Present Day
Alice schooled her face and tried not to look at her watch. Not only was this tour boring, but the tour guide was an overly-enthusiastic, bubbly woman whose voice and attitude were highly annoying. Alice didn't see how anyone could get this enthusiastic over an old theater building. She had already endured the obligatory "this building is haunted" ghost stories that all old theater buildings seemed to have What about a theater that was not haunted? That would be a true novelty and worthy of a tourist attraction.
Her own attitude actually surprised her. From the first moments off of the bus when she'd refused to check her parka and insisted on carrying it with her, she'd been almost uncharacteristically uncooperative. She supposed she was just too preoccupied with her coming winter vacation. She tried again to give the tour a fair chance. Now the guide was babbling on about the theater being built on the site of an old jail. With great pride, the guide motioned with a flourish to the only part of the original jail remaining -- a door. Alice covered her mouth with the hood of her parka and coughed, trying desperately to hide her laughter. A door. By itself. Hanging on the wall. Really, why bother? No part of the original building remains except for ... a door. If you have that little left, why bring it up at all? Why not stick to photographs or paintings?
She thought about a friend she had known years ago -- their families had vacationed together. Alice and Hailey had both loved books about mysterious magical doors or wardrobes. Hailey would have loved this -- the ridiculous tour guide, the door, all of it. She missed Hailey. Her friend had moved, and Alice's family didn't go to the seashore on vacation any more. Supposedly her parents had a big surprise for her planned for this winter vacation. They planned to leave as soon as she returned from the theater tour.
She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts and memories that it took a while to realize that she no longer heard the tour guide. In fact, she no longer heard any human voices at all. She looked around, wiping mirth and memory-tears from her eyes. The corridor was empty. Oddly, the first thought that occurred to her was not "where did everyone go?" but "I wonder if this door opens and what would happen?" Her hand reached out slowly and covered the old cast iron door handle. "This is for you, Hailey," she said to herself as she opened it.
A door slammed loudly down the hall, and most of the group jumped; all of them turned. The guide looked delighted. "Looks like our ghost decided to perform for you!" she said.
"Wait a minute," Jim Tremain looked around, puzzled. "Where's Alice?" Now the group stared at him. The bubbly tour guide did a quick head count, using arm motions that were larger than truly necessary.
"Alice? Alice who?" the guy standing next to him looked at him, perplexed.
"Alice Cary," Jim said.
"Everyone's here who's supposed to be." The tour guide shrugged. "I count ten and there were ten at the beginning. Moving onward!" She led the way to the dressing rooms.
"Why would Alice Cary be here?" one of the girls asked Jim. "She's not in our class." Several of the other kids shrugged as the group moved on. This was to be expected from Jim Tremain.
Jim followed, too, and shook his head. Right. She wasn't in his class. But why did he feel so strongly that he was right? That she had been there?
Alice knew she'd been shoved. It put her off balance and she tried to regain it, her feet making a stamping sound on a bare hardwood floor. Apparently the carpet didn't reach in here, wherever here was. She felt hands on her arms, catching and steadying her, and looked up into the face of a girl about her age. The girl guided Alice to a nearby chair and gathered Alice's parka into her arms.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "I'll take your coat and get you a drink of water." Alice looked around and discovered that she was in what looked like a very old fashioned inn or tavern. The walls were rough plaster and the ceiling was partially timbered with dark wood beams. There were two arched mullion windows on the wall opposite her that showed a fabulous clear night sky. A small fireplace was on the wall next to the windows. The fireplace had a spit, but nothing was on it at the moment and the grate glowed orange embers now. Behind her was the door she'd come though -- a heavy wood door with iron reinforcement. Oddly, it looked a great deal like the door on the wall in the theater. Alice had the feeling, though, that if she were to open that door, there would not be a theater on the other side.
The girl brought her water in a very clean glass. Alice looked at her, bemused, and gestured to the door.
"Something tells me that if I open that door, it wouldn't lead to the place I just left," she said.
"You'd be right about that," the girl smiled. "My name is Lyric. This place is a pub called The Blushing Angel. My mother and I run it."
"Should I ask where and when I am?" Alice asked.
"Probably not yet. It's complicated to explain, and it's very late. This town is called Heartford."
"My name is Alice," Alice said. "I just came from ... someplace else."
"And there was a door and you just couldn't resist opening it."
"Something like that. How did you know?" She took a sip of her water. "Oh, my," she said. "This water is very good!" It didn't have any residual chemical taste to it like the water back where she'd come from. Her parents insisted she was imagining things, but she always swore she could taste the chemicals that purified the water.
"Simple recipe," Lyric replied. "One of oxygen, two of hydrogen." Both girls laughed. Alice liked Lyric. It was the sort of instant rapport that came from sharing a laugh.
"The thing with the door has happened before," Lyric told her, "and that's hard to explain, too. You look familiar."
"That's funny," Alice said. "So do you. And I feel like I've been here before. I mean not in this room, exactly, but ... wherever I am now." She looked around again. The pub was well-lit by sconces on timber pillars here and there. Everything seemed to be arches, which seemed different to her. She was used to seeing more squares and angles in buildings and decor. The bar was a semi-circle; the tables were round. The fireplace was arched, as were the windows and doorways. A stone masonry arch next to the bar, adorned with a drapery of rich-looking green fabric, led off into another room. Everything was neat, clean, and well-made. Nothing crude in this room, but at the same time it all looked impossibly old to her, as though the pub had been there for hundreds of years and would be there for hundreds of years in the future. She felt at home here, like she'd never felt any place else she'd been.