The Red Door

By Rachel Lulich

In Hargrove Settlement, nobody dreams.

 

Those few who do, like 12-year-old Aster Temple, are banished through a mysterious portal to an unknown fate or forced to flee into the dangerous wilderness lands. Aster is determined not to get caught, but then she begins having strange waking Dreams. Her only clue is a friendship with Kennedy Lake, which Aster abandoned when Kennedy's mother was exposed as a Dreamer.

 

In her efforts to figure out what is happening to her, Aster begins to learn the meaning of friendship, but her Dreams are only getting worse. And when a fugitive Dreamer returns to Hargrove, bent on revenge, Aster must choose whether to save herself or risk everything for a people who don't deserve her help.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bandersnatch Books, LLC
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958863114

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The year Aster Temple was born, twelve-year-old Martin Flatheap was exposed as a Dreamer. His father was promoted to Chief Investigator soon after, giving rise to the belief that he had turned in his own son. He’d shown no emotion the day Martin was banished through the ancient portal in the center of town: the Red Door. Nobody knew what was on the other side. Nobody ever returned.

When Aster was six, a woman named Eleanor Dunlap was exposed. Someone must have warned her because she was gone when they kicked in her door. There hadn’t been an escape in years, and speculation ran high despite the government’s disapproval of such talk. It still came up in conversation now and then, in hushed voices.

At ten, Aster was finally old enough to witness a Banishment. Elizabeth Lake was a piano instructor. An anonymous note had been left at Mr. Flatheap’s door, and she was taken to the Hall of Justice. A few days later, Aster had sat in the cold metal observation stands beside her father, then a junior investigator in the Justice Department, and watched as Mrs. Lake walked to her fate with her head held high.

Everyone, they said, went differently.

The crowd in the stands had been silent; Aster could hear the crunching of Mrs. Lake’s shoes on the white gravel that surrounded the Door in a wide circle. She’d leaned forward, craning her neck. Mrs. Lake had disappeared at the Door frame, walking in one side and not coming out the other.

Gone.

The reality of it had left Aster breathless, her heart pounding. If they had sent Martin Flatheap through the Door as a child, they would send her.

Aster Temple was a Dreamer.

1

The Door. It had always been there. No one knew any stories from before its existence. There were no rumors of its creation. Every school child knew it was mentioned on the first page of the settlement’s chronicles:

There is a red door in the middle of the meadow. The Seers say it is special, so we will build Hargrove Settlement in this place. None are permitted to approach the door.

Aster Temple could see it out of the corner of her eye as she crossed the square on swift feet, enjoying the warmth of the early summer sun, her thick black hair braided and pinned underneath a light gray cap. It was strange to think the square had been a meadow once, that the Door had been there before the gravel and the flagstones and the gray stone buildings. Aster avoided looking at it. She was twelve years old now and had been crossing the square alone for over a year.

She knew the rules.

There was a great deal of superstition surrounding the Door. Some thought they would be cursed if they allowed their eyes to linger on it. Some said it called to the Dreamers. Aster’s father said all such superstitions were nonsense, but that didn’t stop the Department of Justice from interrogating anyone caught looking. The most important rule of crossing the square was to not look at the Door.

Aster climbed the wide stone steps to the public library. When she was safely inside, she allowed herself to relax.

Miss Temple!

Aster jumped, immediately back on guard, but it was only Mr. Davis, a history instructor from her school. Good morning, Instructor Davis.

Mr. Davis was on his way out with an armload of books. Short, thin, and bald, he was a good instructor, and Aster liked him.

What are you doing here? It’s summer! Go outside, enjoy yourself.

Father asked me to pick up a book for him, she said.

Well, he only works a hundred yards from here. He couldn’t get it on his way home?

He’s working late tonight, Aster said, and I volunteered.

Mr. Davis shook his head and started walking off. I’ll never understand you.

Aster smiled. You’re in the library, she called after him.

I’m an instructor, Miss Temple. It’s where I belong. Aster watched him walk out the door. Her mother had been an instructor at Hargrove Preparatory School.

She’d informed first graders.

Aster took a deep breath and allowed herself to enjoy the scent of book dust. She wondered if her mother had liked that smell.

The library was immaculate despite its age—except for the section on Dreamers. Somehow, the staff always managed to forget to dust there. The only other people who handled those books were Justice Department officials, professors of advanced law, and Aster. Everyone knew Aster’s father was a senior inspector in the Dreamer Apprehension Agency at the Department of Justice, and that he sometimes sent his daughter to check out books for his research. She simply walked in, assumed a confident air, and went about her business. No one ever questioned her.

