mean that ugly piece of wood?\u201d Zin asks.<\/p>\n Darrell nods. \u201cI thought it might be the remains of one of the cabins that used to be out there. I wanted to honor them somehow, their sacrifice, by hanging it in a prominent place in the house. Stupid, I know. In any case, it\u2019s been on my mind a lot since I found it yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere is it now?\u201d the sergeant asks.<\/p>\n \u201cThe library.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbout a thousand floors beneath us,\u201d Zin comments.<\/p>\n \u201cNo time for the stairs.\u201d Kehler\u2019s eyes wander to the balcony. He rushes over and flings open the door. Darrell and Zin follow, eyes widening.<\/p>\n Through a compound-eye perspective they see the beautiful green lawn ocean shining beneath the sun, hundreds of puddled front drives radiating out, vanishing into a monstrous forest, and the nightmarish convolutions of the mutated house. Dandelion has not simply replicated things and space; it has jumbled and overlapped the spatial components, perhaps in its attempt to more logically fit the pieces together. Whatever the reason, there are gaps below, between ground and house, of empty sky, and above of swards of grass and mangled, nonsensical house. Even through the noise-dampening headphones, the rolling white noise of cicadas blots out everything. They gaze up at the towering structure, how it branches and connects with other towers, some of them vanishing into the clouds. <\/p>\n \u201cThere must be millions of replicated spatial units,\u201d Kehler says in awe, voice fragile juxtaposed next to the full chorus of Dandelion. He drops his gaze to the layers beneath them. \u201cI think I can make out some front doors from here.\u201d Lowers his trundle goggles over his eyes. \u201cI don\u2019t suppose ya\u2019ll ever rock-climbed before.\u201d<\/p>\n 10<\/p>\n Sergeant Kehler pulls out a variety of clips and webbing and harnesses and sets everything up, anchoring into one of the sturdy balcony columns.<\/p>\n Zinnia lights a cigarette and shares it with her brother-in-law as Kehler fits him into a harness.<\/p>\n Darrell takes a drag with a shaking hand, then turns to the sergeant. \u201cWe ready?\u201d<\/p>\n Kehler straightens, nods.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s get this over with.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay. Now, no talking during the descent, but, Darrell, after you hit ground, keep us updated on your progress. We don\u2019t want to be in the process of lowering Zin when the home base is destroyed.\u201d<\/p>\n Darrell gives the A-Okay sign. He hands the cigarette to Zin, steps over the railing, and stares down at the confused space. The descent will not be along the face of the mansion, but a free-hanging drop to the maze of front porch roofs below.<\/p>\n \u201cDar, here.\u201d<\/p>\n He looks up and finds Zinnia\u2019s outstretched hand, worn Zippo in her fingers.<\/p>\n \u201cFor the home base.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks.\u201d He stuffs it in his pocket, holds onto the rail and leans back. Nods to Kehler. \u201cReady.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLowering.\u201d<\/p>\n His fingers release from the flaking whitewashed wood, and then he\u2019s hanging, spinning slowly above the expanse, hands clutching onto the rope, looking up at Kehler\u2019s strained face and Zin\u2019s encouraging one. <\/p>\n He starts to lower. Slowly, jerkily at first, until Kehler starts to develop a smooth rhythm.<\/p>\n Looks back down\u2014God<\/em>, bad idea!<\/em> He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to blank out his mind. <\/p>\n \u201cDamnit, Max, this is all your fault,\u201d he whispers, forgetting for a moment the mouthpiece of the headset.<\/p>\n Zinnia chuckles in his ear.<\/p>\n \u201cFocus people,\u201d Kehler cuts in through gritted teeth.<\/p>\n For a time there is silence, the friction of the rope whispering through their headsets, the growing distance. Even Dandelion has grown quiet, perhaps watching the spectacle of the sweaty man dangling down over the void, like a bit of bait dropped into Hell, luring out some hungry demon.<\/p>\n Is it reading me?<\/em> Darrell wonders. Reading my mind or whatever it does? Trying to figure out how it should build next? Dandelion, if you can hear me, if you can make sense of my thoughts, stop building. Please, stop building.<\/em><\/p>\n He continues down, glancing up occasionally at the Army man and his sister-in-law, their faces soon just specks in the curving skyscraper face of Wellington.<\/p>\n A flock of gulls unmoors from a district of second-story balconies and navigates across freestanding house spires and archways to the immense wall of forest. The sight of Dandelion\u2019s work with nature is a wonder\u2014cliffs wallpapered in a living floral print. At all levels of the forest structure, he can spot deer bounding over fallen trees, squirrels puzzling over the sudden growth of their domain, everywhere knots of black oak tendrils.