Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I look over what he sent. It’s only four pages. Articles and headlines and photo captions are all written in marker. Nothing is typed. This handwriting is different from the note that was sent. This isn’t Ryan’s work, but it looks familiar, too.
The first article is titled “Chief of Staff and Top Regime Enforcer Is Alive.” Beside the article is a recent photo of Brad Chalmers. He looks the same only a bit shaggier. He has a beard and a slightly more weather-worn face of someone who spends most of his days outdoors. And he has his arm around Insurgent Number One.
Holy shit.
I stuff the magazine into my bag and then go down to my office. Something is pinging my memory and I recall getting stacks of boxes from the high school and something from the journalism departments. A few odd things had sneaked in. Or maybe they had been deliberately added to the boxes.
When I get to the archives, I find the dusty corner where the files of old high school newspapers are located. I open one ancient metal filing cabinet, and at first find nothing but official school newspapers. I go through a few more drawers until I find it. I pull out a photocopy of a handwritten newsletter. There’s nothing rebellious about it. It’s mostly articles about music, concert reviews and fashion of the time. It’s dated October 1989. But then there’s a small hand-drawn box in the bottom corner that reads The Wall Is Coming Down! Something about this stirs me, and I rush through the box and find another issue. This one is from November. Berlin Wall Falls, We Told You Fuckers. There’s a photo of the author. Same handwriting, and she looks strikingly like Insurgent Number One.
But this can’t be possible. This was written by a girl in high school, more than 50 years ago.
I gather up all I can find of these publications and sit on the cold concrete floor. I read each one cover to cover, and although they’re messy and profane I love them.
I don’t understand what the connection is, but they somehow want me to publish and deliver them. It’s exciting and thrilling, and Ryan wouldn’t have asked me if he didn’t think I could do it. It’s not just for him but for everyone else, too. I’m the only person who works late nights at the library, so I can make all the copies I want. When I get to my office I lay out everything I’ll need and get to work immediately.
That night, when I’m finished making copies, I place them between the pages of the books on the hold shelf. Those are books waiting to be picked up by patrons who have placed them on special order. The one good thing about most of the morons in charge is they don’t understand half of what is being said in most of the books here. They don’t realize that half of the books being held are the sort of propaganda they’re trying to work against.
I go through the hold shelf and tuck the papers between the pages of less than ten percent of the books on hold. It will be enough for now.
I wait two days, and when I don’t hear about any backlash, I think the coast is clear. Either the readers are tossing them in the trash without incident, or they’re reading them. If they were reporting them to the government, the staff would have heard back by now and there would be an internal investigation.
But nothing like that happens, so I decide to push more articles out. I expand the distribution to include the public restrooms, both at the library and at the museum.
The next day another stack of articles is sent to me, and there’s another note from Ryan.
Stay safe.
I’m watching you.
Soon.
I don’t know how much longer I can wait, but to know he’s watching me makes me feel better. He’s with me even when he can’t be, and I know this is all for the greater good.
Chapter Nine
Naomi
Another week passes but this time with no note from Ryan. Worry for him has spiked inside me, and I don’t know how much longer I can wait. I’m helping them on this side of the wall, but soon I’m going to have the urge to go after him, even if he told me to stay put.
I should have said I would marry him. That night we had in the car wasn’t enough, but I knew then that he was my forever. Maybe he could be on this side helping me? Could he come back and sneak around without getting caught?
I sit at my desk and slide off my high heels as I stretch the tops of my toes. I rub them against the plush rug that covers the cold concrete of my basement office floor. Stretching and flexing my feet helps me relax.