Chapter 27: What the Walls Built
“This is real, we’re real; whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”
The house suddenly exhaled, as if it had held its breath for almost a hundred years. It shifted, but not with old wood settling or aging plaster expanding, but with the satisfying deep recognition of wholeness. Every beam, every wall, every measured corner now existed fully in both times. The result was something unprecedented: a place where the extraordinary lived comfortably alongside the everyday.
Vera spun around.
William stood close enough that she could count the sawdust flecks caught in his beard. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and chalk dust streaked his forearms.
“Will — !” She reached up and touched his face; her fingers traced the coarse hair of his beard. “You’re here…”
His hands remained on her shoulders, and his body held a tension that reminded her of a child who’d made a special gift.
“They are finished.”
“What?”
“The walls.”
Understanding dawned. “All of them? The entire house?”
William nodded. “John and I worked through the night. I wanted you to wake up somewhere we could be together properly. Everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” She had to see this for herself. She stepped toward the kitchen doorway. William followed, and the miracle hit her all at once as she watched him cross each doorway. No ghostly shimmer. Just William. Solid, whole William, now moving through the space as naturally as breathing.
She moved to the living room and watched him remain beside her, completely present.
“The sounds I heard last night…that was you. Both of you. Working.”
“You heard us?”
“I thought I was imagining things.” Her legs felt unsteady. While she’d doubted everyone and questioned Michael’s motives and felt trapped by Dom’s threats, William had been here. He’d finished the walls so they could exist together in every room. “I was wondering if you got the supplies you needed.”
William smiled, and she caught hope there — carefully guarded but unmistakable.
“I found what we needed in Turners Falls,” he said, as his eyes flickered to a point over her shoulder. “Then, John helped me finish it.”
She didn’t ask how he’d gotten the supplies. The smell of chalk hovered around him, but underneath that, she smelled copper and something sharper. His knuckles were scraped raw. When he reached for her hands, he winced and pressed one palm against his ribs. The name “Turners Falls” made his mouth go tight.
She’d seen similar signs early in her relationship with Dom after his business meetings. The careful way a man moved after violence. Fresh scrapes that were better left unacknowledged. William’s eyes held the same carefully measured distance of a man carrying a weight he wouldn’t share.
He avoided her eyes when she prodded for more and he’d explained about salvaging materials at an abandoned site. But whatever had happened there had cost more than simple theft called for.
He stood before her now and chose silence over confession. He wanted to protect her from the weight of what he’d done and carried that burden alone. She will just have to accept that.
His hands found hers. “I did it all because we needed more than just two rooms. Because I wanted us to have a life together. However much time we have.”
The words struck her as both beautiful and yet impossible. She swallowed against the tightness building in her throat.
“William, you’re trespassing in someone else’s house. We can exist together only like this. What kind of life is that? What kind of future?”
He squeezed her hands. “The kind where I wake up and see you every morning. Where we build something, even if it’s confined to these rooms.”
“But it’s not sustainable. You can’t just — ”
The blue of his eyes held stubborn optimism. “Can’t I? We’ll figure it out, Vera. People have built lives on less certain ground than this.”
She wanted to argue. Point out again he was breaking the law, that she hid from a dangerous husband, that they could only touch thanks to whatever this strange Doubling was and who the hell knew how long it would last? What made him think they could build something lasting?
(But who am I to talk? I’ve been making it up as I go along. Anyway, is a life with William any more impossible than what’s been going on here?)
She studied his face. The weariness carved deep canyons around his eyes, but underneath it all — hope. Steady and unshakeable hope. This man had risked whatever demons just to give them a few more rooms together.
(Real Vera wouldn’t overthink this to death. Real Vera would choose happiness while she could have it.)
She reached up to kiss him, but he pulled back. Uncertainty flickered across his face. He tensed. She thought he might step away completely, but then his hands found her face, rough fingers gentle against her skin as he pulled her to him and kissed her deep and sure and claiming. This wasn’t the desperate kiss she’d given him as he lay bleeding on her bedroom floor a couple of weeks ago, but steady and certain. His beard was rough against her face, and she could taste dust and exhaustion and relief.
