(It's) Always There
Copyright© 2026 by Daniel Tors
Chapter 11
Any of them could’ve picked the building for tons of reasons, most of which she couldn’t guess, and none of which they’d tell her. So no, Navy shouldn’t make a fool of herself over some stupid assumption.
... Moving on, uh ... Inside and outside were quiet, there wasn’t any shadowy movement she could see through the blinds, the room was still empty of strangers and so was under the bed, probably. She’d been watching and, indeed, nothing had happened. Pretty empty room – totally still. As it had been since they entered and surely long before, it was empty and safe. Empty, empty, empty. Uh-huh.
Not that their silence in this home was any different, but they had to have cleared almost the entire place by then, right? One hallway and four rooms downstairs, the front room ... Well, she didn’t know what was on the second floor, it could be a huge, non-Euclidean maze the size of a mansion for all she knew. If so, that’d actually explain them having to wait twenty minutes for the others to finish – thirty-five, including the other home ... That sounded petty. She wasn’t annoyed, only puzzled, and without much to do. BUT, she’d be even less confused if they were solving riddles and taming minotaurs, as most maze intruders are want to do.
Remembering what instructions she was given, Navy kept from entertaining herself too much, some mouth sound of amusement snuffed in her neck the moment she felt it rising from there. Case was stiff as a statue next to the doorframe’s other side, so she tried to do the same.
... The bedroom was empty. Blank, off-white walls, a dresser, a wardrobe, a bed with gray covers, all the wood a similar pastel golden-yellow. It was plain, tidy, didn’t have a lot going on ... Hopefully she’d get to see more personal touches of whoever lived there somewhere else. The calendar hung on the door seemed to have a lot of writing on it; that could be interesting, and she wouldn’t get another chance to come down and look. Yeah, she’d just put it back when they left in the morning.
Case eyed her gingerly taking the calendar, the tiger careful to be completely soundless. The picture occupying its top half was clearly(?) satirical, prominently featuring a sci-fi, Texan-flagged monster truck decked with laser guns blasting through a crowd of robot drones. All the other monthly pictures she could view without making the paper rustle too much seemed like some variation of, “Huge badass truck blowing things up,” which, Navy conceded, was a little cool. Besides what would actively, against Navy’s will, degrade her taste, the calendar did have another, more useful half. Each day first to fifteenth was crossed out in July, two-thousand-eleven, other markings colored for weekend and weekday drawn neatly in the dates’ corners above numerous appointments and reminders across the month. Opting for the shiny things over reading daily, almost contextless names and times (she’d get to them, just not right then), Navy angled the two IDs stuck to the calendar so their plastic sheen wasn’t as obtrusive. The taped cards overlapped; the foremost and fully visible one was plain white paper in a protective cover, the words, “Guy you check out with,” written either like a kid or drunkard. Behind, a largely obscured card in the same kind of protector looked official and military-like, “Darren Hewitt”, and, “–y Depot”, as all she could read without disturbing eroded adhesive.
Two simultaneous knocks hit the door precisely how they did last time, and footsteps led away.
Navy tucked the calendar under her arm and followed Case, the cozy, dark-wood-lined hallway widening into a large front space at its end, about twenty shelves aligned in rows in the center and on three of the walls, the fourth beaming two-story evening sunlight through shutters, another stack of panes connected on either side to give the room a full bathing. Books lined end to end and were over-stacked in boxes atop whatever furniture-space was available, a rolling cart with new arrivals and genre tags to display.
... They were in a small-town, personally owned library. Navy’s heart beat weird. Her assumption ... Part of her assumption was right ... so maybe she could find out if the rest was, too.
Next to a desk with a computer too high-end for only keeping records, Navy and Case headed up wide stairs in the front left corner that definitely weren’t a part of the house originally, and ... And on the hand-carpentered overhang...
“You guys need something here?” the tiger wondered not too loud, without thinking.
He wasn’t fazed. “Sleep. Shelter.”
On the nail, she’d been told exactly what she should’ve expected for such a moronic question. Duh, they’re there for what they always are. What was she thinking he’d say?
Worn spines and titles lapsed quicker than she could get a proper look at them, second-story hall revealed to be almost identical to the first – “No Entry” sign undone at the bare entrance, four rooms, stairs in the side wall leading to the back, and unfurnished. They took the first room on their left, Red and Hane beginning to set up like they usually did, minus the firepit. Navy took a place by the office’s sideboard, reams of binders dated and displayed behind glass and doors that would go [click] loud enough to get anyone in the nearly inert home to look where she was.
The calendar laid on her crisscrossed legs, Navy instead watching the others do whatever ... if she was watching at all. Sometimes, she just stared at the curtains.
