Status: On hiatus
Fact or Fiction?
Dr. Zebula
“You’re doing what?” Charles gasped.
“I know you want me to be on tour, but this guy needs me.”
“Ophelia,” he groaned.
I was at the diner with him and his boyfriend. I had a large mug of coffee in front of me. I really wanted alcohol which is why I called him. He was on a date with his boyfriend but they dropped it to come help me. It was touching and I rubbed my eyes.
“He did a lot for me when I started writing,” I told him.
He sighed. “I can push it back to June. Will that give you enough time?”
“Yes,” I said, holding his hands. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m sorry to hear he’s dying.”
I wiped a tear away. “Thanks. Me too. He’s being a good sport about it.” I let out a long breath. “Probably because he misses his wife….”
He smiled sadly at me.
“I’ve kept you two long enough. Go back to doing whatever it is you were. Thanks again.”
They both kissed my forehead.
“Call if you need me,” he said and I nodded.
I stared miserably into my mug of coffee for a while. It hadn’t hit me until after work that he was dying. I assumed it was cancer. The dude smoked a pack a day when I was in high school. I ran a hand through my hair.
“Are you all right?”
I looked up and blushed. Zackary was standing with a plate of food and a mug of hot chocolate, looking worried.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “You looking for a place to sit?” He nodded. “Feel free.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked after sitting across from me.
I rubbed my eyes. “Friend of mine is dying,” I mumbled and he sighed.
“Here.”
I opened my eyes. He was holding his hand out and I took it. He laced our fingers together and, for some reason, that action was enough to break open the floodgates. I lowered my head and cried into my coffee. He didn’t speak while I cried, he just held my hand.
“Is he a close friend?” he whispered when I calmed down.
I blew my nose in some napkins with my free hand. The waitress brought me another coffee with a sympathetic smile. I nodded.
“He’s the principal at the high school,” I sighed, watching as he munched on some of his fries. “When I started writing he helped me out a lot. Him and the secretary.”
He nodded slowly. “The guy you dedicate the books to?”
I nodded, sniffling. Each book was dedicated to my parents and to Mr. Harrison.
“I’m really sorry, Ophelia,” he said and I smiled at him.
“Thanks.” I sniffed again and took a long gulp of my coffee. He let go of my hand so he could eat his burger. “He wants me to be the temp principal for the spring semester.”
“Really?” he asked and I laughed weakly.
“I think I was his last resort. But I loathe the teenagers in this town,” I groaned, leaning my head back and he chuckled. “They always TP my house on Halloween and try to harass me when a book comes out. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to call the cops.”
“Well, there you go,” he said and I blinked at him. He was pointing a fry at me. “This is your chance to get even.”
“Huh?”
“Strike the fear of Ophelia Ramsey in their hearts,” he said. I laughed. “Seriously. I’m not saying be openly hostile or anything like that. Just show them that you are the boss now. You won’t put up with their shit.”
“That’s actually really good advice.”
“Of course it is,” he said, passing me a couple fries. “I gave it.”
I laughed and rubbed my eyes again. “How’s work going?”
“Really great, actually,” he said. “I partnered with this guy who has been a lawyer for 30 years. It’ll be amazing to have that wisdom while I start building up.” He snorted. “I had someone come to me for a case.”
“That’s exciting!”
He smirked. “Would you say dealing with a scorned young man exciting?”
I laughed. “It could be fun!”
“Maybe you can write your next book about it,” he said and I smiled.
Talking to him made me feel better and we spent the rest of the evening talking about what it was like to be a lawyer. He really loved doing it. It sounded hard to me but writing seemed hard to a lot of people, too.
When I got home, the book was pulsing. I glared at it. Suddenly, it flopped open to the middle page.
“Let me guess,” I said sarcastically. “You have something that I just have to read because it’ll change my life forever.”
It didn’t move so I huffed and tossed my keys on the table by the door. I took my jacket off and strolled over to it. I sat down and leaned over it.
Perhaps love really does exist.
I frowned. “That’s it?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re wasting your time on weird epiphanies that I don’t need? Of course love exists!”
What is fact to one may be fiction to another.
I blinked. “So I’m supposed to tell someone love is real? Who? Lucy? Zackary? Mr. Harrison?”
It didn’t do anything and I rolled my eyes. I closed the book and latched it shut. I sighed and went to bed, falling asleep immediately.
-
Two days later I left Lucy in charge of the store. I paced my house nervously, occasionally looking at the book. It hadn’t done anything since the other night. I checked and the words were still there.
At noon, someone knocked on my door. I checked the peephole and grinned, opening the door.
“Dr. Zebula,” I said, stepping to the side.