His arms came around her, pulling her closer until she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. She felt his solid strength, the way his hands shook slightly as they moved to her hair. When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his and breathed in the scent that was purely William.
Then she kissed him again, softer, a whisper of promise that said, this is real, we’re real, whatever comes next we’ll face it together.
Separating, her eyes fell on the small black camera high in the corner. She stared straight into its black eye as its red light pulsed.
(You watching, Dom? Good. This is what love looks like.)
A soft sound at the door made them both turn. Murray padded through, a little skip in his step, with Luna close behind.
Then came more.
Another, smaller orange tabby followed by a calico with one green eye and one blue. Three more appeared in quick succession, but this was clearly not the usual scatter of cats seeking food or attention.
The air shifted.
Vera felt it first as a change in pressure, the way the atmosphere thickens before a thunderstorm. The house itself inhaled and waited, as if from pure joy that a child feels on Christmas morning.
(They’re doing it again.)
More cats emerged. A magnificent silver Maine Coon materialized near the fireplace, his fur catching the morning light like precious metal. Tiny cats with bright green eyes appeared on windowsills. Massive, battle-scarred toms claimed strategic positions like generals surveying a battlefield. They came in waves. Tuxedos and torties, cats with white mittens and raccoon masks, a one-eared Persian who held himself with aristocratic dignity despite his wounds.
The cats purred loudly enough that she felt it through the floorboards. The sound got under her skin, vibrating in her chest.
“Good Lord,” William whispered, watching as even more appeared. “When you mentioned a colony, I thought you were exaggerating.”
“I may have undersold it,” Vera said, her voice hushed with awe.
The massive orange cat — not Murray, but another who claimed equal authority — planted himself between their feet as if declaring ownership. Soon the room resembled a feline amphitheater with the two humans as the star attraction.
This was a ceremony.
Each cat’s eyes held knowledge that went beyond the everyday awareness of housecats. They reflected the morning light like amber jewels; others glowed with an inner fire that came from deeper places. A few sat so still they might have been carved from stone, while others swayed slightly, as if hearing music.
The purring swelled to symphonic proportions that filled the space between heartbeats. Vera felt it in her chest, her throat, along her skin like electricity. Beside her, William had gone perfectly still, his face full of wonder and something approaching reverence.
“They know,” Vera whispered, finally understanding.
The Duskdancers had come to witness what William had accomplished, to sanctify the completion of something far greater than walls and plaster. They were guardians of the threshold he’d created, protectors of the space where two times now existed as one.
Then the spell broke.
Suddenly, every feline head snapped in unison toward the front door. Murray and Luna’s ears flattened.
“JESUS CHRIST, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?” Annie’s voice exploded from outside. “WHY ARE THERE SO MANY CATS? V?! V, THERE’S SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH YOUR HOUSE!”
The front door flew open, and Annie stumbled inside, bringing cold air and another stampede of cats. She took three steps to the living room archway before stopping dead.
Her eyes swept the scene: William and Vera standing together in the center of a living room filled with more cats than she’d ever seen in one place.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, looking at William. “You’re actually downstairs. Are you why — ?”
“Ann — ” Vera started.
“No, I mean you’re really here. Together. Not all…” Annie waved her hand vaguely, “…poltergeist…y.” Her eyes flicked between them, processing.
“The walls are finished,” William said simply.
Annie blinked hard, as if clearing her vision might make the scene make sense. Then her practical nature kicked in, and she focused on what she could control.
“Right. Well. That’s…” She waved her arms at the assembled cats. “But what the hell is this? Did someone open a cat sanctuary and forget to tell me?”
A rotund black and white cat sat directly in her path, washing its paw with a slowness that suggested it had no intention of moving.
“You,” Annie said, pointing at him. “This is not your house.”
The cat continued washing its paw.
“I’m talking to you, tubby.”
The cat looked up, gave her a slow blink, and returned to its grooming.
“Oh, for fu — You first!” Annie bent down and scooped him up. “Come on. Out!”
She marched to the front door, scattering a wave of cats like a locomotive through cattle, the disgruntled football of a cat tucked under her arm. “Sorry, buddy, but this is insane even by V’s standards.” She tossed it onto the front step.