<\/p>\n He glances below. Halfway into the emptiness. One hundred and fifty feet or so. <\/p>\n He finds he\u2019s been holding his breath, his chest painful, and he forces himself to exhale.<\/p>\n Lower, lower.<\/p>\n Close now. Maybe seventy feet remaining. Beginning to feel nervous about what he has to do. Needs to move fast. No errors. No hesitation.<\/p>\n More gulls flit past. In their airspace now. One squawks.<\/p>\n And the squawk bounces, up and up, rising in pitch, like the clock bell had, rat-tat-tatting, then surging into the full echoing insect song of Dandelion.<\/p>\n \u201cDarrell!\u201d Zinnia shouts.<\/p>\n He looks up just before it happens, just before Dandelion builds. The height of the house doubles, other buttressing columns and wings branching out and filling in much of the intervening space, but just as had happened before, the rope is ignored as part of the multiplied space. For a second it just stands there like a magical one from Arabian Nights.<\/em> 11<\/p>\n He crashes down onto the roof, screaming in pain, rope lashing down on him. He lies there for a moment breathless, then finally groans and prods around his right calf. Something horribly wrong with it\u2014jutting out. His fingers return to his face hot and red.<\/p>\n \u201cChrist.\u201d He pales. Battles a swoon. Can\u2019t afford to pass out. Could be seconds before Fire Flower. Needs to move, broken leg or no. He rolls over onto his stomach, screaming out again as his leg overturns and the bone presses back into the wound.<\/p>\n He tears off the headset, jarred broken in the fall, and hurls it away, needing to vent on something. Glances around with strange, pain-focused vision and finds himself in an angular landscape of porch roofs\u2014islands and peninsulas and straits cutting across empty space and connecting to the cliffs of the Wellington monstrosity. He claws over to the nearest edge. Gazes down towards another sky through a network of white-painted walkways and columns. He loops one arm around the column, lowers his good leg, then starts to slide the bad one over, when the balance of his weight shifts and he spills off. There\u2019s a moment of flailing panic as he falls, but his back collides with the railing and he tumbles over onto the porch. Dandelion translates each pop and squeak of the floorboards into its own tongue, presenting Darrell with more front hallways, blooms and blooms of them, trying to distract, to circumvent him, but whatever it tries, whatever monstrous beauty it devises, there\u2019s just the one library, the center of the alien entity\u2019s beautiful, chaotic universe.<\/p>\n He limps over, trailing blood. Passes through the cased opening. There on the desk the blackened lumber pulsates as if crawling with termites. He slides it halfway off the desk, bends down with his crutch, and hefts it up on his back, nearly collapsing on his agonizing leg. He charges brokenly towards the window, driving the piece of wood through the glass, slicing his arms and hands. <\/p>\n Dandelion strings the shattering sound up into a sparkling glissando.<\/p>\n He shoves it down into the yard, sweeps away the remaining glass with the five iron, and descends gingerly onto the grass. Among countless storage sheds, he staggers into one, plucks up a gas can and staggers back out. Then he drags the lumber out into the field, body white hot, the pain scorching everything in him. <\/p>\n Darrell, don\u2019t do this,<\/em> a voice whispers in his mind. <\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n The emerald field stretches out around him, each blade glistening with rain, each sun-limned raindrop dazzling back the myriad other sun-limned raindrops.<\/p>\n We only want to be with you,<\/em> it says. We\u2019ve been searching for you for all of our existence.<\/em><\/p>\n He drops the piece of wood with a thunk. It beats, warping the space around it.<\/p>\n We want to build wonders for you.<\/em><\/p>\n Douses it in gasoline, each splash of gas spiraling and bubbling around the wood.<\/p>\n We would be blissful together.<\/em><\/p>\n Backs up a few feet, blinking the stinging sweat out of his eyes.<\/p>\n You\u2019re safe here from Fire Flower. Deadlines don\u2019t matter.<\/em><\/p>\n Sparks Zin\u2019s lighter.<\/p>\n They can bomb us, but we can just make more space, outstrip the explosion, an infinity of space just for us. We’re outside of their time now. We can vanish together into timeless nothingness.<\/em><\/p>\n Tosses it into the strange sculpture of opalescent liquid and ancient wood.