Between The Doors. Wes Peters

He’d never feel it again, but the memory remains.

      The bells within the Time-Table rang out eleven times. Andrew looked up at the great face of the tower. He felt the time ticking away.

      What happened to that feeling? He wondered, looking around frantically. Nick stirred at the sound of the great bells ringing out through the square. The people in the square continued their frantic dance through the stifling noon heat. Andrew realized he’d spent the morning in a daze.

      “It’s the clock,” the boy murmured, looking up at the great tower. But it wasn’t the clock; not quite, he realized. It was time. For a kid who played truant as often as he did, he really wasn’t used to feeling like he was wasting time. Now he did. He felt some responsibility, some longing to get moving. He didn’t exactly love the feeling, but he couldn’t deny it.

      “But where?” he wondered, and Nick, who had lumbered over to him, gave Andrew a confused look.

      “Where’s what?” Nick asked, as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

      “Where do we go?” Andrew asked. “Where?”

      Nick shrugged. “I usually hang around ‘ere on my days off, see if any of my friends show up.” Andrew shook his head.

      “I mean, what now? What’s next?” Nick, who really had no idea what Andrew was asking, came up with a suitable answer.

      “I’m getting hungry. Shall we go home? Hopefully my aunt’s made some lunch.” Andrew sighed. He supposed Nick wasn’t cut out for a mission like his. He was a gunfighter. Nick was just a boy.

      “Let’s head back,” Andrew said. Nick began to walk up the street.

      “That’s good,” Nick said. “My aunt makes great lunches, you see. They put you right to sleep. An afternoon nap it is!”

      III

      Andrew feigned sleep for a few minutes until Nick began to snore. Then he slid out of bed and began to put his things together. He tucked the gun in his waistband of his shorts. He took a look in the mirror on Nicks’ wall and stifled laughter at his new clothing.

      I look like an elf, Andrew thought with a smile, admiring his new garb. He ditched the kilt and put on his khaki shorts and t-shirt. Then he pulled the grey jacket Margaret had lent him over his chest. In his reflection he saw his gun protruding from his pants.

      “The world’s youngest gunfighter,” Andrew thought as he pulled his shirt over the gun. He jumped as Nick murmured something in his sleep, which sounded like ‘pancake’. Yet Nick’s breathing steadily continued, and Andrew relaxed. He grabbed the purse Margaret had left for him and slung it over his shoulder. He supposed in this world it was fashionable for a man to wear a purse. This one slung over his shoulder like a small backpack.

      Andrew looked over at Nick, and felt a pang of sadness. “Goodbye, Nick,” he whispered, and snuck out of the room.

      IV

      Andrew walked through the streets of Sunsetville, which sat still in the midday heat. Not a soul walked on the streets; it was quiet time, as Nick had informed him. Andrew’s Spanish teacher, Senorita Katrina, would’ve called it a siesta. Andrew wandered past Joe Freeman’s bar, and saw the scaffolding-tower that just yesterday had been two levels high. Now it climbed higher than the buildings on the street. Andrew figured the men must have added six or seven floors since yesterday. It was a shoddy structure. The wood that pieced it together was old and splintered, and the tower leaned and swayed in the wind. Yet the gigantic wheels attached to the ground floor promised that it would roll, and roll soon. Andrew didn’t want to be around when it did. He headed for the square.

      The Clock Tower loomed high above Andrew, peering down like an ancient stone giant. Andrew felt fear knot up in his stomach. He suddenly wanted to run from these great towers, as he had run from school, and his mother. His gun kept him from running. The ancient revolver weighed heavily on his shorts, reminding him he was in for the long haul. With that thought he was hungry again. He sat down on a wooden crate and pulled out some dried meat.

      “A boy without some food in his bag might as well be no boy at all!” Nick’s aunt had insisted at lunch. Andrew had declined, but Margaret Smith would not have it. She’d packed enough ‘dry meat’ in Andrew’s bag for him to eat for a week. Andrew hadn’t wanted it, but Margaret Smith was a persistent woman. After all, she had claimed, she had no use for it.

      He chewed on a piece of the dry meat, which Andrew figured was just beef jerky with some spicy seasoning, and threw his bag over his shoulder. He got up out of the shade and walked slowly over toward the foot of the tower. It was good, Andrew figured, that the mob hadn’t shown up yet, with their great tower. They had promised to arrive at 2, and it was nearly 1:30. Andrew sighed, and muttered:

      “No time to waste.” He grasped the handle of the wooden door. “Whatever’s up there, I’m coming. Get ready.”

      “Not without me, you’re not!” cried a gruff voice behind him, and Andrew knew it was Nick before he turned around.

      V

      Nick figured Andrew must’ve known he was following him. Gunfighters like Andrew were keen to the land around them, Nick knew. Plus, they just had a way of knowing sometimes. Just like his ma had a way of knowing he’d snuck bread from the pantry, Andrew had a way of knowing.

      Andrew didn’t bother acting surprised. Instead, he shook his head. “Nick, you can’t go up there,” he said.

      “Mr. Andrew,” Nick returned. “I ain’t afraid of nothing. And I’m still in your services, so I can’t let you go up there alone.” Nick held a fire-poker in his hands, sharp at one end, and Andrew nearly laughed at the boy’s attempt to arm himself.

      “In that case,” Andrew said, “if you’re in my service, I forbid you from following me.”

      “All right,” Nick said. “I won’t follow. I’ll lead.” He stepped boldly past Andrew and tried to open the door. It didn’t budge. Nick scratched his head. “How are you trying to get in?” he said.

      Andrew approached his friend and looked him squarely in the eyes, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Nick,” he said, and Nick immediately straightened. Andrew had a way about him, Nick knew, that could freeze the meanest winds in a dust storm. Now Nick hung his head, sure Andrew would turn him away. This time, he wouldn’t be able to argue. Andrew continued.

      “Whatever’s at the top of the tower is dangerous. If you go up with me, you must promise me you’ll let me face it. Remember, I’ve got the gun. I don’t think your fire poker’s going to do the trick.”

      Nick reddened a bit in the face. “Well, of course sir. I was just improvisin’, you see.” Andrew grinned, and patted his friend on the back.

      “Come on, follow me.” Andrew said. With that, Andrew turned to the door. Nick watched silently. Andrew grasped the door handle, took a deep breath, and turned it. It did not budge.

      “Oh,” Andrew said. It was silent for another moment. He tried turning it the other way, but to no avail. The door was sealed after all.

      “I told you it was sealed!” Nick cried behind him. Andrew stood by the door a minute, concentrating. Then he let go.

      “I figured it would open,” he said. “The door in the grove did.”

      “Maybe this one’s not meant to be opened,” Nick offered. Andrew didn’t buy it.

      “There’s got to be a way into the tower,” Andrew said.

      “Well, sure there is,” Nick said. “Through the sewers. There’s a basement entrance.” Andrew turned sharply to look at his friend. Nick raised his eyebrows.

      “I found it a couple of weeks ago, it’s sort of hidden and secret. But the tower basement’s real creepy, and the sewer smells… I didn’t stay down there too long.” Andrew looked around and found a manhole. He walked over to