The Book Left Open

Tadhg had a county survey van waiting beyond the last cottages. He gave Declan the keys and pointed west without asking whether we meant to return.

“The road is clear,” he said. “For now.”

Declan checked the van’s brakes before he got in. I watched him crouch by the front wheel and test the pedal twice. He had spent enough time stranded beside roads to trust his hands over anyone’s assurance.

Rachel climbed into the passenger seat. I took the back, with Tadhg’s ledger copy on my knees and the deadline written on its folded cover: 17:00. The dashboard clock showed 16:14.

The road out of Black Hallow climbed through trees and dropped into a valley I didn’t recognize. Declan kept the van steady. The speedometer held at forty-five, but the odometer ticked backward by tenths. I watched it long enough to be sure I wasn’t reading the wrong digit.

“Can you keep us on the main road?” I asked.

“I’m on it,” Declan said. “The road keeps changing where it goes.”

Rachel looked behind us through the rear window. “Keep going.”

There was no signal on my phone. I checked anyway, then put it away. The van’s radio was off. A low vibration still worked through the seat frame, arriving in groups I knew too well: four pulses, three, a pause. I pressed my palm against the metal housing under the seat and felt the timing travel through it.

The van did not take us back to Black Hallow. That was the only measure I had.

At 16:43, Declan turned onto a narrow lane bordered by stone walls. The odometer began moving forward again. A minute later, a sign for West Parish appeared at the roadside, its paint clean and recent.

Eamon was standing in the parish office doorway when we arrived. The clock above him read 16:52. He wore his coat over his work shirt and had a leather-bound register tucked under one arm.

“You made it,” he said.

He stepped aside to let us in. On the desk, another register lay open beneath a brass paperweight. Its pages were ruled in neat columns. The last entry was dated that day. Eamon set the book from under his arm beside it and looked at the clock.

“Which one?” I asked.

“The bound one. The daily closing register.” He tapped the open book. “I’ve kept it open since the warning came. At five, I usually enter the final totals and close it.”

“Will you do that today?” Rachel asked.

“No.” Eamon slid his hands into his coat pockets. “I intend to leave it open.”