Sara squeezed past Annie, arms full of grocery bags that threatened to spill over. She stopped just inside with her mouth in an “O” and eyes wide behind a curtain of her blonde hair.
“Oh my,” she gasped, half dropping the bags to the floor. “Oh, my goodness.”
“Don’t you dare,” Annie warned, pointing at Sara. “I know that look. That’s your ‘every miserable thing needs a forever home’ face.”
“But Annie, look at them.” Sara’s voice held the same awe she’d shown the first time she saw the cat congregate with Vera. “The way they’re positioned, the way they’re watching — this isn’t random, Ann! They’re doing it again!”
“Random or not, it’s filthy!” Annie cornered the calico, who promptly darted between her legs and disappeared behind the sofa. “V’s living room isn’t Noah’s ark or the Jellicle Ball!… And what do you mean, they’ve done this before?”
Sara abandoned her groceries completely, which allowed several smaller cats to rummage through them, and moved deeper into the room, studying the cats with the focused attention she usually reserved for historical documents. “V, they’re arranged in a pattern. See how they’re spaced? And the way they’re all facing the same direction!”
“They’re facing the kitchen,” Annie said. “Probably hoping for food.”
“No, they’re facing William and Vera.” She held two open palms to her chest with adoration. “Aw! They’re witnesses.”
A tiny black kitten approached Annie’s feet and placed one paw on her boot. Annie looked down and scowled.
“Don’t even think about it, Nermal.”
The kitten mewed softly, tilting its head to one side.
“Nope. Not happening.” But her voice had lost some of its edge. “I’ve got enough problems.”
The kitten sat down and gazed up at her.
“This is emotional manipulation. I’m immune to emotional manipulation.”
Vera watched Annie wage war with herself, recognizing the exact moment when her friend’s resistance crumbled. Annie crouched down slowly to extend one finger toward the kitten.
“Fine. One pet, then you fuck off with your friends.” The kitten head-butted her finger and purred like a diesel engine with loose parts. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Annie growled as she scooped it up. “You’re a manipulative little shit, aren’t you?”
Sara moved to William’s side. “This is just like what happened at the library.”
“The library?” Annie asked.
“Seven cats lined up on the stone wall. Perfectly spaced, all facing the windows,” Vera said, remembering their unblinking stares. “Like they knew we’d find something.”
“Oh my goodness, yes! And that night by the fire pit — twenty of them in a perfect circle. I counted!” Sara bounced slightly on her toes. “And V, you said they did this that day you came back from the Mill — ”
“Yeh. They filled the yard. Made a pathway straight to my door. Like they wanted me to meet…” she stuttered and looked at William.
William looked between the three of them. “They’ve done this before?”
Annie stood, the kitten clinging to her shoulder. “What are they — event planners?”
“I’ve been reading all about threshold spaces since then, V,” Sara said, words tumbling out. “Cats are drawn to places where things change. Doorways, boundaries, edges between worlds. Those types of things. With the house being built and now… they sense something impossible has… become real.”
“Great. We’re running a bed-and-breakfast for interdimensional cats,” quipped Annie, earning a glare from Sara.
“They’re guardians,” Sara countered, throwing her arm in the air. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the assembled cats. “Protectors of spaces that shouldn’t exist.”
As if on cue, the cats began moving. But some moved lazily toward the kitchen; others moved to sunny spots, and a few simply plopped down where they were.
Sara watched them, then stopped. Her head tilted, studying the ones that remained. Murray sat perfectly still by the window. Three others had claimed positions near doorways, ears pricked forward. Alert.
“Wait.” Sara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They’re not done.”
“Okay, what do you mean, Sar?” Vera asked.
“Look at them! No, like really look.” Sara pointed to Murray, then to the calico by the kitchen door. “They’re still waiting for something.”
Annie stared at the cats. “Nope. Sorry. I need coffee for this Mother Earth bullshit. Strong coffee — with whiskey in it.”
“It’s nine in the morning,” Sara pointed out.
“What? It’s been an endless week, thanks.”
William watched the cats. “Now that you mention it… All these months, I thought they were simply curious about the construction.”
