- Chapter 3 -
Please Do Not Eat Your Number
Embedded Files
The bridge to the Loop Office did not behave like a bridge.
Chi Chi Wang Tang had known bridges before. Bad bridges. Decent bridges. One bridge made from three sticks, a prayer, and an optimistic beetle named Norbert. Bridges were supposed to be simple. You stepped on one end, became nervous in the middle, and either arrived on the other side or became a lesson for future travelers.
This bridge had opinions.
It was made of pale roots and smooth glowing stones, each stone tucked into the woven wood like a little tooth. Beneath it, the Promised Oasis water shimmered in ribbons of blue, gold, and moonlit green. Lantern blossoms floated on the surface. Tiny fish with translucent wings swam upward through the water, then through the air, then back into the water as if gravity had never been properly explained to them.
Chi Chi took one step.
The stone beneath his foot glowed.
He took another.
The next stone glowed too.
Then the bridge made a tiny bell sound.
Ding.
Chi Chi stopped.
The bell rang again.
Ding.
He looked down.
“Are you charging me per step?”
The bridge did not answer.
“That is exactly how they get you,” Chi Chi muttered.
Behind him, under the impossible tree, the bottle of apple juice sat in the grass.
Cold.
Golden.
Waiting.
Chi Chi did not turn around.
He did glance backward with one eye.
That was different.
The bottle was small from here. Not harmless, exactly. Nothing that had ruined your house, your marriage, your finances, your fly prospects, and your basic moral architecture could be harmless. But smaller.
That bothered him.
When something ruled you, it was supposed to look big.
The bottle just sat there, glinting in the soft light like an innocent beverage with a strong legal team.
The fly buzzed beside Chi Chi’s head.
“Do not start,” Chi Chi said.
The fly landed on the bridge rail and rubbed its hands.
“I am trying to change my life after death, and you have the energy of a snack-shaped auditor.”
The fly lifted one leg.
Chi Chi frowned.
“I know you are not snack-shaped to everyone, but to me you are suspiciously convenient.”
At the end of the bridge, the Loop Office booth waited.
It was a tiny structure built from bent twigs, old bark planks, polished stones, and what appeared to be one recycled wagon wheel. Its roof was a single enormous green leaf, curved like an awning and stitched with glowing veins. A small brass bell hung from a crooked hook. A little window opened beneath it, and inside that window sat Lint.
Lint the velvet ant.
Technically not an ant.
Technically a wasp.
Technically already irritated.
She wore cracked goggles over her round dark eyes, a striped scarf around her neck, and a little vest covered in pockets full of stamps, paper slips, reed pens, ink bottles, and what looked like emergency crumbs. Her expression said she had been dealing with the spiritual paperwork of foolish creatures since before sand had invented irritation.
Beside the booth hung a large wooden sign.
WELCOME TO THE LOOP OFFICE.
PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER.
PLEASE DO NOT EAT YOUR NUMBER.
Chi Chi stared at it.
Then at Lint.
Then at the sign again.
“That feels targeted.”
Lint pointed one tiny leg at him.
“It is.”
“You had that sign before I arrived.”
“We update for likely traffic.”
“That is discrimination against hungry persons.”
“That is pattern-aware signage.”
Chi Chi stepped off the bridge onto the little stone platform in front of the booth. The water below whispered gently, as if trying not to laugh. Elder Hoo watched from a moss-covered branch high in the impossible tree. His amber eyes glowed through hanging blossoms.
Chi Chi cleared his throat.
“I would like to file a complaint.”
Lint pulled a stack of forms from beneath the counter.
“Against whom?”
“The afterlife.”
“Which department?”
“The whole thing.”
Lint set the forms back down.
“You are not ready for that much paperwork.”
“I died.”
“That qualifies you for intake, not senior grievance.”
“I was chased by a fox.”
“Predation category.”
“I lost an eye.”
“Partial-body transition.”
“My insides were outside.”
“Temporary arrangement.”
“I was told to Render.”
“Standard.”
“I read a heartbreaking letter from my wife, and then a sign told me not to eat my number.”
