It all gets Surprisingly Serious

My mind is racing as I’m led to a small desk. This one is behind a low screen and has a closed laptop and some sheets of paper on it. This can’t be anything to do with the book, surely? But what else could it be? ‘Agents,’ the book said. What kind of agents?

The staff from the library go about their business, ignoring me and the two suits as I’m directed to sit in one of the two chairs at the desk. One of the agents stands behind me, as if deliberately trying to freak me out, and the other sits close in front of me on the other chair.

‘Mister McFate,’ he says slowly. He still has his sunglasses on, and his mouth seems to be making a permanent little smile, perhaps reassuring or menacing, I can’t tell. ‘Thank you for your co-operation. I am Mister Angel, and my colleague is Mister Onyx.’ I glance back, looking up at the other man. To be honest, if they swapped places it would be quite difficult to tell them apart. I shift in my seat, the stack of books in my lap seem heavy, suddenly.

‘Do you know, Mister McFate, why we are all here, together, today?’

‘I really don’t,’ I reply, ‘what are you? Police? Government? Spies?’

His smile maybe broadens a tiny bit. ‘In a manner of speaking.’ He reaches forward, taking the pile of books from my knees and places them gently on the table. ‘Books are wonderful, aren’t they, Mister McFate?’

He takes the top book from the pile. Dracula, I notice. He holds it carefully, flicking through the pages. ‘All the stories,’ he says quietly, tearing a couple of pages out carefully. He places the pages on the laptop. I look around at the library staff, but they continue doing whatever they are doing, ignoring us. ‘All the worlds.’ Another page. ‘All the possibilities.’ Another. ‘But now, this one is useless. Pointless. Hopeless.’ He drops it to the floor, staring at me through his sunglasses.

He takes another book. Brokeback Mountain. ‘Did you know, all of these possibilities, these worlds, these stories, they are all real?’ He tears pages out as he speaks. ‘Called into existence by your imagination, made solid by your pictures, created in your own image, as it were.’ He holds up the ruined book, then drops it.

I have no idea what is going on, but I’m hoping he gets bored before he finds the magic book.

Fight Club. ‘If you can create these worlds,’ he continues as he spoils another novel, ‘who, do you think, created you? Would it surprise you to learn that somewhere in the universe, there is a book for you? Where your story and possibilities are created?’ He pauses. ‘Your book?’

‘Why am I here?’ I ask. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

He looks at me, maybe he’s smiling, maybe not. He takes another book. I can see mine, just below the next one in the stack. There is a small pile of torn sheets on the laptop next to it. ‘Of course,’ he says, still slowly tearing, ‘the chances of you being united with your own book are astronomical. Odds you couldn’t even comprehend. If that were to happen, the fallout could be devastating and the resulting chaos would be very complex to unravel.’ He pauses again, and drops the book to the floor. ‘And that’s my job.’

He takes the next volume. My book is now on top. ‘So, Mister McFate, I hope you can understand how serious this matter is.’ More pages go on the stack. ‘I hope you can see that we are acting in your best interests, and those of, well, I’m not overstating it to say, the world.’ He drops this book onto the small pile at his feet. ‘I also hope you can comprehend, that by removing pages from these books, they are essentially destroyed. If I were to do the same to your book, remove all of the remaining pages and consign it to this pile of, well, kindling...’ he looks down at the mess on the floor, gesturing to the sad remnants.

I move without thinking while his eyes are downcast. I grab my book, and the one beneath it. I grab the pages, for some reason. Perhaps a part of me wants to protect them from this savage. I tuck the pages into my book as I run.