Today Mr. Temple had sent her in search of a book about interrogation tactics. There were quite a few to choose from. Aster pulled them off the shelf one at a time. She scanned the table of contents for each book and flipped through the pages of a few. She remembered the first time she had gone with her father to the library.

This is the section about Dreamers, he had told her. Don’t ever come here unless I’ve sent you.

And she never had.

Aster selected a volume titled How to Break a Dreamer. She knew her father preferred more subtle methodology in an effort to mitigate the suspect’s suffering before they were proven guilty, but he was trying to improve in what he called the impatient approach. Chief Inspector Flatheap had hinted that his distaste for direct confrontation could hold him back from promotion. The table of contents suggested this book was very much in favor of direct confrontation, with chapter titles like How to Make an Effective Threat, and Using Dehydration to Induce Dreams.

Aster closed the book. If she read any more, she might lose control of her facial expression. She took a moment to look, unseeing, at a few additional titles on the shelf, mindful of the security cameras—they were in all public spaces, but Aster had never found any in the Dreamer section; inspectors liked their privacy. Still, it was better to be careful. If she ever came under surveillance, she didn’t want to be arrested because the investigators found images of her acting suspiciously at the library.

As she took the book to the circulation desk, Aster couldn’t help wondering what would happen if her father ever discovered her secret. Would he formally report her to Inspector Flatheap? Or would he make an anonymous accusation? She decided he would likely escort her to the Hall of Justice himself. He wouldn’t look at her. He wouldn’t speak to her. They would walk the quarter mile from their house together, of course, but they would walk in silence. He would not be allowed to see her again until her banishment, which he would observe from the stands with everyone else, seated behind Inspector Flatheap in the President’s box. There would be no time to say goodbye.

Aster’s hands trembled slightly under the weight of the book. She set it on the wide oak desk and looked up to smile politely at the pretty, dark-skinned librarian in her gray uniform.

The woman glanced at her and smiled. Good morning, young lady.

Good morning. Aster’s voice came out somewhat choked, so she cleared her throat. The librarian frowned when she saw the title of the book, her hand suspended over it in hesitation.

I’m checking this out for my father, Aster offered before the woman could think about it too much. Senior Inspector Temple.

The woman’s eyes snapped to Aster’s at her authoritative tone. Of course, Miss Temple. She blushed.

It’s alright, Aster said smoothly. I know you must hate handling these books.

Oh, no, Miss Temple! I mean . . . she pressed her lips together, her hands hovering over the book, obviously unsure what was safest to do or say next.

She was young, probably just out of secondary school—at the public academy, judging by the fact that Aster didn’t recognize her. She was not a familiar figure in the library, either, suggesting she had only recently begun working there, perhaps with the help of a family connection in the government. It was probably the first time she’d seen a restricted volume, let alone handled one.

What’s your name?

The woman’s eyes widened with fear.

I’m not going to report you, Aster assured her, softening her tone. I just don’t believe we’ve met.

I’m Margaret, the woman whispered. Aster smiled and held out her hand.

Aster Temple.

A pleasure, Miss Temple. Margaret took her hand and bowed her head, a mark of respect for the child of a senior government official.

Aster remembered how strange it had felt to be addressed by adults as Miss Temple after her father’s promotion into the ranks of senior inspectors the previous year. Her sciences instructor, Mrs. Neil, had accidentally called her by her first name the next day. Aster had never been the cause of anyone’s fear before.

The introduction allowed Margaret a moment to recover, and Aster took a deep breath as well, hoping she’d just built a little goodwill in the mind of the librarian, who was now scanning the locator chip embedded in the book’s back cover. Aster held out her identification card for Margaret to scan her personal information chip, linking her and her family with the book.

I’m very pleased to meet you, Margaret, Aster said. The librarian blushed again, mumbling that she was honored, and Aster left the library.

Aster held her head high as she walked back across the square. She carried the book in her left hand, the front cover facing out. She’d learned that trying to conceal books invited more questioning looks than walking confidently.

A flash of blue to her left caught her eye, and she turned her head to look. Her steps faltered. Someone had just ducked behind the Door.