Lint leaned forward.
“And did you eat your number?”
“I have not received one yet.”
“Then the system is working.”
Chi Chi opened his mouth.
Nothing useful came out.
The fly landed on the sign, directly above the word EAT.
Lint looked up.
“You are not helping either.”
The fly rubbed its hands.
“See?” Chi Chi said. “Administration.”
Lint reached under the counter and pulled out a little wooden wheel. Around its edge were dozens of tiny paper tickets. Each ticket was shaped like a leaf, stamped with a number, and dusted with a suspicious golden powder.
Chi Chi’s nose twitched.
He sniffed.
Lint froze.
Chi Chi sniffed again.
“Is that beetle cracker dust?”
“No.”
“Then why does it smell like beetle cracker dust?”
“Because your soul interprets every waiting object as a snack.”
“That is a medical condition.”
“That is a character condition.”
Chi Chi leaned closer.
The paper tickets fluttered.
One ticket slid forward from the wheel.
Ding.
Lint tore it off with two legs, stamped it with a small red seal, and held it out.
“Take your number.”
Chi Chi took it.
The ticket was warm.
Soft.
Thin.
Edible-looking.
It read:
42
At least, it read 42 for a second.
Then the numbers shifted.
4 became a tiny door.
2 became a curled tail.
Then both settled back into 42.
Chi Chi held the ticket carefully between two claws.
“Why forty-two?”
Lint adjusted her goggles.
“Because it was next.”
“That sounds disappointingly practical.”
“It is the Loop Office.”
“I expected deeper mystery.”
“Deeper mystery is window three.”
Chi Chi looked around.
“There are no other windows.”
“Not for you.”
He looked back at the ticket.
It smelled faintly of toasted beetle, dried grass, salt, and something sweet enough to make his belly express an opinion.
Grrrrrp.
Lint stared at him.
Chi Chi stared at the number.
The fly buzzed down from the sign and landed on the top edge of the ticket.
Chi Chi’s tongue twitched.
Lint pointed both front legs at his face.
“No.”
“I did not do anything.”
“You thought something.”
“I am allowed to think.”
“Not with that mouth posture.”
Chi Chi closed his mouth.
The fly walked across the ticket.
Chi Chi’s whole body trembled.
Lint sighed.
“Ticket rule one: do not eat the number.”
“I read the sign.”
“Ticket rule two: do not lick the number.”
“That feels like a separate accusation.”
“It has become necessary.”
“Ticket rule three,” Lint continued, “do not trade your number, hide your number, fold your number into an emergency fly trap, use your number as a tongue shield, baptize your number in apple juice, or pretend your number fell into your mouth by grief.”
Chi Chi looked offended.
“I would never pretend grief.”
Lint stared.
“I would never pretend grief twice.”
“Ticket rule four,” said Lint, “when your number is called, you enter the Waiting Room of Want.”
Chi Chi lifted one hand.
“Question.”
“No.”
“You do not even know the question.”
“You were going to ask if there are snacks.”
Chi Chi lowered his hand.
“There are always snacks in waiting rooms.”
“Not here.”
“Then why call it a waiting room?”
“Because you wait.”
“Without snacks?”
“Yes.”
“That is just punishment with chairs.”
Lint stamped a form.
“Correct.”
The bell above the booth rang by itself.
Ding.
A small wooden drawer slid open beneath the counter. Inside lay a round token carved from pale root. It was stamped with the same number as the ticket.
Lint pushed it toward Chi Chi.
“Take the token too.”
Chi Chi frowned.
“I already have the paper number.”
“The ticket proves you were called. The token proves you did not consume your proof.”
“I dislike how much this system knows me.”
“The Loop knows patterns. I just label them.”
Chi Chi picked up the token.
It was smooth and cool. Less edible. That helped.
The ticket, however, remained warm and thin and snackish.
He held it away from his mouth.
The fly landed on his head.
“Could you remove your employee?” Chi Chi asked.
“That fly is not with me,” Lint said.
“It acts like management.”
