Lord of Perverted Ladies

My mother’s hand remained around my wrist.

She wasn’t strong enough to stop me.

That wasn’t why she was holding on.

She was afraid that if she let go, I would disappear again.

"I can’t stay here," I said.

"You can."

"No."

"You just came back."

"I know."

"Then stay."

Her voice cracked.

"For once, Adrian, just stay."

I looked at her.

There were seven years behind those eyes.

Seven years of waiting.

Seven years of believing her son was dead.

And now I was standing in front of her, alive, but preparing to walk straight toward the place that had taken me from her once already.

I wanted to promise her I would come back.

I couldn’t.

So I gave her the only honest answer I had.

"I’ll try."

She closed her eyes.

That was enough.

For now.

We left the house twenty minutes later.

My mother stayed behind.

She didn’t want to watch us leave.

I couldn’t blame her.

The hospital wasn’t far.

Alisster had changed considerably during the seven years I’d been gone, but the old hospital remained almost exactly where I remembered it.

The building had been renovated.

The entrance had new glass doors.

The parking lot was larger.

A new wing had been added to the eastern side.

But the original structure was still there.

And the moment I saw it, something inside me reacted.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The kind that went deeper than memory.

Noah noticed.

"You feel it."

"Yeah."

"Same feeling as the Archive?"

"No."

"Then what?"

I looked at the hospital.

"Like I’ve been here before."

Ryan frowned.

"You have."

"Not like this."

He didn’t ask again.

We entered through the main doors.

The lobby was busy.

People sat in waiting areas.

Nurses moved between reception desks.

A television played quietly in the corner.

Nobody paid attention to us.

The First Reader and Lucien had stayed outside.

This wasn’t their world.

The Editor had gone with them.

Apparently, whatever happened beneath the hospital was something I had to face without their guidance.

That bothered me.

It also made me trust the situation slightly more.

For once, nobody was telling me what to do.

We reached the reception desk.

A nurse looked up.

"Can I help you?"

"I’m looking for the old basement."

She frowned.

"The basement isn’t accessible to visitors."

"Why?"

"It’s used for storage."

"Who manages it?"

"Facilities."

"Can I get access?"

She gave me a polite smile.

"No."

Ryan stepped forward.

"We’re researchers."

The nurse looked at him.

"Researchers of what?"

Ryan paused.

"Historical architecture."

Daniel looked at him.

"That’s terrible."

"I panicked."

The nurse laughed.

"Sorry. Restricted area."

We moved away.

Noah leaned toward me.

"That was your plan?"

"I didn’t have one."

"Good."

He sighed.

"Because that was awful."

I looked toward the elevators.

There were six.

The old building had only four.

I walked toward the farthest one.

"Where are you going?"

"The basement."

"How?"

"I don’t know."

I pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

Then the display flickered.

B1.

The elevator doors opened.

Everyone stared.

There was no B1 button inside.

Only the normal floors.

I stepped in.

Noah followed immediately.

The others hesitated.

Ryan sighed.

"Well, if we get murdered, I want everyone to know I objected."

"You didn’t."

"I object internally."

The doors closed.

The elevator began descending.

Past the basement.

Past the parking level.

Past anything the building should have had.

The display showed:

B1

Then—

B2

Then—

B7

Then—

B13

The elevator continued downward.

Nobody spoke.

Finally, the display went blank.

The elevator stopped.

The doors opened.

A corridor stretched ahead.

Concrete walls.

Old pipes.

Dim lights.

No signs.

No security cameras.

The air smelled damp.

I stepped out.

The doors closed behind us.

Ryan looked back.

"They’re not opening."

"They will."

"You sound confident."

"I’m hoping."

We continued.

The corridor seemed familiar.

Not from memory.

From instinct.

I turned left.

Noah followed.

"How do you know?"

"I don’t."

"Great."

We reached a metal door.

There was a small brass plate.

No words.

Just a symbol.

A circle with a line through its center.

I touched it.

The door unlocked.

Nobody moved.

Then Daniel whispered,

"That symbol."

"What?"

"I’ve seen it."

"Where?"

"In the Archive."

The door opened by itself.

Beyond it was a large underground chamber.

The walls were covered in shelves.

Thousands of books.

Not modern books.

Old notebooks.

Records.

Photographs.

Boxes.

Documents.

The Scriptorium.

Or what remained of it.

I walked inside.

"This was beneath the hospital?"

Noah looked around.

"How is this even possible?"

Ryan picked up a dusty folder.

"There’s no way this was built recently."

Marcus opened another cabinet.

"Some of these records are decades old."

I noticed a large table in the center.

Something had been left on it.

A photograph.

I picked it up.

My father.

Standing inside this very room.

Beside him...

Was the person from the hospital.