2

Aster wrenched her gaze away from the Door and commanded her feet to move. A man in the tailored brown clothes of a banker glanced at her as she faltered, so she raised her chin and met his eyes. He looked away. Aster checked the people nearest her for signs that they had seen what she had, but nobody seemed to have noticed. Conversations continued without interruption, and everyone moved with the firm, quick stride that characterized the square. A pair of junior inspectors passed by, talking about swapping shifts for the weekend, and Aster’s confusion grew. No inspector would ever miss movement near the Door.

Aster had planned to go straight home and read

the restricted book until her father got off work, but she circled the square instead, watching the Door out of the corner of her eye through the empty viewing stands. There was no more movement; whoever had stepped behind the Door must still be there, but why hadn’t anyone on the other side of the square seen them? Aster’s breath quickened to match her steps as she began rounding the side of the portal. The back came in sight, and she turned her head slightly for a better view, hoping her interest would go unnoticed. Her steps slowed, then stopped, and Aster forgot about caution. She forgot about superstition. She forgot about the rules. She stood in the middle of the busy street, directly in front of the Department of Justice, and stared straight at the Door.

There was no one there.

The whole world expanded and emptied for Aster. The Door rested there, quiet and still at the center of the universe. The sky darkened without clouds. There was no sound and no breeze. Too slowly to be possible, a figure in bright blue ran to the Door. They hid behind it for a moment before slipping around to the front. Then the figure flung the door open and almost sprang over the threshold, disappearing as the Door swung on its hinges.

The world rushed back into place. Aster breathed in and blinked against the brightness of the morning sun reflecting off white stone. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the poplars lining the square. The Door was closed.

Miss Temple?

Aster turned. Did you . . . ? Her mouth went dry.

Against the backdrop of the Justice Department, a dozen passersby tried to see without looking and hear without listening, their steps oddly stuttered. And in front of them all stood a towering figure with dark eyes hooded by bushy brows and stern frown lines around his mouth. He was clad in a black suit with a charcoal overcoat—with the red velvet trim reserved for the very highest officials. Despite having never spoken with him before, Aster recognized him instantly.

Chief Inspector Flatheap, she managed, bowing her head in respect.

Inspector Flatheap turned and walked toward the Justice Department without another word. Aster followed without conscious thought, unable to feel her legs. She wasn’t entirely certain she wasn’t floating; everything around her seemed to be floating. She had no thought about what would happen to her now. Her mind had ground to a halt. The images of the figure in blue and Inspector Flatheap’s grim face commanded all her attention.

Someone held the door open, and they stepped inside the wide, cool, stone foyer of the Justice Department. Aster had only been in the building a few times before, always accompanied by her father. Most citizens never set foot inside. Now, Aster followed Inspector Flatheap as he led the way down the main corridor, acknowledging people’s greetings as he passed. He never looked back. He knew she would be there.

Where else could she go?

Aster heard a whisper about Inspector Temple’s daughter. It brought her mind back into focus. She was doing exactly the wrong thing—she looked guilty. Aster took a deep breath and, somehow, regained control of her body. She made eye contact with a young clerk and saw his open curiosity turn into guarded deference. Aster smiled at him. She shoved the incident at the Door to a corner of her mind to be dealt with later, and by the time they reached the stairs, she was greeting people she recognized as they passed.

Aster and Inspector Flatheap climbed the wide, white marble staircase in silence. Aster’s heart sank as they reached the second-floor landing—and continued up. The top floor was for senior inspectors, casual interrogations, and important meetings. Aster hadn’t seen it in her previous visits to the Department. She began to feel ill and focused on appearing fine, which mostly meant keeping her muscles relaxed. She scrunched up her face and twitched her nose as if it itched, which helped her resettle into an open, neutral expression; she was going for mildly curious. Then she wiggled her fingers to help her relax her tense shoulders. The actions made her feel better.

They stepped onto the third floor landing into an atrium. Senior officials wearing black suits with white trim milled about, drinking coffee and chatting during a break or perhaps discussing the nuances of anti-Dreamer legislation. Inspector Flatheap headed for the front of the building. Aster caught sight of her father speaking with another investigator.

His brow furrowed at the sight of her following Inspector Flatheap, and a flicker of concern crossed his face. Aster tried to smile reassuringly. Mr. Temple turned his attention back to his colleague, and Aster shivered. She looked away as well, following Inspector Flatheap to the end of the atrium. A man Aster didn’t recognize stood by an open door.

Chief Inspector, he said by way of greeting, his eyes narrowing on Aster.

This will be a private meeting, Inspector Flatheap said, and Aster realized as they crossed the threshold that they were entering the Chief Inspector’s office. The secretary shut the door behind them.

Inspector Flatheap walked