“The Loop sends what the Loop sends.”
“Elder Hoo said the fly is a fly.”
“Elder Hoo says many things that are technically true and emotionally unhelpful.”
From the tree, Elder Hoo’s voice floated down.
“I heard that.”
Lint did not look up.
“You were meant to.”
Chi Chi tucked the token under one arm and held the ticket in both hands like a sacred object that had been poorly designed for a hungry customer.
“Now what?”
Lint slid another form across the counter.
“Intake question.”
Chi Chi looked at the form.
The letters on it rearranged themselves until he could read them.
WHAT DO YOU WANT MOST?
Below that were four little empty boxes.
Chi Chi stared.
Then he looked at Lint.
“What kind of trap is this?”
“The obvious kind.”
“I respect honesty.”
“Answer.”
Chi Chi held the reed pen Lint gave him. It was too long for his stubby fingers. The tip wobbled over the paper.
What did he want most?
Apple juice came first.
Off the rip.
The words nearly wrote themselves.
He thought of the bottle behind him. Cold. Golden. Waiting.
His mouth watered.
Then he thought of Tula’s letter.
Love cannot live where it is always second.
His hand shook.
He tried to write family.
The pen scratched the page.
FAM—
Then his belly growled and his eye drifted toward the fly sitting on his horn.
His hand wrote:
FLIES
Chi Chi gasped.
“No.”
The form accepted the word with a satisfied little glow.
Lint leaned over the counter.
“You wrote flies.”
“I meant family.”
“You wrote flies.”
“My hand was under duress.”
“From what?”
“Biology.”
Lint stamped the form.
CHRONIC MISALIGNMENT.
“That stamp feels harsh.”
“It is one of our gentler ones.”
Chi Chi grabbed the pen again.
“Let me fix it.”
The form grew another line.
WHAT DO YOU WANT MOST, UNDER WHAT YOU SAID FIRST?
Chi Chi blinked.
“That is rude.”
“That is mercy.”
He pressed the pen down.
This time he wrote:
FAMILY
The word glowed softly.
Then beneath it, in smaller letters, the form wrote by itself:
WHEN CONVENIENT?
Chi Chi’s face fell.
“I did not write that.”
“No,” said Lint. “The Loop did.”
“That is slander.”
“That is diagnosis.”
Chi Chi squeezed the pen.
“I want them back.”
Lint’s voice softened, though only a little.
“Do you want them, or do you want to stop feeling what happened when they left?”
Chi Chi looked down.
The bridge lights shimmered beneath his feet. The water below showed his reflection, but not the one standing at the booth. In the water, he saw himself in the old house, hugging a bottle while Tula packed the grass basket behind him. He saw Mimi holding a beetle cracker. Bong Bong looking at the door. The whole room full of juice crates stacked like golden walls.
He saw himself glance back.
He had glanced back.
But he had not moved.
The reflection rippled.
Chi Chi gripped the ticket.
It crinkled.
The smell of beetle cracker rose.
His mouth opened.
Lint slapped a tiny wooden ruler across the counter.
Whack.
It tapped his tongue.
Chi Chi yelped.
“Assault!”
“Prevention.”
“My tongue is sensitive.”
“Then make it wiser.”
The fly buzzed in a lazy circle.
Chi Chi pulled his tongue back and folded the ticket carefully.
The ticket unfolded itself.
“No folding,” Lint said.
“Why?”
“Because you were about to make it smaller and easier to eat.”
Chi Chi looked at her.
“You are alarmingly good at this.”
“I have had experience.”
“With me?”
“With creatures who look at a warning sign and treat it as a menu.”
The booth bell rang again.
Ding.
Lint’s expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
She reached into one of her vest pockets and pulled out a pair of tiny spectacles. They were too small for her goggles and therefore served no practical purpose, but she put them on anyway.
“Number forty-two.”
Chi Chi looked at his ticket.
Then at Lint.
“That is me.”
“Yes.”
“But you just gave it to me.”
“Yes.”
“So I do not have to wait?”
Lint smiled without happiness.
