WooFDriver

There are few things in life more enjoyable than a good, warm summer’s day.

At least, there are few things in life more enjoyable than a good, warm summer’s day if you ask Pauline Wayne.

Today happens to be one of those very good days. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and the grass on the White House lawn is sweet and tall. As the President’s cow, and the main provider of milk for the royal family, she’s allowed to spend the majority of her days doing, well, whatever it is she would like to do.

The last week has been filled with nothing but awful weather and rotten storms. Pauline Wayne is quite enjoying moseying around the White House lawn, and just relaxing.

As such, she’s particularly not happy when she rounds a bend and sees a doggie door.

Now, these doors are generally tucked into places where a door might actually be. Most often, they can be found against a wall, the base of a particularly large tree, tucked against a cupboard, or other such locations. Even for Presidential Pets like Pauline Wayne, who spend most of their day outside, they generally appear pressed flush against a fence, the barn, or the side of the White House.

So one might understand Pauline Wayne’s surprise and distress to find that this doggie door is just floating in the middle of the White House lawn.

The door is attached to nothing. A thick, brilliant purple glow wraps around the door. That’s attached to nothing, too.

Nervous at the strange sight, Pauline Wayne circles the door several times. There’s nothing on the front side of it, or the back side of it. The door is exactly large enough for her, a full grown Holstein cow, to step through it without any problems.

“Well,” she says, unable to hide the disappointment from her voice. “I suppose that is the end to my good, warm summer day.”

Because, as any member of the Presidential Pets would tell you, when the Room calls, you listen. Awful things could happen if you ignore the Room beckoning you and, quite frankly, Pauline Wayne has no interest in being the cause of awful things.

So she takes one last massive chomp out of the thick, sweet grass growing on the White House lawn, and then she pushes her way through the doggie door.

Stepping into the adjacent hallway is like stepping into a pool of cold water. It’s completely black, save for the path that Pauline Wayne is on. It’s also a very, very short walk.

That strikes her as unusual, but Pauline Wayne isn’t in the business of questioning things.

Oh, no, no, no. Pauline Wayne is in the business of getting her job done quick as can be, and then returning to spending a good day munching grass from the White House lawn.

 

Katelynn E Koontz – Author

The thing about opossums is that a lot of people consider them to be pests. While this is far from the truth, it still means that Mr. Protection and Mr. Reciprocity have spent their lives working very, very hard at outsmarting the world around them. Being Presidential Pets only increased the need for that role.

As such, it’s instinct – the way their minds kick into over drive, the way they lurch head first into solving the problem. Mr. Reciprocity reaches out, hooking the fraying red string in one furless paw. “Hold tight, brother. I’m going down further.”

“I’ve got you, brother,” promises Mr. Protection. The words are like a swear, an oath. When Mr. Reciprocity pushes himself over the edge of the pit, Mr. Protection braces himself, tightens his grip, and holds on.

There isn’t even a hint of slippage.

Which is good, because Mr. Reciprocity has to put all his focus into this task. It’s of the utmost importance, after all. They can’t bear to lose their very good friend.

It takes just a moment to seek out his own red thread. There’s no visual difference between it and the others, but the fabric hums and sings to Mr. Reciprocity, calling out to his heart in a way that nothing else in the world ever could.

With quick, nimble hands, Mr. Reciprocity ties the two strings together. Then, because it’s not enough, because he can feel that it’s not enough, he finds the string that belongs to his brother. It’s right next to his own, so close they are touching.

Mr. Reciprocity ties that one to Cornwallis’s string, too, and then to his own.

The knots hold tight.

“Alright,” says Mr. Reciprocity. “Pull me up!”

Mr. Protection does so. As soon as they are all back on solid ground, Mr. Reciprocity risks a look.

The three strings are pulsing. A bright red glow drifts out from the spot where they are knotted together. It spreads, twisting around Cornwallis’s string and – mending it.

The rips, tears, and messed up spots fix themselves.

Cornwallis lets out a pleased sound. The same healing power washes over the dog, until he’s able to stand on his own four feet once more. “You did it! What- what did you do?”

“Gave you hope,” says Mr. Reciprocity. He pushes his side up against Cornwallis, an affectionate gesture.

Mr. Protection does the same thing to Cornwallis’s other side. “And a helping hand.”

“Something steady to lean on,” finishes Mr. Reciprocity. “Just like you should have had the whole time.”

The relief is clear on Cornwallis’s face. He gives Mr. Reciprocity and Mr. Protection both a big, thankful lick on the top of the face. “I’ll never forget this. Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

 

Katelynn E Koontz – Author

It takes a lot of effort for Cornwallis to get up. Both Mr. Reciprocity and Mr. Protection rush over to him. One opossum gets on either side of the dog, helping support him. Together, they shuffle over to the hole in the ground.