Sara latched on. “Animals are sensitive to things we can’t perceive. Energy fields, magnetic changes, dimensional boundaries. They’ve probably been drawn here by the same force that created the Doubling. A house that exists in two times simultaneously? That would be like catnip to them.”
“So they’re here because they’re attracted to this kind of…what? Magic?” Vera asked slowly. “The in-between places where normal rules don’t apply.”
“What force?” Annie asked, then held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know. My brain is already at capacity.”
“They’re celebrating,” Sara whispered. “The house is whole now. Complete. They’ve been waiting for this moment.”
Annie looked around. “So they’re like… magical tourists? Drawn to the weird stuff?”
“More like connoisseurs of the paradox,” Sara said.
“Whatever,” Annie said, the black kitten now asleep against her neck. “At any rate, I guess we’re having cats for Thanksgiving.”
“Speaking of which,” Sara said, retrieving her grocery bags. “Thanksgiving. Tomorrow, in case you’ve lost track with all the…” She glanced at William and Vera, then at the cats. “Everything happening here.”
“Oh shit,” Vera said. “I completely forgot.”
“Good thing I didn’t,” Sara beamed. “I had a turkey in cold storage from last year. Been thawin’ since yesterday, potatoes are from Henderson’s farm, cranberries are practically fresh from the bog.”
“Fresh?” Annie looked horrified. “What are you gonna do, make some Martha Stewart hippie crap? The only good cranberry sauce comes from a can and keeps its shape when you slice it. That’s Thanksgiving, not some fancy Millennial bullshit.”
After some debate, they moved into planning mode. Sara claimed the space near the sink and sorted the supplies. Annie talked turkey procedures while the kitten maintained its position on her shoulder, occasionally batting at a curl of Annie’s red hair. William offered what knowledge he could contribute, describing his mother’s methods for preparing holiday meals.
Vera leaned against the counter and watched the scene before her. It should have felt ordinary with three people planning a meal in a kitchen. Instead, as she memorized every detail, she felt guilty. She had let these friendships fade. Dom’s disapproval, she’d told herself. Adult priorities. Yet here they stood in her kitchen, planning a feast while her husband threatened and destroyed their careers — their lives. Yet, there’s been no recriminations; no demands for explanations.
Sara had lost her job. Annie’s business continued to suffer. And yet, they discussed turkey and fixings anyway.
Annie and Sara peppered William with questions about his holidays. He told them about his mother grinding her own spices, demonstrated how she tore bread by hand for stuffing. When Annie made some cracks about barely managing to defrost a turkey on time, William laughed and shared his father’s joke about “Mother’s annual siege of the kitchen.”
Vera watched him relax as he talked. He offered real stories about his family instead of the careful or evasive responses he usually gave. Sara asked about cooking times and temperatures because she wanted to know how they managed without timers or thermostats. Annie wanted to know if they had cranberry sauce, then launched into another only-good-cranberry-sauce-came-from-a can debate like she was trying to recruit another member to her cause. William looked baffled by the entire concept, but nodded along.
When he mentioned his wife’s apple pies or his son helping in the kitchen, his voice caught slightly. Vera knew how those stories ended, but he talked about the good parts. About the smell of cinnamon, his boy’s flour-covered hands, Sunday dinners that lasted hours.
This felt right. Her first Thanksgiving back was not about Dom’s calculated generosity with its hidden fees, but genuine honesty. William sharing pieces of himself, her friends accepting him without question.
As evening approached, Sara and Annie gathered their things. Planning was complete; tomorrow’s schedule established. Annie still wore the kitten, who showed no inclination to abandon its new favorite perch.
“I think you’ve been adopted,” Vera told her.
“Temporarily,” Annie said, but her hand moved protectively to support the small body.
They said their goodbyes at the door, Sara promising to arrive early with more needed supplies, Annie issuing final warnings about proper turkey handling. The house felt different after they left, quieter but full of anticipation.
William and Vera climbed the stairs together. At her bedroom door, William paused. He looked at the room where they’d first met, where she’d fed him soup during his recovery.
“Vera.” His voice was quiet. “In my time, when a man and woman…”
She stepped closer. Her hands found the worn fabric of his shirt. “What about in this time?”