“Oh, you will wait.”
The booth door opened.
It had not existed before. One moment the booth was a booth, and the next there was a narrow door beside it, framed by twisted root and lit from within by a blue-gold glow.
A sign above the door read:
WAITING ROOM OF WANT
Underneath, in smaller letters:
PLEASE HOLD YOUR NUMBER UNTIL YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR WANT.
Chi Chi stared.
“I do not care for these signs.”
“They care for you.”
“That may be worse.”
Lint hopped down from her stool and opened a little side gate in the booth.
“Come on.”
“You’re coming with me?”
“I’m your caseworker.”
Chi Chi brightened.
“So you are helping.”
“I am documenting.”
“Same thing with worse posture.”
Lint led him toward the door.
The fly followed.
Elder Hoo watched from above.
Chi Chi stopped at the threshold and looked back.
The bottle beneath the impossible tree was still visible across the bridge.
Small.
Golden.
Patient.
He held up one hand.
“Should I bring—”
“No,” said Lint.
“I did not finish.”
“You never do when the bottle is involved.”
Chi Chi looked down at his empty hands, except for the ticket and token.
They felt wrong.
Too light.
A creature could float away with hands this empty.
He stepped through the door.
The Waiting Room of Want was much bigger than the booth.
This was unfair, but Chi Chi was beginning to understand that the Promised Oasis had no respect for normal architecture.
The room stretched in every direction under the roots of the impossible tree. Its ceiling was high and dark, woven with glowing veins of sap. Lantern blossoms hung over rows of chairs carved from stone, bark, bone, shell, and memory. Streams ran silently along the walls. Every few moments, a door opened somewhere, a bell rang, and a creature either entered looking nervous or left looking like they had been turned inside out politely.
The air smelled different to everyone.
Chi Chi knew this because the first thing he smelled was apple juice.
Cold apple juice.
Not ordinary apple juice.
Perfect apple juice.
The kind of apple juice that made your past seem negotiable.
He closed his eye and groaned.
Lint glanced back.
“What do you smell?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Personal nothing.”
“Apple juice?”
Chi Chi’s silence answered.
Lint marked something on a tiny clipboard.
“What do you smell?” Chi Chi asked.
“Rain on stone.”
“That sounds pleasant.”
“It is not.”
“Why?”
Lint adjusted her scarf.
“Because it is what I heard the night I decided never to need anyone again.”
Chi Chi blinked.
Lint walked ahead.
The fly buzzed between them.
Chi Chi had not expected Lint to have a sentence like that inside her. He had assumed she was made entirely of goggles, stamps, and disapproval.
The room was full of creatures.
A desert mouse sat in one chair clutching a pile of shiny buttons. Whenever one button slipped from her paws, she squeaked and grabbed three more.
A tortoise sat beneath a coat rack, though there were no coats on it. Instead, the rack held small heavy stones labeled with words like REGRET, PRIDE, SHOULD HAVE, COULD HAVE, and ONE MORE YEAR. The tortoise wore all of them on strings around his neck and complained that he traveled slowly because the floor was rude.
A cactus wren paced in a circle, carrying a tiny mirror under one wing and asking every passing creature if this angle made him look prophetic.
A rattlesnake in spectacles held a bowl of soup and kept whispering, “I am not angry, I am merely heated.”
Chi Chi stared.
“Are all these creatures dead?”
Lint shook her head.
“Not exactly.”
“That is not comforting.”
“Some are between endings. Some are in loops. Some are dreams of creatures who have not admitted they are asleep. Some are old habits wearing temporary bodies.”
Chi Chi looked at the rattlesnake.
The snake glared at his soup.
“That one is a habit?”
“Three habits in a scarf.”
The snake hissed, “I heard that.”
Lint said, “You were meant to.”
Chi Chi frowned.
“Do you say that often?”
“It works often.”
They reached a chair made of woven reeds. It was exactly Chi Chi’s size. Above it hung a little wooden plaque:
42
Lint pointed.
“Sit.”
Chi Chi sat.
The chair sighed.
He jumped.