“There it is,” says Cornwallis. “My red thread. It’s about to snap. When that happens, I’ll pass on. There will be no place in the world of Presidential Pets for someone that cannot traverse through time.”

Mr. Reciprocity asks, “why does it look like that?”

Mr. Protection demands, “how long has it been like this?”

“Too long,” says Cornwallis. He tucks his tail between his hind legs. “I don’t know what happened exactly…I just know that, one day, it started to fray.”

Mr. Reciprocity says, ‘you should have asked for help! We – “

“Are busy with your own life,” interrupts Cornwallis. “And your own problems.”

With a whine, he sinks back down. Not even the opossum brothers can keep him up.

“We’ve been acting just like the youngsters,” says Mr. Reciprocity. “So caught up in our own lives, we haven’t been keeping track of each other. Well, I don’t know what started this mess, but I sure know how we’re going to fix it. Are you with me, brother?”

“Until our own strings snap,” says Mr. Protection, solemnly. The two walk right to the very edge of the pit. They’ve been working with each other long enough that they don’t have to stop and discuss their plan. They just have to move.

Mr. Reciprocity drops forward, hanging over the edge of the pit. Mr. Protection turns around and twists their tails together. As Mr. Reciprocity inches further over the edge, Mr. Protection shuffles along with him, keeping his brother from falling into the red strings and the endless pit.

Cornwallis yelps, “what in the name of the Room are you doing?”

“Fixing things,” says Mr. Reciprocity, firmly. He can tell by sense which string belongs to him. He grabs it with one hand, then grabs Cornwallis’s fraying string in the other. “Just you wait, my friend. We’ll get you back to full health in a jiffy!”

“That’s right,” says Mr. Protection. “We might have missed the signs that something foul was a foot, but there’s no way we’re just going to sit around and let things go down this path! Not when there’s something we can do!”

“There’s nothing we can do,” says Cornwallis. He pushes himself up, frantic. “You’ll fall!” Cornwallis’s ears perk up, and his tail tucks that much further down. After a moment, though, sounding totally hesitant, he asks, “do you think it will work?”

 

Katelynn E Koontz – Author

The stairs eventually level out into a room that looks very similar to the ones in the Room where the council is held. It’s large and very white. Normally, there are countless doors lining the walls. Today, there’s just the two.

Mr. Reciprocity and Mr. Protection comes out of one. The other is at the opposite end of the room, and it is wrapped with a very bright green light.

“That’s where we have to go,” says Mr. Reciprocity.

Mr. Protection says, “yes indeed. I’d say the answers we seek are hidden there.”

“It’s not going to be easy. I’m sure there’s some trick to this. The Room is helpful, but not that helpful.”

“Aye, brother. This will be a tricky event indeed. I’m sure that we’ll be forced to really work at this.” Mr. Reciprocity lets out a heavy, full body sigh. He takes the first step, but his brother is close behind. They make sure to stick close to each other, lest something happen but – there are no issues at all. They make it to the door with no problems.

Mr. Protection huffs. “Easier than I thought.”

“Indeed,” says Mr. Reciprocity. “I would have thought we’d have had to do something there.”

They go through the door. It lets them out into a different room, this time with silver walls. There’s a hole in the middle of the floor, with flashing multi-colored lights coming out of it. And, laying on the ground near the floor, stretched out and frighteningly still, is none other than –

“Cornwallis!” Mr. Reciprocity rushes forward, towards his long time friend. “Cornwallis! Pets of the past, tell me you’re okay!”

Cornwallis blinks open one eye, than the other. His gaze is unfocused. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“It’s me and mine!” Mr. Reciprocity throws himself down in front of Cornwallis. Greyhounds are skinny dogs by nature, but Cornwallis looks as though he hasn’t had a good meal in a very long time. His ribs are showing, and so is his spine. “Cornwallis, what happened to you?”

Mr. Protection races over as fast as his short legs can carry him. He throws himself down on Cornwallis’s other side, closer to the gaping hole than is probably safe. “What’s happened to you, Cornwallis? What’s going on?”

“Mr. Reciprocity? Mr. Protection? What – what are you doing here?” Cornwallis coughs, hard. He looks very, very sick.

“We came looking for you,” says Mr. Reciprocity. “The Room brought us here.”

“Then it’s you she wants to take my place.” Cornwallis closes his eyes. “That’s a good decision.”

Mr. Protection whines. “Take your place? Cornwallis, what’s going on? Tell us!”