And beside them...

Me.

But I wasn’t the age I remembered.

I looked younger.

Maybe fifteen.

I turned the photograph over.

A date was written on the back.

August 20, 2010.

My hands went cold.

"That’s impossible."

Noah came closer.

"What’s wrong?"

I showed him.

He stared.

"That’s you."

"Yeah."

"But you would have been..."

"Thirteen."

Ryan looked at the photograph.

"Then why do you look older?"

I didn’t know.

The answer came from somewhere behind us.

"Because that wasn’t your first life."

Everyone turned.

A woman stood at the end of the chamber.

She was old.

Maybe in her seventies.

She wore a dark coat.

Her grey hair was tied behind her head.

She looked directly at me.

"You took long enough."

I stepped forward.

"Who are you?"

She smiled.

"Someone your father trusted."

"Where is he?"

Her smile disappeared.

"You know where he is."

"No."

"You do."

She pointed toward the floor.

"He’s below us."

My stomach tightened.

"Alive?"

She hesitated.

"Not in the way you mean."

I looked around the chamber.

"What is this place?"

"The original Scriptorium."

"Why is it under a hospital?"

"It wasn’t."

"What?"

She walked toward the table.

"The hospital was built around it."

I stared.

"The hospital came later."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To hide the entrance."

"From whom?"

"Everyone."

She picked up the photograph.

"Your father spent years trying to protect this place."

"Then why did he open the door?"

"He believed you were ready."

"He was wrong."

She looked at me.

"Was he?"

I didn’t answer.

She placed the photograph down.

"Your father found the first record."

"What record?"

"The one describing the Keeper."

My attention sharpened.

"Where is it?"

"Below."

"Then let’s go."

The woman shook her head.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because the door doesn’t open for you."

I frowned.

"Why not?"

"Because it knows you."

She walked toward the back of the chamber.

A stone staircase descended into darkness.

"The first time you came here, you weren’t alone."

I followed.

"When was that?"

"Sixteen years ago."

I stopped.

"Thirteen-year-old me."

She nodded.

"You came with your father."

"And?"

"You opened the door."

I stared at the staircase.

"I don’t remember."

"You weren’t supposed to."

"What happened?"

"You asked the Keeper a question."

"What question?"

She looked at me.

"Why did you create me?"

My heart stopped.

"Who answered?"

"The Keeper."

"What did it say?"

She smiled sadly.

"It said it didn’t."

I frowned.

"Then who did?"

"That was the problem."

She continued down the stairs.

"Nobody knew."

We followed.

The staircase went deeper than the elevator had.

The lights eventually disappeared.

The woman continued without hesitation.

At the bottom was another corridor.

But this one was different.

The walls were covered in writing.

Not symbols.

Names.

Thousands of them.

Some were crossed out.

Others circled.

Some had dates beside them.

I recognized several.

Adrian Cross.

Lucien.

The First Reader.

The Observer.

The Author.

Then I saw one name that made me stop.

Elena Cross.

My mother’s name.

I stared.

"Why is my mother here?"

The woman didn’t answer.

I looked farther.

Another name.

Gabriel Cross.

My father’s.

Beside it was a date.

August 20, 2020.

I touched it.

The ink moved.

The date changed.

August 20, 2019.

Then—

August 20, 2018.

Then—

August 20, 2017.

It kept changing.

The woman watched me.

"Those aren’t dates."

"What are they?"

"Attempts."

I looked at her.

"Attempts at what?"

"Finding the correct version."

"Of what?"

She pointed toward the end of the corridor.

A black door stood there.

Not the Black Door I’d seen before.

This one was smaller.

Older.

Almost ordinary.

But I recognized it.

The first door.

The woman stopped.

"Your father opened it six years ago."

"What happened?"

"He went inside."

"Did he come back?"

"No."

"Then how did he send messages?"

She looked at me.

"He didn’t."

My blood ran cold.

"The messages..."

"Weren’t from him."

I stared at the door.

"Then who?"

The woman whispered,

"The Keeper."

The black door opened.

A voice came from the darkness.

My father’s voice.

"Adrian."

Everyone froze.

The voice came again.

"If you’re hearing this..."

A pause.

"I’m already dead."

I felt my chest tighten.

"And if you’ve reached this door..."

The voice became quieter.

"then you finally remembered why I had to die."

The door opened wider.

Beyond it was not darkness.

It was my childhood home.

But the house was empty.

No furniture.

No photographs.

No people.

Only one thing remained.

A chair in the center of the living room.

Someone was sitting in it.

My father.

He looked exactly as he had six years ago.

He raised his head.

Looked directly at me.

And smiled.

"Come inside, Adrian."

I took one step forward.

Then stopped.

Because behind him...

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen...

Was another version of me.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!