Seams in Reality Read online

  Seams in Reality

  Alex Siegel

  Copyright 2014-2015 by Alex Siegel

  Smashwords Edition

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For more information about this book and others in the series, please visit http://www.grayspearsociety.com/

  Seams in Reality is the first in a four book series. The complete list of books is:

  1. Seams in Reality

  2. Cracks in Reality

  3. Breaks in Reality

  4. Shards of Reality

  The Gray Spear Society is an earlier series by the same author. Those books are:

  1. Apocalypse Cult

  2. Carnival of Mayhem

  3. Psychological Damage

  4. Involuntary Control

  5. Deadly Weakness

  6. The Price of Disrespect

  7. Tricks and Traps

  8. Politics of Blood

  9. Grim Reflections

  10. Eyes of the World

  11. Antisocial Media

  12. Sharp Teeth and Bloody Claws

  13. Teller of Lies

  14. Faith Defiled

  Revision 6/20/2015

  Chapter One

  Andrew had walked past the Fine Arts Building of Theosophical University every day for months, but today, he noticed a small brass plaque for the first time. It was almost hidden under the vines which crept up the side of the gray stone building. Shadows shrouded the tarnished brass. He pushed aside the foliage.

  The plaque read, "On this site in 1830, the United States Army killed over a thousand members of the Illini Nation. Men, women, and children were shot and burned. May that tragedy never be forgotten."

  He frowned. He had heard about the famous massacre in a history class, and it had a name, but he couldn't remember it. In the class, the professor had expressed disapproval about putting a university on top of a mass grave. Andrew wondered if some of the bodies were buried directly beneath his feet, and he looked down reflexively. It was possible he was walking over Indian bones.

  He remembered he was running late and hurried onwards. His footsteps on the concrete sidewalk were loud.

  A flash of sunlight on a window made him glance upwards. The Fine Arts Building on his right, like the rest of the Theosophical campus, was built in the Gothic Revival style. The walls were made of white limestone blocks. Sheets of tarnished copper covered the steeply sloped roofs. The windows were tall, narrow, and filled with small panes of glass. The main doors had arched, peaked entrances. The buildings always vaguely reminded him of cathedrals.

  Andrew entered through a side door. The interior hallways had green tiled floors and tan walls. The halls were narrow by modern standards, but the Fine Arts Building dated from the 1920's.

  He jogged to the main auditorium. Final preparations for a live performance of Death of a Salesman were underway. He ran down an aisle and climbed onto the large stage.

  Charley looked at him with a cross expression. "There you are!" She checked a clock on the wall. "Twenty minutes late!"

  "Sorry." His face grew warm. "My class ran long." The excuse was weak even though it was true.

  Charley was the stage manager. She was a tall, thin girl, and her luxurious brown hair was the same color as her eyes. As usual, she was wearing a sweater, blue jeans, and soft leather boots. Her sweater had white and gray stripes today. Her creamy skin was her most attractive feature, and its off-white color suggested mixed heritage, but he had never asked her about it.

  "Just get into costume, and hurry. Warm-ups are in ten."

  He ran to the tiny changing room used by male actors. He was the last to arrive, and the others were already putting the final touches on their makeup. They gave him dirty looks but kept quiet. He was the star of the show, after all.

  Andrew grabbed a rumpled gray business suit from a rack. He had the part of Willy Loman, the lead character. The suit was stiff after three weeks of sweating in it under hot stage lights. The costume needed to be cleaned, but the show would run for only one more week, and bugging Charley about it didn't seem worth the trouble. The dirty suit would make a good excuse to talk to her though.

  He changed as quickly as he could, but he wasn't quite fast enough. He was still using a makeup pencil on his face when he heard the other actors and actresses warming up on the stage. He had to make himself look like a worn-out old man instead of an eighteen year-old freshman in college. Plenty of practice made the pencil strokes quick and sure. Subtle lines under the eyes and across the forehead were the key. He finished off his face with a light dusting of charcoal powder.

  Finally, he was ready to perform, and he ran out of the changing room. The stage was set with furniture that seemed to date from the 1950's. There was a humble kitchen with stairs leading up to a bedroom. The left side of the stage was a back yard with abstract trees. He had spent so much time on the set, it almost felt like a real home.

  Charley shot another hard look at Andrew, and he had to admit he deserved it. As the lead of the show, he was supposed to set an example, even if he was just a freshman. Being on time for a performance was mandatory. He should've snuck out of class.

  The other actors were walking around in a variety of intentionally funny ways, trying to be as creative as possible. Some were making loud animal noises. It was all about putting on a show, warming up the body, and throwing off any shyness. Andrew joined them and tried to be the silliest of all.

  * * *

  "No, you finish first," Andrew said in a loud, clear voice. "Never leave a job 'til you're finished—remember that. Biff, up in Albany I saw a beautiful hammock. I think I'll buy it next trip, and we'll hang it right between those two elms. Wouldn't that be something? Just swingin' there under those branches. Boy, that would be..."