He looked down at her hands against his chest, then back to her face and enveloped her in his arms.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows. Inside, the house held them both.
Thanksgiving morning arrived with the scent of turkey already filling the house. Sara had appeared at dawn as promised, with her arms full and her infectious energy dialed up despite the early hour. Annie followed shortly after, the black kitten still claiming residence on her shoulder, though she continued to insist the arrangement was temporary.
Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway, bedsheet marks across his face still evident from sleep, and immediately moved to Annie’s side. His hand found the small of her back as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. Annie leaned into him for just a moment before returning to the turkey , but the softness in her face lingered. Vera watched this exchange and saw a love that didn’t need performance or validation; it simply existed in the small things.
Kyle arrived with Chip around ten with a covered dish that smelled of cinnamon and apples. Kyle paused when he spotted William in the living room, uncertainty flickering across his face. William rose from his position near the fireplace and approached him directly. Their conversation was too quiet for Vera to hear from the kitchen, but she watched Kyle’s shoulders relax, saw him nod and extend his hand. Whatever William said had worked; the awkwardness from their first meeting dissolved.
The television in the living room provided a soundtrack of football commentary and marching bands that all but one could see. Kyle noticed William staring into space with confusion while everyone else watched the screen. It wasn’t until Sara pulled her son aside for a quiet explanation about the Doubling and its rules that Kyle understood. His eyes widened with the excitement of someone discovering that magic was real, and he immediately promised secrecy reluctantly with a pinkie swear.
“So you can’t…like…see any of this?” he asked William, gesturing at the television.
William shook his head, bemused.
Kyle immediately moved to sit beside the television, one hand resting on its side. “Try now.”
William startled, then his face transformed with wonder as the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade suddenly popped into view before him. He stood transfixed by the spectacle, occasionally glancing at Kyle as if seeking assurances that was he was seeing was real.
Vera watched this inclusion. She had no doubt that Kyle would have accepted the whole thing without question, and, like his mother, would look for ways to help rather than demand proof. His nature was more adaptable to concepts that would have sent others fleeing. The ease with which he positioned himself to share this experience with William made her eyes burn.
“The scale of it is remarkable,” William observed, his gaze fixed on the screen. “In my time, parades were local affairs. A few marching units, perhaps a brass band from the high school. We certainly never had balloons the size of buildings floating through the streets.”
“Wait until you see the commercial breaks,” Annie said dryly. “Then you’ll really understand American excess.”
Chip took over touching the television when Kyle needed a break, explaining the tradition of football games throughout the day while families gathered around these electronic hearths. William’s expression suggested he found the concept puzzling; this choice to remain indoors watching strangers play games rather than participating themselves. But he nodded thoughtfully when Kyle mentioned families playing touch football in backyards between televised games, as if this compromise satisfied his understanding of leisure.
The discussion of Black Friday proved even more bewildering to him. Sara’s animated description of people lining up before dawn to shop for Christmas presents at reduced prices, sometimes camping overnight outside stores, left William staring at her with the expression of an anthropologist encountering an incomprehensible ritual. When Annie added details about fights over televisions and trampling incidents, he fell silent for a long moment.
“So people sleep in the — in the cold? To buy goods they don’t — and then they fight each other for — ” William stopped. “I’m sorry, I do not understand.”
“That’s the gist of it.” Annie grinned. “Welcome to modern America, Suspenders. We’ve perfected — what’s that look? Oh, come on, like your time was so normal.”
The turkey came out golden brown, and Sara started directing traffic. “Potatoes need five more minutes! Annie, grab the cranberry sauce from the counter.”
William sat in the chair next to Vera, but nearly crashed to the floor when she lifted her hand from the chair’s back to reach for the stuffing bowl. He disappeared into the other room and came back with a small wooden barrel, positioning it so it occupied the same space as the chair. Now he had something solid to sit on, as long as he remembered not to lean back.
Vera began feeding him small portions, tentative at first. She offered him a bite of stuffing, watching his face as he experienced the blend of herbs and bread of his mother’s recipe. His face glowed with pleasure, and despite the initial embarrassment of being spoon-fed, he gestured for more. She fed him turkey next, then mashed potatoes, then Sara’s green bean casserole.