Dr. Zebula was a close friend of my father’s. When he was doing research on a religious book he was writing, he did a lot of consulting with her. She was incredibly old; probably older than Mr. Harrison. She didn’t look like she would be keeling over any time soon, though. Her body was fit and she walked as if she were in her 30’s. Her hair was grey, though, and her blue eyes cheerful.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, hugging me briefly. “So where is this oddity of yours?”
“Over here,” I sighed and led her to the book.
I tried to open it but it wouldn’t.
“What the hell?” I mumbled, tugging at the front cover. “Oh, don’t you dare!”
“Um, are you yelling at a book?” she asked as I continued to try and pry it open.
I huffed. “I don’t know why it isn’t opening,” I pouted. “Okay, sit down. I have a story to tell you.”
I told her everything. She kept her face even. She didn’t give me any of her advice until I reached the very end. Her eyes slid to the book with a knowing expression on her face.
“Oh, Ophelia,” she breathed, walking over to it. “You don’t realize what you have here, do you?”
“Of course I don’t,” I sighed. “That’s why I called you here!”
“There are rumors,” she said, “rumors about an ancient book. It’s said that it has wandered the world, always changing different hands. It’s a book about the past, present, and future.”
I stared at it. “You think this is it?”
She tapped the cover. “Copper is a powerful conduit,” she explained. “Why do you think it’s used for so many things? What happened when you first started using it, again?”
“I said my name and it printed it. After that, it seemed to know everything that was going on.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Has it shown you anything about the future?”
“Sort of,” I said slowly. “After my date with Zackary – that’s the guy I met the day I found this book – it was glowing so I opened it. It was writing in third person from his point of view. It was talking about how he felt bad for me. I stopped reading before I got any farther, though. I didn’t want to read in case….”
“In case you read something you didn’t want to,” she said when I fell silent. I nodded. “Tell me this: your books always have romance in them. Could it be that you are… lonely?”
I frowned and sat down, thinking. I stared at the book and unconsciously touched it. Yes, I’ve been lonely.
“You’re thinking the book showed up with Zackary, don’t you?” I asked, looking at her.
She shrugged. “It’s entirely possible. He was walking from your shop when you ran into him.”
I laughed. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to drop random magical books off on people’s doorsteps.”
“Serial killers never seem like they would be the type to kill people,” she pointed out.
“Should I ask him?”
She shrugged again. “That’s up to you.” She looked at the book. “It won’t open because I’m here. I would imagine that, if you were to ask it about the past, it would show you something and-”
She cut off. The book had opened on its own and was flipping through pages as if a wind were blowing. It landed on one of the first pages and we leaned over it.
“Aw, damn it,” I groaned.
“I know you want me to be on tour, but this guy needs me.”
“Ophelia,” he groaned.
I was at the diner with him and his boyfriend. I had a large mug of coffee in front of me. I really wanted alcohol which is why I called him. He was on a date with his boyfriend but they dropped it to come help me. It was touching and I rubbed my eyes.
“He did a lot for me when I started writing,” I told him.
He sighed. “I can push it back to June. Will that give you enough time?”
“Yes,” I said, holding his hands. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m sorry to hear he’s dying.”
I wiped a tear away. “Thanks. Me too. He’s being a good sport about it.” I let out a long breath. “Probably because he misses his wife….”
He smiled sadly at me.
“I’ve kept you two long enough. Go back to doing whatever it is you were. Thanks again.”
They both kissed my forehead.
“Call if you need me,” he said and I nodded.
I stared miserably into my mug of coffee for a while. It hadn’t hit me until after work that he was dying. I assumed it was cancer. The dude smoked a pack a day when I was in high school. I ran a hand through my hair.
“Are you all right?”
I looked up and blushed. Zackary was standing with a plate of food and a mug of hot chocolate, looking worried.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “You looking for a place to sit?” He nodded. “Feel free.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked after sitting across from me.
I rubbed my eyes. “Friend of mine is dying,” I mumbled and he sighed.
“Here.”
I opened my eyes. He was holding his hand out and I took it. He laced our fingers together and, for some reason, that action was enough to break open the floodgates. I lowered my head and cried into my coffee. He didn’t speak while I cried, he just held my hand.
“Is he a close friend?” he whispered when I calmed down.
I blew my nose in some napkins with my free hand. The waitress brought me another coffee with a sympathetic smile. I nodded.
“He’s the principal at the high school,” I sighed, watching as he munched on some of his fries. “When I started writing he helped me out a lot. Him and the secretary.”
He nodded slowly. “The guy you dedicate the books to?”
I nodded, sniffling. Each book was dedicated to my parents and to Mr. Harrison.
“I’m really sorry, Ophelia,” he said and I smiled at him.
“Thanks.” I sniffed again and took a long gulp of my coffee. He let go of my hand so he could eat his burger. “He wants me to be the temp principal for the spring semester.”
“Really?” he asked and I laughed weakly.
“I think I was his last resort. But I loathe the teenagers in this town,” I groaned, leaning my head back and he chuckled. “They always TP my house on Halloween and try to harass me when a book comes out. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to call the cops.”
