The notebook sat on the nearby dresser. I had time to kill, so I figured why not. I was always looking for new reading material. The cover was weird; there were pictures of giant tentacled octopuses on it, entangled within each other and grinning with sharp fangs. It made me feel…a bit uncomfortable, I’ll admit, and I should’ve taken that as a sign not to crack it open. Some things are better left unknown.
But, like an idiot, I didn’t take that sign.
The first page was literally just scribbles of black ink, as if someone had held their pen like a knife and went to town. The paper was embossed with these violent strokes, tattoos more permanent than the ink. The second page was blank. The third and fourth had beautiful pencil drawings of a woman with soft features. There was a poem accompanying these pictures titled The Woman with Dark in Her Eyes and honestly, it made no sense to me. Then again, I wasn’t big on poetry. I liked a good story myself, but metaphors and flowery language were usually lost on my simple mind.
I didn’t exactly read this poem too critically. I scanned through it the same way I scanned through the rest of the pages, other poems included. Somewhere near the end I came upon another poem called The Matron. I didn’t understand this one either.
But the opening lines chilled me to the bone: The worm inside is never satisfied, never full.
And not until you crack the earth will you become whole.
I flipped to the last pages. Here was a wall of text. One word repeated over and over again, crammed together and written in shaky handwriting.
Enlightened Enlightened Enlightened Enlightened
There wasn’t so much as a sliver of white space between the words, save for the spots inside of the “g’s,” “e’s,” and “d’s.”
On the back was another wall of repeated words: The Matron The Matron The Matron
“What in the hell,” I said.
I closed the book. At the time, I understood none of it, but it left a bad taste in my mouth.
Things more or less returned to normal a few weeks later. We citizens tried our best to forget what happened, which wasn’t an easy task. Stone got better and out of the hospital and back to the barracks. He and I began our comic book club together. Even Mia joined in on a few of these meetings. She liked the Spider-Man stories in particular. My regular book club also continued, albeit with dwindling numbers. At the last meeting only Wendy, Scarlett, and I were in attendance. George had fallen into a slight depression, though he hid it well, and he skipped, citing his workload as the reason. No one bought it, but George wanted space, not a therapy session.
Chewy was also absent from this meeting. Ever since Stone had been shot, he’d taken to sticking closely by him. Stone liked it, for sure. They comforted each other.
We discussed The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t my favorite. Wendy and Scarlett, however, were gaga over it.
“I loved Gatsby,” Scarlett said. “I’d totally bang him.”
“Especially if he really looks like Leonardo DiCaprio,” Wendy giggled.
Leo apparently played Gatsby in a recent adaptation of the novel. I must’ve missed that one.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Ladies, ladies, can we please stay on topic?”
They ignored me.
“On the subject of banging…” Scarlett continued, “I hear John Berretti has found a new woman.”
“That Credence gal?” Wendy asked. “I heard that too.”
If they only knew, I thought.
“Definitely not a secret,” Scarlett said. “They’re PDA-ing all over the place. I feel like I should be wearing a body-sized condom whenever I’m around them.”
I set my book down on the table and leaned back in my chair. Taking a handful of crackers, I prepared for the gossip. That was often how these meetings went, even when George was here. We talked about the story for a bit and then we talked about the juicy things going on in the City. I didn’t really mind it, especially this time when the book wasn’t one I was fond of. However, I would’ve enjoyed chatting about anyone other than Berretti. He wasn’t my favorite person, as you know.
“It’s just what he needs,” Wendy said sarcastically. “More distraction.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He’s supposed to save us, isn’t he? That’s what Nick’s always pushing.”
“True,” Scarlett agreed.
“You ask me,” Wendy said, “he’s already given up.”
“So what does he do in his lab all day?” I asked.
Wendy shrugged, but Scarlett offered an answer. “He’s probably playing with himself. Well, was playing with himself. Now he’s got Credence for that.”
“Ew,” Wendy said. “He’s about twenty years older than her. The poor girl.”
“Yeah, imagine his wrinkly body wriggling on top of you,” Scarlett said.
“I’d rather not,” I said.
They both laughed, but as soon as laughter stopped, the conversation turned more serious. Their dislike for the man surprised me…but then again, Berretti was easy to dislike.
“If you ask me,” Wendy said, “John gave up a long time ago.”
Scarlett nodded. “That is, if he was ever really trying in the first place.”
I rarely saw John Berretti around the City. Don’t get me wrong, I liked that, but the times I did see him were never joyous occasions. One of these times occurred two days after the book club meeting.
Ell’s shift was ending, and I was on my way to walk her back to our barracks, like I did sometimes when I had the time. She often commented about how creepy the tunnels were, and I took that as a hint for me to give her some company.
Berretti, still
