Jeffrey was glad to find that following Finnel meant taking a step only about every three seconds or so. For it wasn’t exactly breezy and chipper heading down a pathway through a mysterious cavern which had appeared from (and appeared to lead) nowhere. The surrounding total and ceaseless void seemed to grow even blanker and darker with each eventual step.

Chills began to ping-pong with ease up and down the length of Jeffrey’s spine.

Yet on and on they walked: step, pause . . . step, pause . . . step, pause…

Time stretched out or came to a standstill. Still, he saw absolutely nothing. He felt only the ground. He had no idea where exactly in the school (or elsewhere) this bizarre space and walkway could be.

“Here we are,” echoed Finnel’s voice like unfortunate sonar.

“Where?”

Jeffrey listened in as the sound of his own question circled back after having met with unseen surfaces far and near.

A noise like a pipe striking a bigger pipe crashed and rang a long way off.

Everything lit up at once.

Jeffrey marveled at the scene as his eyes took in a thin scaffolding, upon which the two stood, leading down toward the top of a humongous gleaming metal silo filled to the brim with what appeared to be thin, fine sand.

Peering up, he saw latches and open doorways in a crisscross pattern ascending from either side of the silo, stretching so much higher than he knew the top of the school could be. There were tracks and carts, switches and stairs, and so many winding tubes in complex configurations angled every which way all the way up. “What is all this?” His voice sounded hollow and flat in his ears, even despite the noticeable reverberations.

“This is the secret,” Finnel declared. “This is what Jillian has been discussing with you. Not what you expected, eh?”

Jeffrey was speechless. All he saw . . . everything surrounding them above, beneath, and to the sides . . . amounted to different types of equipment. It was all tools and mechanisms. Things used on other things to get things done. “Did you bring her here?” he wondered aloud, then shook himself as a reminder to stay diligent and guarded.

Could this all be a trick?

“No, I couldn’t do that.” The doctor sputtered some, but mostly kept his composure.

“Why?” Jeffrey fully anticipated an answer beginning with: “You see, I’m what you might call a…”

“You see, I’m what you might call a Collector,” Finnel elocuted, the lines in his neck and jaw fastening like nylon straps around clay. “I’ve been around for . . . for a very loooooong time.”

Jeffrey thought of Hunch.

Finnel continued, “I’ve come to admire the ways different peoples operate, and the methods they choose to achieve their aims. Some have built monoliths without using tools, not even knowing how to farm food to feed themselves in their work. Others would align points in temples and statues to future placements of constellations and precisely predicted planetary movements.” The doctor coughed a few times (now background noise). “I’ve seen bodies in cloth and sand preserved for hundreds . . . thousands . . . of years.”

Jeffrey took a long, hard look at Finnel, which was never an easy feat. It was then that he realized for certain he definitely didn’t have his special vision ability here in this place. So, he could only guess the doctor had wholeheartedly applied that whole bodies-preserved-for-thousands-of-years technique or technology upon himself . . . or had it applied (again, Jeffrey thought of Hunch).

Finnel went on, “Civilizations have arisen, built upon the wisdom I’ve witnessed and collected, then fallen away without a trace, all they knew, lost, until the same could be rediscovered later in new ways. I’ve seen math, and science, and language take form again and again, sometimes preserved in libraries for centuries, and other times eradicated when vessels or vehicles meant to carry got taken or destroyed.”

“Ok,” said Jeffrey, unsure whether he wanted to hurry the doctor along so as to leave sooner, or slow this moment down and glean as much as he could to share with Gel.

“The charm you saw me use to enter here is both magical and non-magical at the same time.” At this, Finnel paused, though not as other elderly folks might pause to realign with their flow of thoughts forming into words and being said, leaving space for new thoughts. It was clear the doctor was waiting . . . proudly . . . for Jeffrey to ask about magic being non-magic, violating logic to its core.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Ok,” Jeffrey repeated, feeling like a rebel punk.

“To you and Jillian, a gem that causes an undetectable pathway to materialize as a doorway in a wall is supernatural. You see what I can do, and what I’ve done to make this institution the beacon to the extraordinary it’s become. You see it as a power, like magic. But I am no magician.”

“Ok.”

