The Book (24 page)

“I’m his best friend. I’m the only person he has in this horrible world. I should have been involved in this! If you wanted me to stay quiet, you could have at least given me the courtesy of watching him go through this. He’s the most important person in the world to me. You didn’t even give me the chance, man! I know this is your house and I want to respect you, but you aren’t my father. You aren’t my boss. You’re not even the leader of this group!” Winston adjusted his dainty glasses and turned toward Holden, giving him the respect to finish. “Who knows, bro. You might have said something wrong down here. Someone like you could
never
understand Shane. You probably just screwed this whole thing up.”

“That’s possible, Holden. Your friend discovered more than one deplorable thing in this cellar. He may never come back, it’s true.” Winston removed his handkerchief to wipe the bead of fretful sweat from his delicate hair line before continuing. “But that is his choice. And he will make his own decision, just like the rest of us. The one thing our group is trying to preserve is our ability to choose to read what we want and then choose if we agree with it or not, without being told that we should. Out of anything here, that fact should be the most important to you.”

“You don’t get what I’m saying. I understand that you want to do this…
ceremony
with everyone. I get it. Take them down here go through your whole spiel like you did with me. But it was wrong of you to cut me out of this, Winston. I don’t care what you think he needed to hear. Shane is a different type of guy than you…and I could have at least interpreted things. Worded things differently, so he would understand.”

“Holden. I will only speak one more time and then we are through talking about this. Agreed?” He waited for Holden to nod before finding a comfortable place to sit within the dim reading nook. “You don’t give Shane enough credit. He is stronger than you think. But where he may be lacking in wisdom, he makes up for in his passion and dedication to you. To your friendship. What a heart your friend has. You say you know him better than I do, and that is irrefutable, but if you knew him as well as you say you do, you wouldn’t be upset with me right now. You would know that Shane needed to figure this out on his own. And that he would need to hear the truth from someone that wasn’t you.”

Winston’s words were an arrow in Holden’s chest. He was right. What Holden thought didn’t matter. Shane was what mattered and Holden was acting like a child that couldn’t share. He wanted to control the fate of his best friend, when that was a lesson each of them had already learned. Maybe the most important lesson thus far. Their fates rested in their own hands.

All he could do was hope that Shane’s fate would bring him back.

And soon.

* * * * *

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The small band of bibliophiles had made some interesting headway. It took three weeks, but once Moby had finished building a series of branding machines, the group separated in order to enact a multi-pronged assault on the Publishing House. They divided into three teams: Moby and Holden, Jeff and Abby, and Ephraim and Lolita. In the name of truth, they left Marion home with Winston and Ronnie and traveled to three major areas of the United States.

Moby and Holden were gone for the longest. They spent a week in New York where they branded the rooftop deck of the Empire State Building, a flashing, led-coated building in Times Square, the wall of a popular subway station, the side of a ritzy, East End condominium and, Holden’s favorite of all the locations, the oversized sculpture in Central Park which displayed characters from the book
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
. Along with a few other random locations, they thought this diversified their paraphernalia across the city. They only hoped during the tight, flight home (human whales weren’t the best travel-pals) that the other groups had been able to inflict as much truth-laden damage.

Jeff and Abby were perfectly successful in Los Angeles and Las Vegas while Ephraim and his wife hit Dallas with an all-night desecration tour one day and then stopped in Miami the next day for round two. It was a courageous move, they knew, but each of them realized that hitting different states on the same weekend would leave open the speculation to their numbers and they wanted people to start talking. Who would believe that the word could get out in such a way with only eight people responsible?

Winston, needing to be on the front lines in some capacity, chose to brand one of the south side elevated train stations, to keep the brand away from home, and then topped the weekend off by hitting the Sears Tower a few feet from the emblem of
The Free Thinkers
. Alone, among so many people younger than him, the adventure downtown was the highlight of the decade for Winston. And although they didn’t want to come right out and associate themselves with
The Free Thinkers
, Winston thought that, in terms of publicity, it was a good move. And he was right.

When Holden and Moby returned, carrying the names of seven people Moby had met while impersonating an Unfortunate, they watched the news broadcasts as the government attempted to cover up the story of The Book by claiming that similar phrases had been stamped in other cities, including
Read The Book
and
Your Mom Reads The Book
.

It only made them laugh. Nothing the Publishing House could do to stop the word from spreading mattered. People were talking and it was smart to branch themselves out – which had been Jeff’s idea. He determined that the outbreak of brands across the country during the same weekend helped them in two distinct ways: it brought a higher sense of pandemonium to those who wanted to protect the secret and it provided protection to the true location of their group. If their branding campaign was limited to the Chicagoland area, it would only be a matter of time before they were pinned down. Now, with questions out there on where the hub could be located, Moby could continue recruiting safely downtown.

After witnessing this good news, and hearing about everyone’s separate adventures, Holden and Moby were on such a high that they began developing a plan to brand the famous, stainless steel bean sculpture that perched itself, ever watchful of the city, on the crest of Millennium Park. As a hotspot for Unfortunates, they agreed that it should happen soon.

And there had been more good news. In their absence, Marion, still embarrassed that she hadn’t taken more pages from the bar, had followed up on one of Lolita’s ideas to start generating a list of where more books could be found. Lolita and Ephraim believed that the library would eventually grow even larger and started work on a card catalog, made of leaves and bark (Ronnie called it
God’s Paper
). The argument was posed that the most important thing they could do for the cause was build their collection. Lolita suggested that they should find a wall somewhere in the house where they could keep a list. That way it could be visible at all times and would remain on the forefront of their strategy. So Marion brought it upon herself, with Winston’s permission, to use the ladder Moby found in the garage to write the first three ideas they had drafted near the rafters of the high-ceilinged great room. The text, made of home-made ink, was large enough that they could see it from the couch and small enough that they could spend years writing and still leave room on the wall. It was a marvel to look upon and each of them felt that Winston’s home was quickly becoming the epicenter of all things free speech.

