Chapter 7: The Boiler

I took the black coffee down to the boiler room, because it was the one place in the building that was mine.

The door was open and the light was on.

Perry stood in front of the boiler in yesterday's flannel, with the green notebook in one hand.

He had a steel bucket at his feet and a barbecue lighter in the other hand.

"No," I said from the doorway.

He jumped.

"Dara. I'm sorry. I'll go."

"Not in my boiler room," I said. "No open flame near a gas line. Move."

He stepped aside without a word.

I walked to the utility sink, filled a second bucket with water and set it beside the first.

Then I stood the first bucket in the drain by the far wall, away from every pipe.

"There," I said. "Now burn it."

His mouth twitched, and for a second he looked ten years younger.

"You came down here to stop me?"

"I came to see what you'd do."

"I was going to do this before you woke up," he said. "I wanted it to be done."

"Why?"

He turned the notebook over in his hands.

"Because you were right," Perry said.

"I used it in every loop, and I never saw what it did to you."

"The better I knew you, the less you were there."

"I'm here," I said. "I'm standing here."

"I know. It's the first time I haven't known what you'd say in this room."

He walked to the bucket.

The notebook had a thick spine, and the first match failed in the damp air.

The second page caught, and then the whole corner.

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