It was too early. They had maybe four hours of good daylight left ... and Hane and Red would leave soon, for who-knows how long. She played with the paper in her hand.
The German Shepherd signed his and the fox’s leave to secure the place for their stay. Navy wondered, “Can I...” They were waiting, and she finished, “Can I go to the library? It’s light out, and we’re inside, and, uh ... I’ll stay on the balcony so I’m close and you can see me.” Her anticipations made Navy feel like a dolt.
What she’d requested wasn’t enormous. Hane took his time thinking it over. During the wait, though, Case said neutrally like he was the mediator to an ultimately unimportant stalemate simply doing his duty, “I’ll watch her.”
A verdict came sudden. “Stay on the balcony. You’re back at dusk.”
Instinctually prepping to do as he said right away, Navy’s delayed, “Thanks,” was stranded mid-air, Case as the only one to hear it. Taking the hint that she ought to go first (it was her interest, after all), the tiger led them to the platform.
No thought had been put into what particular intention she had or the method to get there, so ... figuring that her opportunity was time-limited, she started at the end of the bookshelves closest to her not on the side of the stairs and aimed to skim them row-by-row, top to bottom, hoping something readable in a few hours would pop up. Navy doubted her taste would be all that picky – they were all, or at least a lot of them were probably, new, so offering some kind of value relatively quickly wouldn’t be much of an ask.
Caught at the tail end of a broader group, it seemed like, Navy leafed through science fiction books with a bent towards action; not her thing, but the titles, the art on the spines, and a few covers she looked at were fun. “Miracles Done by a Man in Debt,” was an interest in the first several rows, the art on it affirming her guess it wouldn’t be serious, the extent to which shown plainly by a cat boy in prophet’s attire swooning a girl and accepting her tithe with a smile as the space police officers and thugs surrounding are auspiciously prevented from getting him. Amusing, enough to almost, though thankfully not, goad a snicker. She’d keep it on the list of possibilities.
... Anyway, fiction got removed from the genre, leaving just “science”. Advanced mathematics: she was good at math, but these weren’t, “The Pythagorean Theorem and its Applications,” they were (paraphrasing), “How to Use Fake Numbers to Prove Time Has Already Happened.” Engineering: too complicated. Geology: that Navy could understand, but, as fascinating as the effects of compression over unfathomable amounts of time was, rocks were rocks. So ... Biochemistry: while it was a sister field of what she wanted, Navy had a feeling she was looking for something broader, like how Earth science is the interactions of pretty much everything on the planet. Marine studies: Nearly. Nearly, meaning she’s probably next to ... uh ... Right. Zoology.
Case leaned a bookshelf over, facing away. She wondered, keeping her attention on task, “So ... What kind of books do you like?” Navy broadened preemptively, “O-or anything. Y’know, magazines, comics ... poetry ... pamphlets.”
His reply was soon, but not abrupt. “I don’t read. No time; no reason.”
“Well ... I get you’re busy. That makes sense. Have you never seen something you’d want to read, though? There’s lots of kinds: ones for cooking, manuals, guides ... Not that you don’t know, obviously. I’d just thought there’d be something you’d like, and ... I don’t want to assume, but you must have had some opportunity somewhere. I’ve liked plenty of stupid stories ‘cause they were fun, which is a kind of use, if that’s what you’re needing.”
Cordially, he told Navy, “I know everything I need to already, and I’ve got better things to think about than people that don’t exist.”
“Have you tried? Ficti–” Navy corrected, “Stories I mean?” and instantly regretted it. She didn’t take it back, only hoped it slipped by.
“ ... I know what fiction is,” the wolf addressed, somewhat confused. With further consideration, he noted, “Guess I don’t know why you’d think I can read, but I can. I was mostly taught on stories, too.”
More than a little embarrassed despite it not seeming like he was upset, Navy tried to proceed through it, “Meaning you have a favorite, then?”
He followed Navy one shelf closer as her search moved, saying, “The Great Gatsby.”
“Really?” she exclaimed probably too loud. Heeling, the tiger clarified, “I, uh ... didn’t think that would be the sort of thing you were into.”
The boy scoffed, entertained and mildly affronted at once. “Why not?”
Navy supposed she didn’t know nearly enough about him to make a guess like that. “ ... It’s not a problem, you can like whatever, but I guess you just don’t come off ... It’s about high-society problems, so all I meant was I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Sure. It is. I still liked it.” Taking a moment to think, he added, “It was the way people talked, and how the sentences were written, if there’s a word for that. Don’t remember much else, though.”