William’s blue eyes shone at the first bite of stuffing. “Good God.” He gestured for more. When Vera gave him cranberry sauce, he actually stopped chewing.
“What is this?”
“Cranberries. With sugar.”
“More. Please.”
His reaction made her grin. She’d seen no one get this excited about canned cranberry sauce. He asked for more repeatedly, savoring each spoonful as if it were an exotic delicacy rather than a cheap holiday staple from a can.
The conversation around the table remained light, focused on gratitude and shared memories. Chip shared stories about his early days on the force, the learning curve of small-town policing versus what he’d expected from television shows. Sara recounted her most memorable teaching moments, such as some notable breakthroughs like when a struggling student finally grasped a concept, or the innocent wisdom from children who hadn’t yet learned to doubt themselves. Jack described his favorite construction projects, the satisfaction of building something designed to outlast the builder, and the pride in craftsmanship that would serve families for generations. He and William shared many laughs and stories.
The afternoon stretched into evening. No one mentioned Dom, or Thompson, or the threats hanging over their heads. For these hours, they existed in a bubble of contentment, grateful for the simple fact of being together.
Gratitude felt different this year, genuine rather than rehearsed. Vera thought of the hollow words she had spoken at Dom’s dinner table while prominent judges and their wives exchanged gossip about Boston’s political hierarchy, those performances where she recited expected phrases about blessings while her stomach knotted with tension. She had sat at those dinners feeling like an actress who had forgotten her lines, smiling on cue while conversations flowed around her about who was rising or falling in the city’s power structure, where Dom’s version of thankfulness had always been about leverage and connections, gratitude measured by usefulness rather than affection.
Here, surrounded by Annie’s terrible jokes and William’s fascination with cranberry sauce, she understood what thankfulness actually meant. Kyle had accepted their strange circumstances without question, Sara had worked to include William in every tradition, and Chip’s protectiveness had extended to encompass a man from another era entirely. She memorized every moment carefully. This was a day that would become a cornerstone memory and proof that joy was achievable when built on honesty rather than calculation.
William listened to their conversations with the fascination of an anthropologist, but also with growing affection. Vera watched him absorb details about their modern world, not just as curiosities but as insights into the people he was coming to care about. His questions showed both his outsider perspective and his investment in their lives, their traditions, and their small daily wonders.
People started heading home around nine. Sara packed leftovers into containers while Annie helped clean up, the kitten still draped around her neck like a fur collar. Vera’s phone buzzed on the counter. She almost ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Michael:
Can we meet tomorrow? Noon? Your place works? Got some things.
“Shit. It’s Michael.” Vera showed Annie and Sara the screen. “He wants — tomorrow? That’s — ”
“That’s sudden,” Sara said, frowning. “I’ll let Chip know. I’m sure he can be there.”
Vera texted back:
Sure. Chip can be there too.
The response came quickly:
Good idea. See you then.
Annie studied the exchange over Vera’s shoulder, her expression thoughtful. “He must have something important if he wants to meet again so soon.”
Sara’s face brightened with an idea that chased away the momentary concern. “Oh! But Black Friday shopping! We were supposed to hit the outlets at dawn, make a full day of it.”
“I can’t, not with this meeting at noon.”
“Then meet up with us later,” Annie suggested. “We’ll be at the Wrentham all day. Join us after you’re done with whatever Michael wants to discuss.”
After Sara and Annie left, promising to text her their location once they were at the outlets, Vera and William settled together on the living room sofa. The day’s celebration had settled into the house’s very foundation. The walls that William had completed with such determination now held more than just two people existing across time; they contained a community built around the unusual circumstances that had brought them all together.
William’s arm curved around her shoulders, and she leaned into his solid warmth. Outside, the wind rattled the windows, but inside everything felt safe and complete.
Tomorrow would bring whatever news Michael had, but tonight belonged to this contentment, this sense of home that neither of them had expected to find but both recognized as worth every risk they had taken to find it.
The house exhaled around them, a long, satisfied sigh that acknowledged everything that truly mattered in this world.
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