The most surprising news had been that, while Holden was in New York, Shane had been back to the house multiple times. From what Marion had seen, he would come by, sit with Winston for a while, take a book and leave. On other days, she would wake up to hear him banging away in the cellar, building better shelving. Next day, she would be out for a walk and find him hacking away in the old servant quarters, remodeling the space for some future, yet-to-be-known, tenants. It was odd, but it was his way of helping. His way of being a part of the team, without having to acknowledge Holden, just yet. There was quite a bit Shane needed to work through on his own and Holden would give him the space. It was typical, small life thinking, but sometimes swinging a hammer was the best way for a man to sort through his difficulties.

Holden knew there was a much longer road for Shane than the one he was traveling. And while he was impatient for that road to come near his own, he was forced to remind himself again that they were different people and that they may never come to the same place at the same time. But still, a great weight was lifted from his rejection-fraught shoulders. Shane knew the truth. He believed what Winston told him and he would be a part of their group, on his own terms.

Witnessing even a slight amount of success, Holden decided he could take on the world. It was time to talk to his ex-wife.

* * * * *

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Holden stood in the slick driveway that used to be his, debating if the house his wife was trying to steal, the one he was staring at, could still, on some technical level, be called his home; taking into account that the property was still in his name, most of the furniture (the good stuff he hadn’t been allowed to take) was his and it was where his only offspring prayed her bedtime prayers and drifted off to delicate dreams. Spotting the curling, floral fabric that laced the front window, he made the distinction; flat screen placement or no, that house was no longer his.

But he was far from upset. In fact, Holden could have left his van downtown that afternoon because he was flying through the murky clouds on a natural high. That afternoon Moby allowed him to brand the bean.

The plan was easy. They needed to attack the park around midday, when it was bustling with tourists and lunch breakers. Even with the lurking Unfortunates, too many people still needed a photograph on their cell phone of their best friend in front of the bean’s polished, steel bosom. People provided cover and cover provided a safe escape. After meeting up with his partner in crime, Moby Van Dinh, the tattooed whale who was now a dear friend, Holden strapped into the makeshift branding suit under the solitude of the pavilion bathrooms during a quiet, afternoon concert in the park. It was a quick process, especially after having worn it so often in New York, but Holden took his time. Branding the bean was an experience he wanted to cherish.

The machinery hung loose on his shoulders, like the holsters of a six-shooter from a time only movies could tell. It was light weight, but awkward. The bulk of the mechanics were hidden beneath his clothes, slung precariously over both kidneys, and the arrangement of wires that coursed up his shoulder and down his long sleeve shirt gave him a tickle that he needed to resist. The time for accidental giggles ended the moment he slipped the fingerless glove over his right hand. The branding iron, with the imprint of
Don’t Read The Book
, was stitched into the fabric and it clasped itself easily to the inside of his palm. It was the smartest and most prudent way to exist in an unbranded world one second and a branded world the next.

After gearing up, they took their time perusing the park before mingling with the other tourists toward the bean. Moby was a hard one to miss, so he did his best to crouch whenever possible. Once beneath the silvery surface, Holden switched the power on from a button they had clipped to his belt loop. The charge had begun. Holden could feel a thrilling, electrified warmth in his palm as they carefully chose the perfect location. The spot that would forever be stained with their motto. Once they agreed with a discreet nod, Holden leaned into the cold steel and pressed his palm to its shell.

Hearing a gentle twang of anger as the molecules of the famous sculpture were forever altered was exhilarating. Holden switched the power off immediately before pressing a secondary button to activate the cooling system. As their plan suggested, Moby lifted an old digital camera and nudged his leader to a stereotypical tourist spot beside the now-blemished skin of the bean. With a ridiculous grin, Holden posed and Moby took a photograph like any other, average, run-of-the-mill, three-hundred pound sightseer.

They were gone before the flash faded from the sunless sky. Halfway down the steps, surrounded by flowers and excited patrons, over the din of delicate orchestrations that streamed from the band shell beyond, they could hear someone crying out that they had discovered another brand. The men reached the sidewalk hearing people shouting, “
Don’t Read The Book!
”

The delicate trills of that music still resonated in Holden’s mind as he strolled confidently to his ex-wife’s door and knocked with a triumphant surety. As he waited, imagining how awkward their conversation would be, he realized that he was still wearing the glove. In all the excitement, he had forgotten to remove the branding machine. Spotting her shadow on the glass, he decided that he would have to play it cooler than he had planned.

Eve came to the door amid a tumult of raspy barking. She had gotten a dog.
New things do happen,
he supposed. As she silenced the animal, Holden could see her face through the window and he felt a surprising blend of unexpected memories and emotion.

She didn’t look beautiful today. Probably because she was at home, alone. Beauty wasn’t what satisfied him. In the moments before she recognized who was at the door, before her usual annoyance contorted her casual features to an attitude of disgust and irritation, Eve’s face was warm and relaxed. It reminded him of the good times they shared when they were young – before bills and car problems and doctors and daughters. He missed that Eve. The one that loved him and wanted to be loved by him. But it changed. Of course it did. The new Eve came back when she saw that Holden was the one who had come knocking. And in that moment, holding one of the three log books that contained years of editing notes from the Publishing House, Holden nurtured a single hope: that his ex-wife would allow him into the house.