Not answering to avoid sounding like more of a smartass, instead Navy furthered, “Yeah... ‘Cause I read lots of historical fiction – non-fiction, too, but not as much, and ... Anyway, people talking weird was fun. Especially if it was written a long time ago, understanding what was, uh, happening could be hard; sometimes I brought a dictionary, but usually I’d read them with mum and she’d try to help me figure it out.” Navy puffed out air with amusement, “We’d have etymology books and encyclopedias for whenever the story was, and ... You get the idea, but I think she stopped getting it faster than me once I was like, twelve.”
Simply because an opportunity exists doesn’t mean she ought to take it. It was a bad idea.
In a flirty tone found in too many moments to be exactly natural and desperately maintained throughout, voice kept from cracking more than once, Navy started the blunder (God forbid she didn’t commit) glancing to and away from his eyes, “You know, she got really stubborn about... [ahem] about keeping up with me, so we did lots of stuff together. I-if you stopped being such a blockhead then so could we – might even keep you around, too.”
... Where his face pondered, “What the fuck?” the appalling cold sweat on Navy’s own was busy emanating into the frontmost part of whatever lobe felt shame, “WHAT THE FUCK?” including shortly after a sense she’d never understand what possessed her to compare spending time with her mother to going on a date with a boy. The most credit her self-control got was having the “insight” to not wink.
The best she could do to retreat was continue looking at the books which may as well have been a wall of meaningless text and color, unable, however, to keep herself from peering off to the side to check the consequences. It didn’t appear immediately that he’d never consider her a serious person again, so that was ... good? Telling what he thought was impossible anyway, Case filtered through the blur of disgrace and remorse a mix of all possible results what she did could have, the tiger having some difficulty believing it was anything positive. Assuming she wasn’t completely wrong and those little shifts he made were Case wanting to say something, whatever the words were had Navy bracing. All Navy could do was wait.
...
Picking a book largely at random – something about prehistory, or whatever – Navy got to her knees, set all her things down including the calendar she hadn’t even recognized was under her arm, and did indeed view the letters in the order they were written. There were pictures, also.
Case sat one shelf over and said nothing.
An irritated tap developed in her foot. It was her fault. She knew it was her fault. But why couldn’t he just tell her something? Even calling her any insult under the sun would show he hadn’t completely forgotten the concept of manners. It was a compliment, even if she totally botched it. Surely he wasn’t so oblivious he couldn’t tell she wanted him to say something.
...
That wasn’t fair. Navy didn’t know him, and she admitted herself it was hard to think straight like this. He could be thinking anything, not only bad things, and that included him truly not understanding what she’d implied. Hell, maybe she did such a bad job it came off like ... something, just not what she intended.
It was a bad idea. That’s all. She should enjoy that Case was there with her in the first place, let alone after that. She should look at the pictures, read the words, and think about him. She should try and have a nice time while they’re there ... together.
His circling motion quit, thermos stabilized upright and the faintly bothersome nettle of the carpet on Case’s outer palm shown to be fleeting, rhythm let up because Navy readjusted herself for the hundredth time that hour, the girl’s slung arm resting on the papers’ very lowest part while she twisted and tensed as a sort of stretch – to little benefit, suggested by her groan. Like usual, Navy set the book down to turn its page, all of its material still looking unused instead of scratched over the hard fabric of her sling.
Light from the windows had gone orange, and dimmer. Their time was mostly used.
“ ... You hungry?” Case asked.
She didn’t look interrupted, answering, “Sure,” and soon including, “Thanks,” as Case brought himself to the office.
With no context he caught part of a signed conversation, Red saying from his corner-post by the window, “How else would it be?” It wasn’t Case’s business, so he got what he came for from Hane’s backpack; they didn’t talk any more, though, Hane eyeing Red without word while Red kept at his duty.
Not many steps from leaving, Case was told, “You. C’mere,” by who of course would. When he agreed and went over, the fox requested past Case, “Watch her for a minute, would you? He’s staying.”
Why Hane couldn’t hear what Red had to say, he had no clue – odds were he still would, anyway. Regardless, their commander didn’t question what he’d been asked, and left them alone. Before Hane was properly gone, Red opened whatever he was planning, “Bad call on the weather, it seems. Place is nice, though; hard to tell you’ve been.”
Case waited for the point.
He never turned to look Case in the eye, preferring his window. “Town’s got a population around a hundred, army depot up north was emptied decades ago, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s only one building kind of close...” Case waited for the point, and Red eventually continued with a roll of his eyes, “ ... And your compliment’s gone. Enough of a brain to pick Marietta, too fucking retarded to understand words. All that sleep blending what little’s going on up there?”
That was five days ago, and he had his thrashing over it. Asshole.
As was expected, the fox looked pleased. “Dumb Luck” never heard that before, “is part” (fuck sake, is part pure instinct, part trained success... ) “pure instinct, part trained success, part–”
Red’s ears peaked. His eyes widened and honed. He whistled short and sharp, “Threat. Far.”
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