“Do you know what time it is?” Geeze asks the guy in the doorway, who clearly couldn’t care less about the time.

I pull out my phone as the man in the doorway says, “It’s one twenty-one.”

“Are you sure?” Geeze asks. I go still as he continues with words like those he spoke to me not long ago. “Maybe I should ask someone else?”

The guy in the doorway doesn’t get annoyed at the question like I did. Under the scruffy dark beard, the guy’s mouth spreads into a wide grin. He pushes away from the wall, shoves his hand into his pocket, and with a flourish holds out a dull gold key. “I always verify things that are important.”

The bearded guy turns and unlocks the door behind him. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming tonight.” He steps to the side so Geeze can lead me into the darkened doorway.

“My passenger is new to the train,” Geeze says, nodding to me. “Did the other passengers arrive?”

Hat Guy jams his hands into his pockets. “Two passed this way. They should be in the station now. You should get going.” Then the guy looks at me. “Getting on the train isn’t easy. I’m glad you’re here to take the trip.”

Geeze ushers me through the doorway, so I don’t have to figure out how to respond. The minute we step across the threshold, the door behind us shuts. I hold my breath as my heart pounds hard against my chest. The click of the lock sliding into place echoes loud in the darkness.

No way out.

I swallow hard and fight to keep the building fear out of my voice. “What train are we getting on?”

“It’s not a real train.” He takes off his hat and moves deeper into the shadows while beckoning me to follow. “At least not the way you mean. We go through here.”

“I have a flashlight on my phone,” I say. “We don’t have to stumble around in the dark.”

“It won’t be dark in here.” He leads me through another doorway, and the illumination he promised flares to life.

The light is soft, but I still have to squint as my eyes adjust. There are two worn, mismatched armchairs in the middle of the room. I am about to ask Geeze to explain the train again when the walls of the room catch my attention and my heart squeezes. Hard.

The walls are filled with old-fashioned books.

Not real ones. Paintings of them. Stacked together. Strewn across the ground. Red. Blue. Yellow. Black. All with pages of white. Open. Closed. And flying out of the open books as if being set free into swirling air are carefully printed words that shimmer at the edges as if by magic.

The truth is found when men are free to pursue it. —FDR

The truth is incontrovertible. Panic may resent it, ignorance may deride it, malice may distort it, but there it is. —WC