Beyond the Distance

Chapter 2

L ater never happened, as the opportunity never arose, and two and a half years later, Acton stood alone in his bedroom, fastening the two suitcases he would be carrying to the transport station later that morning. His clothes were in one of them. The second one, much heavier than the first, was one of the bags he carried with him to the campus he stayed at during the academic year, but it was his mid-year vacation from Specialization. He would be taking it elsewhere, where he could keep its contents away from his parents' prying eyes.

It was filled with papers that he had meticulously organized into binders, notebooks filled with his own handwriting, and yellowed notebooks filled with his father's faded scrawl. Important books with important information that he had managed to keep to himself for the last eight years, and very soon, he would have no further use for any of it. The purpose of these papers' existence would be fulfilled, rendering them useless. Who would he become? What lay beyond the decades of chaos that he carried in this bag, the hundreds of pages of scribbled notes, and old, tattered papers? His stomach shuddered.

One step at a time...

The mid-morning sunlight pierced through the blinds, bathing his entire bedroom in white light. No dust particles dirtied its rays. Acton had made sure of that upon his arrival home a couple weeks earlier. He couldn't tolerate the dust that coated his writing desk or the dirty feeling that clung to his fingertips when he touched the lamp on his nightstand. His bookshelf was still filthy, but he had gone nowhere near those books in years and didn't need the distraction now. Everything important to him lay in those two suitcases. He lifted his viola case from its place on the floor beside him and threw the strap over his shoulder, leaving his hands free to carry the suitcases. The time zone was an hour ahead where he would be visiting his extended family for the summer in District 27. It was a bit early for his 10:20 departure, but he couldn't stand to wait any longer in this unwelcoming house.

He glanced back at his room one final time. It was completely empty now, the way it was for the year he had been away at school. This was what his parents and brother saw when they passed his doorway: cold vacancy that offered nothing in hospitality.

Well, I'll take care of that. He closed the door and faced the dark hallway that was lit only by the crack of sunlight that managed to escape from the gap under his door. He inhaled the slightly sour air of the hallway and took his first steps toward the living area, resisting his impulsive glance upward as he passed the attic door. He fixed his eyes on the worn floorboards that needed a new coat of rosewood stain, but the way they creaked underfoot was reminder enough of the attic's location. Each creak triggered an impression on his memory that resonated in his crown. It tingled every time he walked this hallway, like a phantom making its presence known—haunting his subconscious, tapping on his shoulder, blowing cold air down his neck.

But there was finality to the sensation this morning. His slow, deliberate march toward the kitchen was in triumph of the burden to which he had devoted his last ten years. He had conquered that attic, and on this day, he would start his final quest toward exacting justice for the truths that weighed heavily in his suitcase.

He stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, peering in at his brother, eating a bowl of warm cereal, and his mother at the counter with her back toward them both. Acton nodded his greeting to his brother with a fleeting tug in his mouth—his best attempt at a smile. He nodded back and brought the spoon to his mouth.

"Acton, I was wondering if you were up," his mother said as she turned from the sink. Glancing at the bags in his hands, she sighed. "Won't you have some breakfast before you go? You've only been home from Specialization for a little more than a week, and you're already rushing to get out."