“Boy, if you were to witness who or what is really behind all this…” Finnel waved at the sand-silo and elaborate mechanisms, his never-quite-straightenable arm v-shaping to shoulder height high above his hair, “...you’d think me a sorcerer in communion with beings beyond description.”

For at least the third time, Jeffrey considered Hunch. But now he couldn’t help but chuckle. For the thought of the mountainous bend cresting the doctor’s rear upper regions really being a magical being beyond description tickled Jeffrey’s funny bone so suddenly and severely that gasps of fought-back snickers broke their barrier and tumbled out.

Thankfully, Finnel seemed not to notice. “The reason I brought you here,” the doctor said slowly, “was to show you all of this, and to speak with you about Jillian. What do you think of her, boy? What’s she told you about me? What is . . . her plan?”

Jeffrey gulped, unsure what to say. At last, he managed, “She’s teaching me how to see things, y’know, like I do.”

“Aha!” groaned Finnel in feeble triumph. “But what is she teaching you to do with what you see?”

“Well,” Jeffrey began, “a big thing she’s showing me is how to not get so attached when there’s people involved.” He instantly regretted admitting this, and sought to quickly cover his confession with, “I get too emotional. Or too involved. That’s all. She’s showing me how to just see everything for what it is, and let things be the way they are.”

“Really?” queried the doctor in a tone that turned the word into anything but a question. “And what way is that?”

“Black-and-white.” Jeffrey stopped just to make sure he wasn’t nearing another cliff’s edge of over-sharing. “She’s teaching me not to let things get clouded with…”

“With color?” Finnel croak-coughed, seeming to swallow something in his throat which Jeffrey did his best not to think about.

“Yeeeesssss…” Jeffrey carefully admitted, still hoping not to be giving too much away.

“But you do see color, no?”

“Yeah, but it’s not what’s important. It’s not what we’re supposed to…” Jeffrey let the words trail off. He had another idea, but decided to wait for Finnel to speak again first.

“And what are you supposed to be seeing and doing?” the doctor asked. “What is important?”

Jeffrey fired back, “Why was Ge... I mean, Jillian... Why did you call her to your office? What did you say to her?” As hoped, posing questions made him feel more in control. This way, he figured, he could naturally avoid feeding any further into Finnel’s prodding designs.

“Boy, I spoke with Jillian in a rather different manner than that in which I’m speaking with you now. I knew she’d tell me nothing, but only sit and glare at me. So I told her I was impressed with the progress she’s made with you. I tried to show her my genuine respect. For she is indeed the most impassioned and determined young person I’ve ever come across. Determined, yet . . . off base.”

“What does that mean?!” Jeffrey seethed, an angry feeling he found he had no context for causing his throat to clench tight like a vice around the words. He longed to leap and sprint all the way back up the scaffolding passageway . . . to free himself from the evil doctor’s lair and powerful hold . . . so that he and Gel might at last properly align around their power and do whatever she had in mind to…

But he was pained to admit he had no idea what her big plan even was, especially now that he’d seen Finnel’s secret hiding spot for himself.

For what could she really intend to do with what was essentially just an area filled with a bunch of old, cool, unusual objects?

Might her aim be to destroy it all somehow to keep the doctor from using it? But why?

Jeffrey sank, almost collapsing to the ground in paralyzed confusion and indecision.

“I assure you, boy, I mean no disrespect,” Finnel vowed. “I pick my words very deliberately now. No matter how well a person can see, their vision is always influenced in part . . . tinged . . . by who they are. I suppose that’s why it’s so dangerous to have just a single mentor or role-model in life, eh? But I’m getting way ahead of myself.” Several rich, deep coughs apparently gave the doctor ample space to return from however far ahead of himself he’d been, for he continued, “I don’t expect you to grasp what I’m saying about vision being tinged. Not yet. I leave the notion intentionally vague. I know you’ll catch my meaning soon, boy. Now, let us return. You’ve seen what I brought you here to see. You’ve heard all that need be conveyed.”

Jeffrey wanted to argue. He so desired to call the doctor out. Yet the million pointed questions his mind raced with only blurred the more he attempted to narrow in on any one of them.

Nothing could become any clearer until he knew what Gel’s intentions actually were.

What were they to do with Finnel and this big space behind the walls filled with so many really interesting things?