The Door of Unmade Choices: Chapter 22

 

Chapter 22 — The Neutral Space

The room was white and without walls or a ceiling. No floor Frank or I could swear to. We stood anyway, because standing felt like the polite thing to do.

“This isn’t a life,” he said.

“No,” I replied, my voice sounding smaller than usual. “This is what happens when the doors get tired of choosing for you.”

There were no objects here. No unfinished painting. No mirror. No Alternate Frank. Even the regret had been wiped down to a dull shine.Frank took a few tentative steps. Each one felt easier than the last. Lighter. Like gravity had decided he’d earned a break.

“I don’t feel scared,” he said.

That’s when I moved. I grabbed his arm—harder than I meant to—and the contact felt wrong, like my hand had gone numb halfway through the decision.

“Frank,” I said, “this room doesn’t hurt you. That’s the problem.”

He frowned, distracted, already slipping. “It’s quiet,” he said. “For once it’s quiet.”

Ahead of him, something suggested itself. I recognized it immediately. I had seen it before: the idea of staying. Of no longer needing to become anything. No failure. No freezing. No more mirrors telling the truth. It’s called The Neutral Space and it doesn’t trap you by force. It convinces you that leaving would be rude and, worse, unproductive.

Frank leaned forward. I pulled. The white reacted.

A seam split the nothingness, light folding in on itself like paper tearing without sound. The Core Door reasserted itself behind us, furious now—brighter, sharper, its glow stuttering like a pulse gone irregular.

The door lashed out not at Frank. At me.

Images worse than memories rushed through me. Every case I’d walked away from when it got too personal. Every door I hadn’t opened because I knew what would be waiting. Every January I’d survived by going numb and calling it professionalism.My grip slipped.

“Silas,” Frank said, suddenly clear, suddenly here. “Don’t let go.”

That did it.

I yanked him back across the threshold. The white screamed loudly and completely and collapsed in on itself, snapping shut like it had never existed.We landed hard in the creative room. Color rushed back. Sound. Weight. Consequence.

The Core Door slammed. The Neutral Space dissolved into nothing.

Frank scrambled to his feet. “Are you okay?”

I nodded too fast. My hands were shaking. I felt no pain but the recognition nearly paralyzed me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Nothing broken.”

Which was true. Unfortunately.

Frank looked at the sealed door, then at me. “It didn’t want me to leave.”

“No,” I said. “It wanted you to stop wanting. To give in and join it. You were convinced you had found your place, but it was an illusion.”

I sat down heavily, suddenly exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t fix. The doors don’t like it when you interrupt their favorite trick: convincing people that absence is peace.

Frank hesitated. “Why did it hit you? How do you know all this?”

I didn’t answer right away. The truth had surfaced uninvited.

“Because,” I said finally, “I know exactly what that room feels like.”

*****

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