Free The Book by M. Clifford

library,” he claimed, with a glacial stare. “The other reason is parked in my driveway.”
    “My van?”
    “I had seen you in the café a number of times that week. On one of these occasions I was privy to an argument between you and another customer over your willful denigration of the planet . I doubt you recall it because I would think this argument happens on a regular basis. Your work vehicle is a gas guzzling hybrid.”
    Holden rolled his eyes. “I know.”
    “And yet you don’t care that this politically incorrect machine on its death bed, with laws against its constant use, may be one of only thirty hybrid vehicles in the city limits…maybe the state.”
    “Nope.”
    “And why?”
    “Because I don’t care.”
    Winston pulled the novel to his chest and closed his eyes. “Which is precisely why you were the only one I…the only one in so many years, that I felt I could risk inviting into my home.”
    Holden shrugged. “I don’t understand.”
    “When I see you, young man, I see someone who is willing to stay put when everyone else in the world feels required to move…to disobey the law and do what you want, regardless of the punishment threatened against you. Someone willing to deal with the daily insults and self-righteous glares, simply because it is your right to do what you want. A free-thinking man who persists even if it means he has to run his vehicle on individual quarts of gasoline bought under cover at the back door of a filling station. An anomaly of the socially acceptable.”
    “It’s just a work vehicle, man.”
    “No,” he whispered, with deepest conviction. “No, it is so much more than that. Now, I would love to get into this, but there is no time. We must act quickly.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “They may already be on their way. So, what I would like, Holden, is for you to take a seat and answer a few questions for me.”
    “I should probably just get back to what I was doing.”
    “Holden, don’t insult these pages by pretending you’re here for work.”
    The blunt honesty in the man made Holden relinquish himself. With reluctance, he found a comfortable spot on the couch within the dark recesses of the reading nook and waited. Winston neared the desk and looked down at the ragged scrap of frayed paper Holden had ripped from the wall of Marion’s bar. He put his weight against the side of the desk and studied the torn edge of the page with a frail finger.
    “Now, I can assume that wherever you got this…the source either has no knowledge of its absence or was fine with you taking it?”
    “Yes.”
    “And to have recognized such a minute difference in the story, you must have read it multiple times. I’m assuming by your name that I am correct.”
    “It’s my favorite story,” Holden admitted with pride, unsure of where the man was leading him.
    “That is to your benefit. But do not assume your luck will last much longer. For now, I think it’s safe to say that they aren’t aware of what you’ve realized.”
    “Who are you talking about? And why would they care if I found out that a few words were changed in a book?”
    “Please, let me finish. Time is crucial.” Winston adjusted his eyeglasses and neared closer to the page from the wall of The Library’s bathroom. “The first thing I’m going to ask you is very important. Depending on your answer, they may already be on their way.” He glanced down at the watch that hung loose on his thin wrist. “Where you came upon this page is important… very important. But, for the moment, there are more important things to discuss. What I need to know is, when you went to The Book to judge your discovery against the digital version…did you go directly to the corresponding page or did you use the Explore function to perform a search within the entirety of the story?”
    “I went to the page and…it was different. Most of what was on the page had been deleted. It doesn’t make