“The chair is tired,” Lint said.
“Of what?”
“You.”
“I just arrived.”
“It has met the pattern.”
Chi Chi shifted uncomfortably.
The ticket in his hand warmed.
The token in his other hand cooled.
He placed the token on his knee and held the ticket upright.
The fly landed on the top of it again.
“Why is this fly allowed everywhere?” he whispered.
“Because your want invites it.”
“I invited no one.”
“You invite by reaching.”
Chi Chi’s tongue twitched.
The fly rubbed its hands.
Across the room, a bell rang.
Ding.
A voice called, “Number seven!”
The desert mouse gasped and stuffed two buttons into her cheeks before waddling toward a glowing door.
Lint sighed.
“Everyone thinks they can smuggle want into healing.”
“Can they?”
“The doors are very thorough.”
A moment later, the glowing door spat the mouse back into her chair. Buttons sprayed everywhere.
The mouse blinked.
Then immediately began gathering them again.
Chi Chi watched, horrified.
“Does she have to keep doing that?”
“Until she sees the button is not the shine she wants.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Yes.”
Chi Chi looked at his ticket.
The fly had begun grooming itself on the number 2.
He whispered, “Is the fly my button?”
Lint climbed onto the armrest of his chair.
“No.”
“Is apple juice my button?”
“No.”
“Then what is my button?”
Lint looked at him.
“The belief that comfort should arrive before responsibility.”
Chi Chi sat very still.
The room hummed.
The words settled into him like stones sinking in water.
Comfort before responsibility.
That sounded unfair.
That sounded accurate.
He hated when accurate things wore unfair costumes.
“My life was hard,” he said.
Lint nodded.
“Yes.”
“The desert was hot.”
“Yes.”
“Flies are difficult.”
“Yes.”
“Bills are aggressive.”
“Very.”
“My house had termites with written correspondence.”
“I saw the file.”
“My family needed a lot.”
“Yes.”
“I was tired.”
“Yes.”
Chi Chi’s voice grew small.
“So I wanted something easy.”
Lint did not stamp anything.
She just sat there on the chair arm, scarf curled around her body, goggles reflecting the golden room.
“That part was not the sin,” she said.
Chi Chi looked at her.
“Wanting comfort?”
“No.”
“Being tired?”
“No.”
“Drinking apple juice?”
“No.”
He glanced at the ticket.
“Eating paper?”
“That is a separate concern.”
He almost smiled.
Lint continued, “The wrong turn was when comfort became king. When sweetness sat on the throne and every living creature in your life had to petition it for attention.”
Chi Chi’s eye stung.
The fly buzzed from the ticket to his nose.
He did not move.
“That is a very rude way to say it,” Chi Chi whispered.
“Yes.”
“But true.”
“Yes.”
His ticket warmed again.
The smell intensified.
Beetle cracker.
Apple crust.
Sun-dried fly wings.
No.
Not fly wings.
That was too much.
Chi Chi’s belly growled with such force that the tortoise three rows over looked up and said, “Amen.”
Lint pointed at the ticket.
“Hold it.”
“I am holding it.”
“Not with your hunger. With your promise.”
“I do not know how.”
“Try.”
Chi Chi stared at the number.
Four and two.
The 4 looked like a little chair. The 2 like a curled path.
He remembered Tula’s letter.
Find us with a life that has room for us in it.
Room.
Not speeches.
Not excuses.
Room.
His claws tightened on the ticket, but gently this time.
The smell of beetle cracker faded.
A little.
The fly on his nose grew still.
Then the Waiting Room changed.
The walls rippled.
The chairs stretched.
The glowing sap veins dimmed.
The row in front of Chi Chi dissolved into desert air.
Suddenly he was not in the Waiting Room anymore.
He was sitting at a counter in his old house.
Before the roof collapsed.
Before the termites left reviews.
Before Tula packed the grass basket.
The room was dim and warm. Crates of apple juice stood stacked against the wall. A single lantern burned on the table. Outside, wind rattled the cracked window.
Chi Chi looked around.