Cornwallis lets out a full body sigh. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll tell you. Just..give me a moment to catch my breath.”

 

Katelynn E Koontz – Author

The box is just large enough for the opossum brothers to open up. Their hands are not the same as humans, of course, but the fur-less digits are far more nimble than that of a dog. Since the box is lacking any sort of a latch, it’s easy for them to push off the top.

Inside, there’s a black and white photo of none other than Cornwallis, sitting on the front lawn of the White House. It shouldn’t exist, but it does. There’s also a thick piece of red string that is attached to the inside of the box. The string runs from one side of the box to the other side, very firmly hooked into place.

Mr. Reciprocity frowns. “What is that?”

“String, brother.” Mr. Protection stands up on his hind legs and peers into the box. “It looks like it’s about to snap.”

“Is it? Why, brother, it is!” Mr. Reciprocity touches the string very lightly with one front paw. It’s almost worn through at the middle, barely held together. “I fear that this is our puzzle.”

“A trial,” corrects Mr. Protection.

“Both,” amends Mr. Reciprocity. He pulls away before his touch can break the string. “Now, the only question is, what does it mean?”

Mr. Protection frowns. “I think you need some sleep, brother. We’re the founders! Don’t you remember how everything started? Don’t you remember what we found the very first time we were called into the Room?”

Mr. Reciprocity is quiet for a very long moment.

The truth is this: he is impossibly old, and impossibly tired.

But it’s also this: he is a Founder, and that means never giving up.

It also means knowing the secrets of the Room like no one else.

Mr. Reciprocity frowns. “Do you think it’s about the time-lines?”

“I think we’re very close to having something snap,” says Mr. Protection. “And I think we’re supposed to be trying to save him, and fix whatever has caused this.”

“It’s got to do with that picture,” says Mr. Reciprocity. They look at the picture again, but it doesn’t seem particularly out of the ordinary. There’s nothing strange about the house. There’s nothing strange about the yard.

There’s not even anything strange about the way Cornwallis looks.

Finally, Mr. Reciprocity announces, “I think that he’s our clue and our trial.”

Mr. Protection nods in agreement. “Now all we have to do is find him.”

As if responding to their words, a door flashes into existence. It has a set of stairs inside, which lead up a very long way.

The two brothers look at each other. They twist their tails together and, step for step, start their way up the stairs.

For they are Founders, and they will fix this.

 

Katelynn E Koontz – Author

The door lets them back out into the hallway, and for a moment everything seems normal. Mr. Reciprocity can’t relax, though. The very thought that it could be Cornwallis is unsettling. The older pets, they’re a different sort than the others. The young ones, from newer timelines, or just new to the job, they don’t understand what it was like when the Room first showed up.

Everything was a confusing, difficult mess. There were so many problems that the humans had created on their own but needed help to fix. So many times that the pets had to pull together, the ten original ones, and put aside all differences to solve the task at hand.

But – it’s been a long time since then.

Mr. Protection must be thinking the same thing, because he asks, “how long has it been since the Founders got together?”

“Too long,” answers Mr. Reciprocity. He shakes his head, squints up his eyes. “It’s been too long, brother.”

“We can dismiss the new Pets all we want but, brother, I feel as if we have grown complacent.”

“I’m old. And I’m tired.”

“As am I,” says Mr. Protection. He bumps their shoulders together and then their sides. “And that door is open, brother. It’s time for us to put aside our complicity and take up our helm once more.”

Mr. Reciprocity looks at the door and sighs, the air emptying his lungs so much it hurts. “Agreed, brother. It’s time.”

The door lets them out into another hallway, and what follows is a maze like the two brothers have never seen before. But they push on, for they are Founders, and they have put their jobs aside for far too long.

Mr. Reciprocity and Mr. Protection don’t give up. And for that, they are rewarded with the end of the maze. It’s a room. The room is empty outside of a box. The two opossum brothers circle the box, nudging at it with their noses and front paws.

“Curious and curiouser,” says Mr. Reciprocity.

“Indeed, brother.” Mr. Protection sits down on one side of the box. “This is the key. Of that I’m sure.”

“It reminds me of our stint during the Lincoln Administration. Do you remember, brother?” Mr. Reciprocity sits down, too. “We went out to that lovely farm. The barn had burnt down and no one had figured out that it was a coup against their dear President.”

Mr. Protection’s eyes light up. “There was a box then, too!”

Mr. Reciprocity nods. “The Room knew that it would be a trial, and thus gave us something She felt would help.”

“Old Whiskers is the one who figured it out,” says Mr. Protection.

Mr. Reciprocity hums. “True. But brother…I think that it’s up to us, now.”

 

Katelynn E Koontz – Author