<\/p>\n 12<\/p>\n As the home base burns, the cicadas crescendo into a disturbing frenzy. <\/p>\n The old slave quarters replicate exponentially. The massive forest disappears onto the horizon. Wellington looms high above, impossibly far away, a hazy mountain range, blue and ponderous. He\u2019s not sure if what he is seeing is Dandelion, some pain-induced hallucination, or maybe all of the dead passing through him, imbuing his mind with their tormented memories, giving him their eyes to see this place as they had seen it when working the fields two hundred years ago, transforming his hands, the refined gesturing blades of an academic, into the blunt farm tools that had defined their existence. <\/p>\n He keels over and vomits.<\/p>\n 13<\/p>\n Darrell wakes to the fuzzy sight of Zinnia holding up the tutu lamp.<\/p>\n \u201cThird floor guest room,\u201d he hears himself saying, his voice heavy and slow, \u201cand enough with the judgment.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo judgment, just amusement,\u201d she says, making a billows of her shirt to cool herself off. \u201cThird floor guest room\u2014for all to see.\u201d She mock-pirouettes out into the front hall and mounts the squeaky stairs, footsteps echoing in a strange, rapid way.<\/p>\n Fighting the vertigo, the d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu, Darrell reluctantly leaves the comfort of the fan and removes the last stack of books from the open box, a sharp twinge in his leg as he stoops down. He scans the spines\u2014more dry legal texts. Carrying them to the wall-to-wall bookshelf, he scales the rolling step ladder, and adds them to Max\u2019s section. <\/p>\n After he descends, he guzzles some water, pulls back the curtain, and gazes out at the expansive grounds of Wellington Plantation, then to the desk, where the ancient beam still rests, ashy in the sunlight, and wonders how old the piece is, if it has any historical significance.<\/p>\n Probably just a piece of lumber from Home Depot.<\/em><\/p>\n He walks back over to the boxes, questioning the odd fortune that had brought him to this beautiful\u2014but twisted\u2014place.<\/p>\n His home.<\/p>\n \nTim W. Boiteau’s fiction has appeared in such places as The Writing Disorder, LampLight, Kasma Magazine, and Every Day Fiction. Tim holds a PhD in experimental psychology and lives in Michigan with his wife and son. He\u2019s currently searching for an agent to represent him in selling his first novel.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Dandelion 1 Standing in the doorway of the library, Zinnia presents the tutu lamp with a wry smile. \u201cThird floor guest room,\u201d Darrell says, pausing from unloading the books to wipe his brow and stand in front of the oscillating fan. He is suddenly overcome with vertigo and a sense of d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu. \u201cAnd enough …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":105617,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,12,19717],"tags":[19718],"class_list":["post-131775","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-science-fiction","category-tcl-27-spring-2018","tag-the-colored-lens-27-spring-2018","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/131775","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/105617"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=131775"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/131775\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":132877,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/131775\/revisions\/132877"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=131775"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=131775"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=131775"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n
\n2<\/p>\n
\nThe doorknob screeches as he turns it. Unmade bed, decapitated headboard in the corner, antique bureau, IKEA mirror, dulled chrome nightstand\u2014tutu lamp.<\/p>\n
\nThe house pops, echoing in that rapid, almost elastic way.<\/p>\n
\nTaking out their phones and Kehler his high-powered flashlight to light the way, they continue upward. All the while Zinnia wracks her brains for some object Dandelion might have chosen as its home base, occasionally conveying to them some off-color anecdote from her past, but never quite convincing them\u2014or herself.<\/p>\n
\nThen the magic vanishes, the tension disappearing in a ripple of slack, and Darrell plummets.<\/p>\n
\nHe pulls the five iron out of his belt and hoists himself up onto his good leg. With this crutch, he hobbles forward, towards a pocket of repeated doorways, a wooden hive in the center of this heavenly porch and its infinity of white columns. He bursts into the foyer and finds the front hallway a twisted screw of its former self, all threads from the many different regions woven together towards one (and only one) library.<\/p>\n
\nMassive, warped, hideous. <\/p>\n