“No,” he said. “I was sitting.”
Lint was gone.
The fly was gone.
The ticket remained in his hand.
The token sat on the counter.
A bottle of apple juice stood before him.
Full.
Cold.
Open.
A fly landed on the rim.
Chi Chi’s mouth watered instantly.
From the other room came Mimi’s voice.
“Papa?”
Chi Chi froze.
Tiny footsteps approached.
Mimi appeared in the doorway.
She was younger than he remembered from the letter memory. Her bow was crooked. Her eyes were wide and sleepy.
“Papa, I had a bad dream.”
Chi Chi stared at her.
He had forgotten this night.
No.
That was not true.
He had buried it under sweeter things.
Mimi shuffled closer.
“Can you sit with me?”
Chi Chi looked at the bottle.
The fly walked along the rim.
The apple juice smelled like peace without effort.
Mimi rubbed her eye.
“Papa?”
He remembered this.
He had said, “In a minute.”
He had meant it.
He really had.
But the bottle was open. The fly was there. The room was quiet. He had been tired. He had been so tired. He had taken one drink, then another, then chased the fly around the kitchen for ten minutes, then fallen asleep with his face against the table.
By morning, Mimi did not ask again.
This was not a big memory.
Not like Tula leaving.
Not like the note.
Not like Fennic Grim.
This was a small thing.
One minute.
One child.
One bottle.
One choice so tiny it could slip beneath a door and grow teeth in the dark.
Chi Chi’s claws shook around the ticket.
Mimi waited.
The fly rubbed its hands on the bottle rim.
The apple juice glowed.
The ticket smelled like beetle cracker again.
Chi Chi whispered, “I know this.”
Mimi tilted her head.
“What, Papa?”
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Her little shoulders were hunched. Her feet were cold against the floor. She was holding the edge of the doorway like a child asking permission to be loved.
Chi Chi stood.
The bottle called to him without words.
He left it on the counter.
The fly buzzed angrily.
Chi Chi walked to Mimi.
His body felt heavy.
Not from size.
From resistance.
Every step away from the bottle felt like stepping uphill through syrup.
Mimi looked up at him.
“Are you coming?”
Chi Chi crouched.
His eye filled.
“Yes,” he said. “Off the rip.”
Mimi blinked.
“What does that mean?”
“It means immediately, but foolishly.”
“That is weird.”
“I am your father.”
She smiled.
The room warmed.
Chi Chi reached for her hand.
His hand passed through her.
The memory froze.
Mimi became light.
The kitchen became light.
The bottle became light.
The fly became a tiny black dot in a widening gold.
Then he was back in the Waiting Room of Want.
Sitting in the reed chair.
Ticket in hand.
Token on knee.
Fly on his nose.
Lint on the chair arm.
She was watching him carefully.
“What did you see?”
Chi Chi swallowed.
“A minute.”
Lint nodded as if that answered more than it should.
The ticket in Chi Chi’s hand had changed.
The number 42 was still there, but now a small mark glowed beneath it.
A dot of gold.
Tiny.
Warm.
Lint leaned closer.
“First waitmark.”
Chi Chi sniffed.
“That sounds official.”
“It is.”
“Do I get many?”
“As many as it takes.”
“What do waitmarks do?”
“They prove you stayed present when want called.”
Chi Chi looked at the dot.
It was so small.
Almost nothing.
He felt foolish for being proud of it.
He was proud anyway.
Across the room, the tortoise lifted one stone from his neck, looked at it, and quietly set it beside his chair.
The stone read SHOULD HAVE.
The tortoise sighed.
“I shall miss complaining about that one.”
The rattlesnake sipped his soup.
“I am not moved,” he said, clearly moved.
The cactus wren checked his mirror.
“Does this angle make me look emotionally available?”
“No,” said everyone.
The wren nodded.
“Progress.”
The bell rang again.
Ding.
“Number forty-two,” called a voice from nowhere.
Chi Chi sat up.
Lint hopped down.
“That is you.”
“I thought I was already called.”
“You were called to wait. Now you are called to enter.”
