My gaze drifts upward to the towering shelves and the impossible ceiling.
“How?” I ask. This isn't something I can file away and parse through later. It’s right in front of me. But Layla just looks at me impassively, as if the question doesn’t make sense. “No, come on. This building. The inside. It can’t possibly be this size. The outside is completely wrong.”
Layla looks up into the stacks as if noticing the incongruity for the first time.
“Oh, the optical illusion thing. Is that what you mean? The outside is painted to make it look smaller than it is. Like the forced perspective at Disney World, except opposite.”
I am going to scream.
How did I escape one gaslighting ex-husband only to fall into an entire gaslightingtown?
“Are you serious right now?” I ask.
Dolly covers her mouth to hide a laugh. “I don’t think this is working,” she sing-songs.
“Dolly!” Layla hisses.
“What isn’t working? What is all this?”
“Nothing. Can’t you recognize when a girl’s a little off her rocker?” Layla says, gesturing toward Dolly, who’s already lost interest in the conversation and is wandering into the stacks.
“What can I help you find?” Her voice has a definite clipped quality now.
I take a deep breath and recenter myself. The building is impossible, and it isn’t forced perspective, but Layla will clearly not admit that, so I move on.
“I’m looking for something to read. I can’t get any of my devices to work on this island.”
Layla nods. “That’s what most people find. What are you after? The Roman Empire? Politics?Why We Sleep?”
I pull a face. “Fiction. Any fiction. Romances, mysteries, science fiction, I don’t care. Anything, so long as I don’t have to live in the real world for a while.”
Layla cracks a smile. “Oh, thank God. Everyone here are such nonfiction snobs. And don’t get me wrong, I like good nonfiction. But give me a smutty romance any day.”
“Or an alien invasion,” I add.
“Or a smutty alien invasion romance,” Dolly’s voice adds, drifting in from the stacks.
I look to Layla and mouth,Is she okay?
Layla shrugs and heads into the shelves. We twist around one stack, then another, back and back. The lights overhead begin to dim, and in the darkening store, I swear I can see stars above me instead of a ceiling.
Layla catches me looking. “LED light strips.”
By the time we stop, I am completely lost.
“Okay, this one.” She pulls a book with a red cover off the shelf. “And this one. And this.”
When she’s done, I have five books weighing down my arms. The way back is two turns instead of the long hike it took to get here. Which, again, makes no sense.
Dolly emerges from an aisle with a stack of her own. Most of the titles seem to involve blood, death, and disembowelment.
“Listen,” Layla starts. “I imagine it can be rough being new here. Literally nowhere to go or see. Some of the other residents and I do a game night on Fridays, whoever’s free. If you want, you could join us. It's fun." She lets the invite hang, and I’m momentarily stunned.
Then I remember the statue.
The bigger-on-the-inside bookshop.
Amy’s ever-changing eye color.