  His amplified words boomed through the auditorium. Every seat was filled, and he was the reason, although he never bragged about it. Critics had lauded his acting skills in the strongest possible terms. Andrew remembered one article that had said, "Andrew Kenworthy has the imagination and command of a professional actor twice his age. He would be at home on a Broadway stage." He tried not to let the praise go to his head.

  He had no idea where that talent had come from. Neither of his parents were actors or had expressed any interest in the subject. Death of a Salesman was Andrew's first serious production. Something about this particular stage had inspired him to stretch himself in ways he had never attempted before.

  He was facing the fake trees on the set. They were just wooden cutouts painted green and brown, and close up, they looked cheap, but the audience didn't care. He was pretending there was a hammock hanging between the trees.

  An unexpected movement caught Andrew's attention. Somebody was hiding in the shadows behind the trees, but the play didn't call for an actor to be back there now.

  Andrew glanced towards the right wing. Some actors were waiting just offstage, ready to come in on cue. Stagehands in black clothes stood further back with varying levels of interest. Charley had a clipboard in her hand, and she stared at Andrew with a curious expression.

  Another movement drew his attention back to the trees. A man in a rumpled gray business suit was standing just out of the light. He was carrying a battered old suitcase in each hand. Exhaustion made his face sag, and Andrew guessed the man was in his forties. Andrew had never seen hi
m before, but he still recognized him.

  Willy Loman, Andrew thought.

  He completely forgot an audience was watching. He wandered over and stared at the apparition. Willy just stood there with his sagging shoulders and bent back. He had a blank, mindless expression.

  "Hello?" Andrew murmured.

  Willy didn't respond.

  Andrew glanced at Charley, and her eyes were wide with alarm.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered. "Say your line!"

  Andrew turned back, but Willy had silently vanished. There was nothing behind the fake trees. What the hell is going on? Andrew thought.

  He remembered the play. He turned to the audience, and even though the auditorium was dark, he could see over a thousand faces. They were watching him expectantly.

  He realized he had forgotten his next line.

  The actor playing Biff said, "Pop, I just washed the car. Do you see? How's that, Pop? Professional?"

  Oh, right, Andrew thought. He looked at the other actor. "Terrific. Good work, Biff."

  The performance continued, but Andrew would be the first to admit it was the worst of his short career. He kept glancing behind the trees and blowing his lines. Normally, he had the focus of a laser beam, but not tonight.

  Finally, the show ended, and he didn't get his usual standing ovation. When the curtain dropped, the audience was still in their seats.

  He turned and found Charley already in his face.

  "What happened? Have you been drinking?" She sniffed the air. "You don't smell like booze."

  "No, no." Andrew took a step back. "I would never come here drunk."

  "Then what's wrong?"

  The other actors were wandering off with reproachful glances at him. Andrew hadn't just embarrassed himself. He had made the whole production look bad, and that fact made him angry.

  He debated what he would tell Charley. If he told her he had seen the ghost of Willy Loman, she would think he was crazy. Willy wasn't even a real person. Andrew had to come up with a more believable excuse.

  "I have a big exam tomorrow," he said. "I kept worrying about it. Sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

  Charley screwed up her pretty face. "You don't have an exam."

  "I don't?"

  "No. Part of my job as stage manager is keeping track of the schedule conflicts of my leads. You're not taking any tests this week."

  She was right. Andrew remembered giving her his class schedules at the beginning of the production, and they had included the dates of every test.

  "Then my mother is sick," he said.

  Charley glared. "Stop lying."

  "I'd rather not talk about it. I'll be fine tomorrow."

  He tried to walk away, but she moved aggressively to block him. He bumped against her breasts. He backed off, keeping a straight face like a gentleman. She stiffened but didn't comment about the awkward incident.

  "You're not going anywhere, mister," she said, "not until I get an explanation."

  "You won't believe me. You'll think I'm crazy."

  "You'll be surprised at what I'm willing to believe."

  Andrew sighed. "OK. I saw Willy Loman."

  "Huh?" Charley raised her eyebrows.

  "He was standing right there." He pointed at the spot behind the tree cutouts. "But he vanished after a few seconds."

  He expected ridicule or an expression of concern for his mental health.

  Instead, she walked over to the trees. "Right here?" She pointed at the floor.

  "Just about."

  Charley closed her eyes and swayed on her feet. She took slow, deep breaths.

  "What are you doing?" he said.

  "Hush. I need to focus. This is hard."

  Andrew furrowed his brow.

  The crew was still cleaning up from the performance. They were wearing black from head to toe to make them less visible during the show. Everybody was a student at Theosophical University, and most were a year or two older than Andrew. They gave Charley curious looks.

  She opened her eyes. "I believe you."

  "You do?" he said.

  "Yes, and you're not crazy. It's much worse than that. Come with me. You absolutely have to meet somebody."

  "Who?"

  Charley walked off the stage, but Andrew just stood in place with a feeling of confusion. It wasn't time to leave. The rest of the cast was changing back into their street clothes or in the lobby talking to the audience. What was going on?