“Enter what?”
Lint pointed across the room.
A new door had appeared between two roots. It was narrow and round-topped, made of pale wood with a handle shaped like a beetle cracker.
Chi Chi stared at the handle.
“Cruel.”
Above the door, glowing letters arranged themselves:
ROOM FOR US
Chi Chi’s throat tightened.
Then the letters flickered.
For one second, they changed to:
ROOM FOR JUST ONE MORE DRINK
Then back again.
Chi Chi frowned.
“That door is mocking me.”
“The door is revealing you.”
“Everything here needs to stop revealing me.”
Lint held out one leg.
“Ticket.”
Chi Chi handed her the paper.
His claws did not want to let go.
Not because he wanted to eat it now.
Because it had become proof.
Lint examined the ticket. The gold waitmark pulsed.
She stamped it.
THRESHOLD ELIGIBLE.
Then she handed it back.
“Keep it.”
“I thought you needed it.”
“You need it more.”
Chi Chi tucked the ticket carefully against his chest.
The fly landed on the door handle.
Chi Chi pointed at it.
“That is entrapment.”
Lint looked at the fly.
The fly rubbed its hands.
“That,” she said, “is Tuesday.”
“I died on a Tuesday?”
“No. But it acts like Tuesday.”
Chi Chi stood before the door.
His belly growled.
The handle looked crunchy.
The fly looked snackish.
The room smelled faintly of apple juice again.
He reached for the handle.
Stopped.
Looked at Lint.
“Is this one of those situations where touching the handle teaches me about myself?”
“Yes.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Emotionally or physically?”
“Probably creatively.”
Chi Chi nodded.
“Good. I was afraid it would be vague.”
He reached again.
His fingers closed around the beetle-cracker handle.
The door opened.
Inside was darkness.
Not empty darkness.
House darkness.
The kind of darkness between rooms at night.
The kind that holds the sound of someone crying softly and someone else pretending not to hear.
Chi Chi’s face went still.
From inside the room came Bong Bong’s voice.
“Papa said in a minute.”
Mimi replied, “Maybe this minute is later.”
Tula said nothing.
That silence was the worst sound.
Chi Chi took one step back.
“I changed the last one,” he whispered.
Lint stood beside him.
“You visited one minute. There are many.”
“That seems excessive.”
“That is family.”
Inside the room, something clinked.
Glass.
A bottle cap rolled across an unseen floor.
Chi Chi’s body turned cold.
He looked behind him.
The Waiting Room had vanished.
So had the chairs, the creatures, the booth, the bridge, and the impossible tree.
Only Lint remained beside him, and even she had become softer at the edges, like a lantern seen through water.
Elder Hoo’s voice came from far above.
“Enter with your number.”
Chi Chi looked at the ticket.
The 42 glowed.
The gold waitmark pulsed once.
Then, from the darkness ahead, a tiny hand appeared.
Mimi’s hand.
Not touching him.
Waiting.
Chi Chi’s mouth trembled.
The fly buzzed around his head.
His hunger rose.
His thirst rose.
His fear rose.
The old desire rose too.
The desire to be anywhere else.
To drink.
To chase.
To laugh.
To make a joke strong enough to keep the room from becoming true.
Chi Chi looked at Lint.
“Do I have to be funny in there?”
Lint’s expression changed.
For once, the answer took her a moment.
“No,” she said. “But you will probably try.”
Chi Chi nodded.
“That is also diagnosis.”
“Yes.”
He took a breath.
It shook.
Then he stepped through the door.
The darkness swallowed him.
For a moment, there was only the smell of dust, apple juice, old wood, and a family trying not to break too loudly.
Behind him, the door closed.
The ticket warmed against his chest.
The fly landed somewhere in the dark.
Chi Chi heard his own younger voice from another room, slurred with sleep and sweetness.
“In a minute.”
Mimi’s tiny hand lowered.
Bong Bong whispered, “See?”
Something inside Chi Chi cracked.
Not like a bottle.
Like a seed.
The Loop did not smile this time.
It listened.
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