"About an hour left," Sal said, breaking the silence.
"So... why did we walk the whole way, if you say we can ... jump?" he asked. He'd been mulling over the situation for a while, and still couldn't answer. It made sense they needed a buffer, but Sal could bridge the gap for him, couldn't she?
She nodded, expecting Kyle's curiousity. "I was wondering when you'd ask. It's your first lesson, Kyle. I could say 'patience is a virtue,' but you know better. It's a matter of perception, and you've not seen enough. If you tried to jump, you'd likely kill yourself."
"But you–"
"And I didn't take you across, because I was waiting for you to ask. You seemed content enough, so I didn't press. In all your walks, have you ever surrendered to the beauty? I know it's not a cliff or forest, but this sea of prismatic marble always calms me."
Silence.
The towers loomed large, and Kyle wanted to think about Sal's riddles. She knew so much about him, likely more than his parents, and yet never gave a straight answer. She exuded an aura of zen-like wisdom, much different from Dr. Z's precise enthusiasm, but no less enthralling. He was powerless to stop himself from following her past the buttressed arches, and into his new life.
It looked much smaller on the inside, almost cozy. The foyer was a grand ballroom with two curved staircases hugging round walls to a second level. Kyle paused, transfixed by a ridiculously ornate piano stained walnut or mahogany, held aloft by thick carved griffons, painted with sprawling Victorian scenery; in the center of the staircases it stood, challenging any and all to sully its ivory keys. That thing is probably worth more than my house!
But they didn't climb the stairs and explore the second landing. Sal turned left and approached a set of French doors guarding a parlor lined with bookshelves that marched across the walls, so high that a suspended walkway ringed the periphery of the entire room, and even those held ladders. Kyle wondered at the spectacle, knowing he'd seen smaller public libraries.
A man sat in one of the half dozen leather couches dotting the floor, lounging with a hefty tome and ignoring his steaming cup of coffee. "Hi Sal," he said without looking.
"Roger," she acknowledged. "I see you finally found it."
He laughed. "Wasn't easy, I'll give you that. Take care of the kid, Sal, we can talk later."
She nodded and continued walking to a second set of French doors, into what looked like a game room. Three walnut pool tables stood in a line, while four poker tables occupied a dark alcove away from the windows, lit only by a chandelier boasting a smattering of genuine candles in place of bulbs. Kyle felt like sleeping, so relaxing was the low light and stress-free ambiance. Dad would love this place.
Kyle almost looked through the old man wearing coveralls and his friend sporting a lavish layered dress straight from pictures he remembered of English women in the 1800s—decorations, surely!—until he waved at Sal.
"To what pleasure, Madam?" asked Dress Woman.
"No pleasure, Doloris. Business."
"Whut? Him? Hah!" said Overalls. He looked at Kyle and winked, wiggling his ear. "New recruit, eh? Don't listen to a word she says, kid. Do that, you'll be alright."
"Funny, Bill. Who's winning?" There was no innocence in that question, and her smirk told Kyle much. Bill's frown confirmed it—Bill lost often to Doloris, and didn't like to be reminded.
Kyle ignored their banter and stared at the pool table, noticing that the balls were iridescent, full of rippling smoke or swirling haze, mesmerizing and impossible. One ball in particular looked like a globe, complete with fluffy clouds gliding slowly across its surface.
"What are you two doing?" he couldn't help asking, incredulous.
Bill shrugged. "Breaking logic," he said. "Breaking time. Pool's a game of chance, son." He tapped his cue near the Earth ball. "Them balls roll, the Earth spins, sometimes everything lines up right—but you gotta have a good angle."
"Oh, stop filling the poor child's head with lies, Bill," admonished Doloris. "Just because you're losing... gives you no excuse to suddenly philosophize. You'll hurt yourself."
Bill only smiled and winked again at Kyle. "You'll see what I mean, son. These two fine ladies have as much imagination as a can of dead flies. That's why I always use these balls: they're proof. Each one is chaos, broken and sunk into black holes by the Earth—by order. Plus, they're purdy."
He paused to consider the table, pointing his cue at a orange and red swirl with a faint blue ring. "Jupiter in the corner," he announced before leaning over and aiming his cue at Earth. He worked his arm like a loose pendulum, letting the weight of the cue perform its magic unaided. Jupiter reacted with a loud crack and traveled unerringly into Bill's chosen pocket.
"That's what happens when we're around, son. You best be careful."
Bill turned around, implicitly dismissing Kyle and Sal to their business. Deloris shook her head and chuckled. "Clever..." she mumbled, joining him.
What?! If any of Bill's rambling made an iota of sense, Kyle would have offered the man thanks. Instead, Kyle wilted under a thought-imposed headache. He glanced at Sal and noted her contemplative gaze at Bill, her eyes transfixed somewhere in the lost distance.
"Sometimes, you really surprise me, Bill." Sal allowed, whispering. Snapping out of her reverie, she gestured for Kyle to follow once more.
Kyle gave one last furtive peek toward Bill and Doloris—the ultimate mismatched pair—and added Bill's loose lecture to the steadily growing tower of concepts beyond his grasp. This better get easier soon, or my head's gonna pop like a gorged tick.
Having nowhere else, he caught up to Sal and shadowed her. Her unerring purpose was intoxicating; he only wished she would share.