  She looked over her shoulder. "I told you to come!" she said with a sharp tone.

  He shrugged and followed her. If he didn't obey, he wouldn't get any answers.

  Andrew was still wearing his costume, and he wished she had given him a chance to take it off. The gray wool suit was hot, and acting was sweaty work. He stopped for a drink at a water fountain, and the water was refreshingly cool.

  They walked quickly through the narrow halls of the Fine Arts Building. Charley's shoes clicked on the hard floor, and echoes bounced off the walls. She led him down a flight of steep stairs to the basement. Tan tiles covered the walls and made the echoes even stronger. Plain florescent fixtures provided pale bluish light.

  Andrew recalled stories he had heard about the haunted basement. Supposedly, the ghosts of dead Native Americans wandered from room to room when the lights were off. They sought vengeance on all white men. Students would dare each other to come down here during the night. Andrew had a creepy feeling and tried to shake it off, but he couldn't. He was one of those white men.

  "Did I see a ghost on stage?" he said.

  "Sort of," Charley said.

  "What was it?"

  "I can't say."

  "Why not?" Andrew said.

  She didn't answer.

  The basement wasn't in great condition. Many tiles were cracked, and a few light bulbs had burned out. He heard mechanical rattling noises behind closed doors. He passed a room full of old stage props and costume supplies, and the door was open. He saw a partially disassembled pirate ship. A plastic mannequin had such a life-like form, he glanced at it twice.

  "Is this some kind of practical joke?" he said. "You're still mad at me for being late. You had somebody dress up like Willy and hide at the back of the stage."

  "That's ridiculous, but I am still mad at you."

  They arrived at a door marked, "Professor Tonya Akin, Department of Metaphysics." It was a plain wooden door in a green frame. A signup sheet allowed students to schedule appointments.

  "We have a metaphysics department?" Andrew said.

  "You're looking at it. Professor? Tonya?" Charley knocked on the door. "It's Charley."

  "Come in!" a woman answered from behind the door.

  Charley entered the office. Andrew followed and looked at the professor.

  Tonya was a middle-aged woman, probably in her fifties. She had straight blonde hair cut to a length that barely touched her shoulders. Her eyes were blue. She was wearing a white, button-up shirt with a collar. An old-fashioned brooch made of pretty green crystals was pinned above her left breast. Despite her age, her skin was a healthy pink.

  "Andrew," Tonya said, "we meet at last. I'm Tonya. I've admired you for a long time."

  "Thanks," Andrew said. "What's going on?"

  She turned to Charley and raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

  "Something that looked like Willy Loman appeared onstage during the show," Charley said. "It might have been a sprite."

  Tonya's eyes widened. "Did you feel it?"

  "A little. Andrew had to be controlling it."

  "Oh." Tonya grimaced. "He really jumped into the deep end. We have no choice but to begin his education in earnest. We clearly can't wait another day."

  "What are you talking about?" Andrew said. "I didn't do anything."

  "Take a seat, both of you."

  Feeling anxious, he looked around the office. It was big by academic standards and had probably been a storeroom originally. One wall had bookshelves full of books and papers. T
he titles included "The Fundamentals of Time and Space," "The Collected Writings of Aristotle," and "Perception and Identity." Heavy stuff, Andrew thought.

  There was a small garden under a big, bright grow-light. He recognized bamboo, a spider plant, and a cactus. One plant had pink flowers, and another had spotted red leaves. He could smell the flowers in the still, cool air.

  A huge assortment of three-dimensional puzzles occupied another set of shelves. They were made of iron rings, bars, ropes, beads, and boards. One clear plastic puzzle looked like a giant ice crystal, another was shaped like a green apple, and a third was a cardboard ant. The professor even had a spherical globe made of puzzle pieces.

  Tonya also had a collection of props for stage magicians. There were decks of cards, painted wooden boxes, shiny rings, and cages. A box had dozens of thin swords stuck into slots. She had at least four different kinds of magic wands, and one had paper flowers sticking out the end.

  Andrew sat on a hard wooden chair, and Charley sat beside him.

  "I know you have a thousand questions," Tonya said, "but you'll have to be patient. I can't answer them now."

  Andrew leaned forward. "Why not?"

  "We first have to go through an assessment process, and that starts with an interview. Tell me about your background. Did you have a happy childhood? What kind of kid were you?"

  "Why is that any of your business?"

  "I'm going to offer you a scholarship," she said. "Full tuition, room, and board. You'll get a free ride through college and come out the other side debt-free. You'll even get a monthly stipend to cover incidental expenses. Interested?"

  Andrew was more than interested. His parents didn't have a lot of money, and paying for his education was a real hardship for them. He was already looking for work to help cover the costs, and he expected to have little time for fun and parties. Even with the extra income, his family would have to take out loans to get him through the final years of school.

  On the other hand, full scholarships weren't usually offered in the middle of a semester by obscure professors working in a basement late at night. He was suspicious she had a hidden agenda. Before he signed anything, he would have to do some checking.

  "Of course," Andrew said.