Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 36

              It follows a girl called Cecily, who finds a book in her father’s attic. A lot of rich people try to take it from her, as deep within its pages lies the secret of how to turn any metal into gold and precious gems.

 I had often wondered if the book in The Alchemist was real. My better judgement says no. Cecily never finds out how to make wealth out of nothing, but on her journey she meets a ghost. A boy who tells her she can live forever.

                I love the book so much, but now, recalling its plot, I’m a little startled. I’d always considered it fantasy, but now, in the position of Roland, the ghost in the tale, I can see that it is quite true to life and death.

                He must have known.

                The thought occurs to me as though someone has lit a roman candle in my mind. Did Thacker know? Was he in touch with any spirits, or believed in the tiniest encounter so deeply that he created worlds and characters to live in.

                I stare down at the worn pages. I recognize one of my favourite scenes at first glance. It is the first time Cecily meets the ghostly child. The scared boy who died years before and has haunted an old abandoned orphanage because he was scared of everywhere outside.

                My eyes focus on a single line of dialogue. A line I have never truly understood until now.

                ‘But Cecily,’ he proclaimed, tears streaming from his face. ‘Every time I close my eyes, I get lost. I’m so scared Cecily, I’m so scared.’

                I had never really read into the line. It’s innocuous and doesn’t appear to say anything at all. But, quite suddenly, I feel an even greater sympathy for the boy, because that’s what has been happening to me for hours now. Every time I close my eyes, I lose myself in the Edge.

                Yates has to see this book. Without a second’s thought, I plunge my hands through the glass. It won’t be gone for long, I’ll return it before the sun comes up. My hands close around the leather hardcover. It feels fragile in my hands like it may crumble to dust at any second. I curl my fingers around it and lift it, starting to feel the pinch of the glass around my elbows.

                I worry that the book won’t come with me for a second. I no longer exist, but the book does. I don’t worry for long though as my elbow, forearms, wrists and then hands holding the book pass through the glass.

                The perfect crime.