He looked at the book, still lying on the futon where he had dropped it, its cover facing up, the silver letters catching the dim light from the window. The brick wall was gone again. Outside was the blackness, but not empty—the blackness had texture now, a slow churn like smoke or deep ocean water. And the hum was louder. It was coming from the book. . Elias took a step toward the book. Then another.