“Well, there you go,” he said and I blinked at him. He was pointing a fry at me. “This is your chance to get even.”
“Huh?”
“Strike the fear of Ophelia Ramsey in their hearts,” he said. I laughed. “Seriously. I’m not saying be openly hostile or anything like that. Just show them that you are the boss now. You won’t put up with their shit.”
“That’s actually really good advice.”
“Of course it is,” he said, passing me a couple fries. “I gave it.”
I laughed and rubbed my eyes again. “How’s work going?”
“Really great, actually,” he said. “I partnered with this guy who has been a lawyer for 30 years. It’ll be amazing to have that wisdom while I start building up.” He snorted. “I had someone come to me for a case.”
“That’s exciting!”
He smirked. “Would you say dealing with a scorned young man exciting?”
I laughed. “It could be fun!”
“Maybe you can write your next book about it,” he said and I smiled.
Talking to him made me feel better and we spent the rest of the evening talking about what it was like to be a lawyer. He really loved doing it. It sounded hard to me but writing seemed hard to a lot of people, too.
When I got home, the book was pulsing. I glared at it. Suddenly, it flopped open to the middle page.
“Let me guess,” I said sarcastically. “You have something that I just have to read because it’ll change my life forever.”
It didn’t move so I huffed and tossed my keys on the table by the door. I took my jacket off and strolled over to it. I sat down and leaned over it.
Perhaps love really does exist.
I frowned. “That’s it?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re wasting your time on weird epiphanies that I don’t need? Of course love exists!”
What is fact to one may be fiction to another.
I blinked. “So I’m supposed to tell someone love is real? Who? Lucy? Zackary? Mr. Harrison?”
It didn’t do anything and I rolled my eyes. I closed the book and latched it shut. I sighed and went to bed, falling asleep immediately.
-
Two days later I left Lucy in charge of the store. I paced my house nervously, occasionally looking at the book. It hadn’t done anything since the other night. I checked and the words were still there.
At noon, someone knocked on my door. I checked the peephole and grinned, opening the door.
“Dr. Zebula,” I said, stepping to the side.
Dr. Zebula was a close friend of my father’s. When he was doing research on a religious book he was writing, he did a lot of consulting with her. She was incredibly old; probably older than Mr. Harrison. She didn’t look like she would be keeling over any time soon, though. Her body was fit and she walked as if she were in her 30’s. Her hair was grey, though, and her blue eyes cheerful.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, hugging me briefly. “So where is this oddity of yours?”
“Over here,” I sighed and led her to the book.
I tried to open it but it wouldn’t.
“What the hell?” I mumbled, tugging at the front cover. “Oh, don’t you dare!”
“Um, are you yelling at a book?” she asked as I continued to try and pry it open.
I huffed. “I don’t know why it isn’t opening,” I pouted. “Okay, sit down. I have a story to tell you.”
I told her everything. She kept her face even. She didn’t give me any of her advice until I reached the very end. Her eyes slid to the book with a knowing expression on her face.
“Oh, Ophelia,” she breathed, walking over to it. “You don’t realize what you have here, do you?”
“Of course I don’t,” I sighed. “That’s why I called you here!”
“There are rumors,” she said, “rumors about an ancient book. It’s said that it has wandered the world, always changing different hands. It’s a book about the past, present, and future.”
I stared at it. “You think this is it?”
She tapped the cover. “Copper is a powerful conduit,” she explained. “Why do you think it’s used for so many things? What happened when you first started using it, again?”
“I said my name and it printed it. After that, it seemed to know everything that was going on.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Has it shown you anything about the future?”
“Sort of,” I said slowly. “After my date with Zackary – that’s the guy I met the day I found this book – it was glowing so I opened it. It was writing in third person from his point of view. It was talking about how he felt bad for me. I stopped reading before I got any farther, though. I didn’t want to read in case….”
“In case you read something you didn’t want to,” she said when I fell silent. I nodded. “Tell me this: your books always have romance in them. Could it be that you are… lonely?”
I frowned and sat down, thinking. I stared at the book and unconsciously touched it. Yes, I’ve been lonely.
“You’re thinking the book showed up with Zackary, don’t you?” I asked, looking at her.
She shrugged. “It’s entirely possible. He was walking from your shop when you ran into him.”
I laughed. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to drop random magical books off on people’s doorsteps.”
“Serial killers never seem like they would be the type to kill people,” she pointed out.
“Should I ask him?”
She shrugged again. “That’s up to you.” She looked at the book. “It won’t open because I’m here. I would imagine that, if you were to ask it about the past, it would show you something and-”
She cut off. The book had opened on its own and was flipping through pages as if a wind were blowing. It landed on one of the first pages and we leaned over it.
“Aw, damn it,” I groaned.